#specs you better prepare yourself

[jupiter-knows-things]

evilly rubs hands together like a fly

i hope this isn’t a dumb question or anything but can i perhaps draw specs ?? she’s soo cute ^_^

yes ofc!!

[never-rxne]

─── where did you sleep last night?

sevika x stray cat coded reader. || 4.8k words

summary: there is no one sevika can trust, really trust. no one that she can't read. until she meets someone she simply can't seem to riddle out. someone who reads her instead.

content warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, also fluff...depending on how you read it

notes: written for the aroace-spec reader, and sevika is aroace coded. but the relationship is open to interpretation.

"my girl, my girl, don't lie to me tell me where did you sleep last night?" — Nirvana. "Where Did You Sleep Last Night (Live Acoustic)"

Sevika doesn’t know this, but the first time you ever saw her was not, in fact, on that rainy evening when she found you in the alleyway behind the gambling parlor downtown. 

The first time you ever saw her, she did not see you. 

You watched in silence from the rooftop as she killed two men. 

Watched as she fought them, seemingly tireless. 

Watched as she grew cooler the more desperate the men became. 

Watched as the Shimmer plunged into her system, time and time again. 

When she finally had the first man pinned to the wall, she offered no mercy. No parting negotiations. One swipe of her deadly mechanical hand, like a lion lazily dispatching a mouse. And the man was not a man anymore. He was a mass of flesh on the ground, lying in the quickly spreading pool of his own blood. 

The other one had tried to run then. Crying out hoarsely for help, he tried to crawl away and flee for his life. Sevika was faster. You watched as she grabbed him by the hair and dragged him back to her, laughing. She forced him to look up at her as she pulled back her mechanical arm, the Shimmer capsule rising from the shoulder, preparing to lurch into her system. You watched her strike. 

You didn’t doubt that if she had seen you, she would have killed you, too. 

But you were never one to run from things that interested you. And this woman did. 

You watched as she threw the body aside, then leaned against the wall, heaving for breath. You watched as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a cigarette, put it in her mouth and reached for her lighter. Her hand shook as she tried to light a flame. The spark flicked on and off, but never caught. On the fourth or fifth try she lit up. You stayed until she had smoked it down to a nub and crushed the filter under her boot. Then you turned and left, before you could see her leave. 

—

Sevika watches you. 

Water slides over the metal crevices of her arm, drips from the end of her nose. She stands as if made from stone, her breathing barely showing beneath her cloak. 

She can’t tell if you’re dead or alive. 

You’re hunched on the ground against the wall, knees pulled up to your chest. Your face is hidden in your arms. You don’t seem aware of the rain streaming through your hair, drenching your clothes. All that seems to matter is making yourself as small as possible. You seem to be trying to disappear into the wall, melt into the brick. 

She could just walk away. 

You could mean any number of troubles. You could be a decoy, pity bait. The second she stoops over you, she might find herself dealing with a band of your people waiting for the right moment to strike. 

But the coins from her winnings at the game weigh heavily in her pocket. 

Sevika is not a bad woman. 

The truth of this sits in the pit of her stomach and rears its ugly head whenever she needs most for it to lie still. 

It would have been better if she had been like Silco—if she had learned to drown herself in the filthy river, if she had been able to wrap her one good hand around the throat of the girl she used to be and wring the breath out of her, the girl who had known hunger and fury but also…also something deeper. Softer. A wound that never closed, that wept fresh blood no matter how much time passed.   

Did she see herself now? 

As she hesitates, you raise your head. She hasn’t moved from the shadows, but you turn your face and look straight at her, as if you knew she was there all along. 

You are not as young as she thought you were. Nor do you look as destitute. Your eyes are clear and piercing on her, and she is reminded of the hungry cats who prowl the dark alleyways at night, whose lonely cries from the rooftops sound hauntingly like human wails. 

“Are you here to kill me?” you ask her. Your tone is so calm, so steady, it sounds as casual as if you were commenting to her about the weather. 

Sevika parts her lips. Closes them again. She finds that her mouth has gone dry. 

“I don’t even know you,” she says at last. 

You give her a small, unreadable smile. “No,” you say. “You don’t.” 

Sevika curls her lip. If you are not sick or dying, if you are just an odd little stray full of riddles for her, there is no reason for her to waste her time here with you. Something about the way you look at her, as if you see something beyond her hardened exterior—unnerves her. 

But it is also strangely comforting. 

She doesn’t know how long it’s been since someone has looked at her without fear, without loathing. 

Perhaps she’d gotten used to seeing her own people recoil from her, their eyes full of mistrust as if she were a Topside enforcer. Seeing your smile was an odd, inexplicable change. A change not entirely unwelcome. 

She turns and walks away into the rain. You watch her go without comment. 

Ten minutes pass and she returns, holding a paper bag. It is stained with grease and a warm, rich smell emanates from it. She sits on a crate nearby and offers the bag to you. When you look into it, you find a hot custard bun. 

Sevika leans forward and rests her elbows on her knees. 

“What do you know?” she asks you in a lowered voice. 

You hold the hot bun between two fingers, as if assessing it, before you take a big bite. 

“Why did you think I was sent to kill you?” she presses. 

Instead of answering her, you pose her another question. “Do you always buy food for people you want information from?” 

She scoffs. 

You turn the last morsel of bread over slowly in your fingers before slipping it into your mouth. “Did you get this for me, then,” you say as you chew, “because you thought kindness would unravel me quicker than pain?” 

She narrows her eyes at you. She can’t understand what you’re getting at. Where your motives are. Usually she can tell at a glance, from the first word that comes out of a person’s mouth, whether they’re anything worth her time or not. 

“Who do you work for?” she asks. 

“Me?” you crumple the empty paper bag in your fist, then throw it with surprising strength into the depths of the alley. You hear the squeaks and scrabble of the rats as they tear the bag apart, searching for a trace of the bun it once held. You stand up and turn your back on her. 

“I work for Zaun.” 

By the time she makes up her mind to follow you, you’re nowhere to be seen. She looks up and down both ways of the alley. It’s like you were never there at all. 

—

She tries to catch you again, she finds herself looking for you as she walks through the marketplace, as she makes bargains at the harbor, as she runs errands for Silco’s collections. 

But you only seem to appear when you want her to see you. 

It’s been weeks since she encountered you behind the gambling parlor, and she glances up by chance and sees you standing on a bridge several landings above her. The neon signs of the store behind you make you look slightly unearthly, like a hologram. You glance down as she looks up, catching her eye. 

She looks away for just half a second, distracted by a passing automobile. 

When she looks back you’re gone again. 

—

It’s late. 

Sevika all but stumbles into the apartment, every joint in her body droning with a dull, bone-deep ache. She had been up since the crack of dawn running negotiations across every corner of the Lanes. Keeping the Chem-Barons pacified with their shares until they could figure out what was going on with the growing number of Shimmer supply robberies happening in the fissures. 

This would have been resolved sooner if Silco hadn’t had his head stuck in the clouds for the past months playing family man. She’s damn sure of it. 

Demand for Shimmer was skyrocketing as the supplies dipped. Soon there would be a shortage. 

She could rip apart whoever was behind the thefts. 

She doesn’t notice the body crumpled on the foot of the stairs at first. Nearly trips over it, thinking it was a bundle of cloth, or a sack of flour. 

It isn’t. 

It’s you. 

She reaches out, fumbling for the switch for the hallway light. It flickers overhead, throwing into sharp relief your unconscious face, streaked with blood and dirt. Your hair and clothes are matted with blood, and when Sevika presses her fingers beneath your jawline she can barely feel your pulse. 

She can’t imagine how you found out where she lived, how you had even managed to drag yourself to her place. She made a point of making sure no one could tail her to where she slept. 

For now she doesn’t dwell on it. Without a second’s hesitation she gathers you up in her arms and swiftly makes her way upstairs. She throws her shoulder against her door, breaking the lock upon the first impact (she’ll fix it later), kicks aside the empty bottles rolling across the floor, and lays you down on the couch. 

—

You stir slightly. You open your eyes and see her hovering over you, looking over the stab wounds on your torso with a gentleness you couldn’t believe she is capable of. Then you watch her go to the corner of the room and open a small box, hesitating over its contents. You can see a faint pink glow illuminate part of her face. Your eyes close again. The world is peaceful, quiet, filled with a thin buzz. The sharp pain of the past hour has faded into a distant warmth that seems to begin in the center of your body and spread outwards, soft and alive, into your fingertips. 

The woman in the room with you must be a herald of some sort, or a guide. You are glad there is someone to witness you leave. You are glad of this tall, gentle friend. 

Why do people talk of power, you wonder. 

Why do people talk of heaven. 

—

Sevika stares down at the single vial of Shimmer left in the holder. 

It’s all she has left, and there’s no telling when she’ll be able to replenish her supply.

She glances back at you, lying quietly on her couch. Even like this—wounded, bleeding, desperate—there is the same calmness, the same mild curiosity etched in your expression. Even unconscious, you seem to recede from the air around you, try to curl yourself smaller, take up less space. 

Sevika’s body had never lied to her. She’d taken a rain check on its limitations when she had started taking Shimmer. There’s a chance she won’t walk out of the next fight unscathed without any enhancement. 

Her nerve fails her. For the first time in her life she falters. 

What was your life compared to hers? What did it matter, in the grand scheme of things, if she let you die? You are only a stray. You would pass out of this life as quietly as you walked through it. No one would miss you. No one would need you back. You’ve already lost so much blood. There was nothing she could do, really. 

You were the one who came here. You threw yourself onto her, knowing there was everything to lose. You were the one who had chosen to gamble on your life by trusting her. 

She had so much to do. There was so much work to be done. She needed this Shimmer. She needed it more than you. 

Except… You are not only a stray. 

You are a Zaunite. 

A Zaunite like herself. 

She knows damn well that it could just as easily have been her in your place. By some whim of the gods, by some cruel twist of fate, it was her who was able to grow stronger, older, climb out of the streets—but at the cost of so many others. 

Who was she to let you die? What right did she have to hold a fellow Zaunite’s life in her hands, and deliberately let it slip through her fingers? 

Sevika tightens her jaw. She frowns down at the Shimmer holder, as if personally accusing it for putting her in this dilemma. Then she gives a growl of frustration and seizes the last Shimmer vial. 

Kneeling on the floor by your side, she tilts your face towards her and parts your lips with her thumb. She uncorks the vial of Shimmer and tips it into your mouth. Watches the luminescent pink solution disappear onto your tongue. She closes your mouth and pushes back your head, forcing you to swallow. 

Nothing happens at first. 

Then: your eyes snap open. She sees the familiar, hot, mad pink blaze in your pupils. You jolt up from the couch, and a guttural scream of pain breaks out of your lips, echoing through the apartment. Sevika grabs hold of you, keeps you pinned to the couch as you writhe beneath her. 

“Easy,” she mutters. “I got you. Breathe.” 

The Shimmer runs through your system, you can feel the burn racing through your veins—like a million arms of light are reaching down your throat and soaring towards the wounds in your flesh. The healing process begins almost immediately. You can feel the blood collect like rainwater, a curious buzz as the torn skin grows back into itself, as the atoms multiply on their own. 

There’s something else, though. Something foreign, blazing and simmering in your brain, throwing sparks. You see everything in a brilliant, searing clarity. You see a woman sitting near you, feel her strong hands against your shoulders, but you don’t recognize her as a woman. She is something else—something made of flesh and blood, something to be loved, or torn apart, or consumed entirely. You are going insane. This is the pinnacle of insanity. This is the final drop into that bottomless pit you have feared from childhood. You hear a distant, tortured screaming. It takes a second to realize that screaming is coming from you.

Then it passes. 

Sweat soaks through your clothes, shines on your forehead. 

You look down at your bloodstained shirt, the tattered, sunken couch you’re lying on. You look around, and begin to take in the bare walls of the small room, a ceiling stained by water leakage, a basin with a rusty faucet, a chemtech lamp on a splintered coffee table. Unlit. 

Then you look at Sevika. 

She’s watching you intensely, a deep crease between her dark brows—you have the sudden urge to reach out and smooth it out with your thumb. 

“Did you use it on me?” you ask in a shaking whisper. “Shimmer? Was it?” 

Sevika lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “You’re alright now. You’ll be okay.” 

You reach up to grab at her arm, for support, for something solid to touch. Your hand closes around cold metal. You look down and find that you are holding onto a prosthetic. You can feel the sharp points of the mechanical fingers that clutch your shoulder. 

The same fingers you watched tear open the throat of that man. 

The same arm that lit up with Shimmer, glowing a violent pink in the night. 

Was it the woman or was it Shimmer? How can one substance be capable of causing so much violence, and at the same time such instantaneous healing? 

How can one woman be capable of so much cruelty, yet so much mercy?

Sevika begins to pull away, but you grab onto her human arm as well. You anchor her to you. Force her to look into your face and see the depth of what she has saved. You know she can feel your pulse racing against the palm of her human hand. 

You don’t ask her why she saved you. Nor do you ask her why she offered you food that night before. You look into her eyes and see the turmoil of a woman beyond them. You know already she will not be able to find the answer in herself. 

—

She never asks you to stay, and you never do. 

Weeks go by. 

You watch her—closely it seems—though she never sees you. 

Inexplicable things begin to happen. 

She’s fixing her mechanical arm one night after a particularly sharp fight, and discovers too late she’s missing a certain type of screwdriver. There is a nail she needs to dislodge to fix a jam in the joint of the elbow and it is too small for the other tools to fit in. After trying fruitlessly with several different tools of her own she throws down the prosthetic with a heavy sigh of defeat. 

The following morning she finds the screwdriver she needed sitting placidly on the coffee table, as if it had been there all along. 

Another time, she had been sent by Silco to silence a couple of conspirators against him. They put up a decent fight of their own. She got tired. One escaped, began spreading a wildfire of rumors about Silco’s right hand. 

He was found in the river within the week. No one could guess who had gotten him. 

Sevika learns gradually not to look for you. She has a name for you made up in her mind, and she holds the word in a place beneath her tongue too tender to reach in the waking day. She never says it out loud, never allows herself to hear it. To say your nickname aloud would be admitting to herself that there is someone she looks for, waits for. 

So she pretends not to notice the smallest, almost unnoticeable gifts that are left on her windowsill, on her table, on the foot of her bed. She keeps the window unlocked and goes home earlier instead of sleeplessly roaming the streets. She clears the liquor bottles from the rooms. A new silence settles in her life, a silence that is not the empty stretch of loneliness, but the silence of waiting. 

—

It wasn’t her you had begun to follow. You tailed anyone who caught your interest, jumped from rooftop to rooftop in search of the little ways you could help the Zaunite uprising. You had searched, for the longest time, for a trace of Vi or Powder—the closest children to Vander, who had disappeared long before you had entered the resistance. 

The former you found nothing on. Not a single lead. The latter, there were rumors that she had been taken under Silco’s wing. That she had become someone else. 

It was this that interested you. The transformation, the ways a person turned into a stranger to themselves. You wanted a way to speak to Powder—or whoever she had become. Wanted to meet her for yourself, pick apart her mind and look into its contents. 

First you had tailed one of the lackeys, who led you to a closer henchman of Silco’s, who led you to Sevika. 

Dead stop. 

You weren’t too intrigued by her at first. She was too silent, kept her cards close to her chest—so to speak. You discovered early on that she had a penchant for gambling, but besides her weekly rounds with the boys at the Last Drop she kept to herself most of the time. You followed her to the brothel, which she frequented, and watched as she carefully kept the allotted time down to the last second. She spoke in low tones to the same workers. Never once so much as touched them. The only other person she seemed to speak to as frequently was Silco, but you of course had never been privy to their conversations. 

The only times you ever saw her seem to feel anything at all was when she was fighting. 

When she used Shimmer. 

Then something seemed to crawl out of the stone-faced woman. Something primal, something hidden and buried. Something not purely evil. In the seconds before she made the killing strike there was a desperation in the way she yelled out that thrilled your heart. In the sadistic smile that lit up her face you could see the ghost of a small, small child hoping to be someone bigger, stronger. You see her in the bitter triumph, hear her in the empty laugh. 

And after the fights, when the blood has been spilled, when the Shimmer has run its course, where do you go, Sevika? 

Where does that small child weep?

—

The first time Sevika found you sleeping in her bed, she had almost murdered you. 

She had known someone was in the apartment the second she stepped in. Something was off about the air, about the draft in the room. She hadn’t even bothered to activate the Shimmer capsule in her arm. She had the claws at the end of the prosthetic ready, the blunt force of the mechanical limb was enough to knock out any intruder. 

She’d expected anyone—anything—when she kicked open the door of the one bedroom. Anyone but you. 

Yet there you were, curled up among the sheets dotted with cigarette burns and stained by time, as if you lived there. 

The breeze from the open window plays softly over your shirt. 

You raise your head and look at her sleepily as she stands in the doorway, staring at you wide-eyed, her arm still raised as if to strike. Slowly, she lowers her arm. Draws in a slow, deep breath. Tries to calm her pulse racing through her veins. 

“Shit,” she mutters, “you trying to kill me?” 

You sit up and yawn. Then: that same, indecipherable smile. 

“Your window was unlocked,” you say in an explanatory tone. “I was tired.” 

She nods, as if this makes perfect sense. She closes the door behind her again, steps out into the front room. Automatically, she goes to the icebox and digs out a bottle of beer. She drains half of it in one sip and sinks into the couch, the same one where she’d laid you down that night you nearly died in her arms. You are in her bed. You are alive, you are well, you are not some insane figment of her imagination. Yes—that was your face. Your voice. Your smile. 

The disembodied little acts—the screwdriver, the dead goon, your presence, always hovering at the edges of her vision, always haunting the back of her mind. You become very real, very suddenly, and something like terror blooms in her chest. It is terrifying because she has never, in an achingly long amount of time, hoped so badly that someone would stay. 

She wakes up that morning on the couch, and winces from the sunlight assailing her headache. Through narrowed eyes she can see a form standing at the stove in the kitchenette, and the smell of frying eggs fills the apartment. 

Unsure yet if she is dreaming or not, she watches you in silence as you slide the eggs onto a cracked plate. As you hack a knife into a lump of ham and, in fluid movements, cut thick slices and toss them onto the pan. 

As they cook you walk over to her and sit down on the edge of the couch. 

“What are you doing?” Sevika asks. Her voice sounds rough, cutting through the foreign sounds of something good sizzling on the pan. 

“I owed you a meal,” you say simply. 

Sevika sits up. She has fallen asleep with her prosthetic on, and her shoulder is stiff and sore. 

“How do you get those things?” Sevika gestures with her human hand to the screwdrivers, the hunk of bread and meat on the kitchen table. “You don’t need to spend money on me. I look after myself.” 

“Don’t think of them as that,” you say, frowning. 

“As what?”

“Gifts.” 

“What am I supposed to think of them, then?” 

You pause. Then you shake your head. “Just don’t think of them as gifts.” 

—

She leaves the window unlocked after that morning. 

You only ever come in by the window. Never once do you enter by the door. 

Sometimes you stay for the night, and gradually Sevika moves from the couch back into her bed, lying beside you and barely daring to breathe. 

She can’t remember the last time she had lain next to somebody like this, unarmed, utterly defenseless. She listens to the sound of your breathing, feels your warm breath on her human arm as you lie curled on your side. 

Sometimes in your sleep you throw an arm around her, press your cheek to her shoulder and hold her that way. When she tries to detach herself you only cling tighter. 

The warmth isn’t entirely unpleasant. The touch of your skin against hers. There is something in the way you hold her that brings her back to herself, touches a chord deep within her that she has nearly forgotten about. The reverberations you cause in that trembling chord leaves an unfamiliar ache in her chest. 

When had she lost herself? 

When had she lost sight of the Zaun of her childhood, the people she swore she would fight for till either victory or the end? 

She lets her heavy head sink into the pillow. Quietly, she encircles your body with her human arm and pulls you closer to her. With her cheek resting on your head she falls into a deep sleep for the first time in a long while. 

—

She talks more when you’re around. 

On days when you go nonverbal, when you prefer to listen and sit and take in the environment without a word, she’ll sit down beside you to clean her tools or fix her arm. And she finds herself opening the contents of her mind to you. 

You hold her tools and listen to stories of the children she grew up with, those who she lost to the mines or to sickness or to the enforcers—those who ran afoul of the law and ended up carted to Stillwater, those who lived meekly yet were arrested anyway. 

She told you about her father, the contours of him already blurred in her memory, the rough edges of his disappointment in her that eroded her heart. 

There is something about your silence, neither judging her nor commenting on her, that seems to tear her open and reach deep into her soul. She discovers, astonished, the tears that run down her face as the images from her past resurface and resurface again. The memories she had kept carefully locked up in the darkest corners of her mind laid open like fresh wounds. 

You don’t say anything when she goes still, when she suddenly hides her face with her hand and weeps. You sit calmly near her and breathe. You wait for it to pass. Until her shoulders stop shaking, until she wipes her eyes and returns to her work and talks again like nothing happened. 

What counts is that you bore witness to her pain. 

—

It is on a sweet spring night when you climb noiselessly through the window and find Sevika out cold in bed. 

This is rare. 

Zaun is the city that never sleeps, and Sevika is the Eye that never closes. You had never known her to be in bed this early. 

You drop onto the bed, crawl to her side, check briefly for a temperature. There’s no fever, not even the smell of alcohol on her breath. She is simply exhausted. 

You care about her. A lot. You’ve grown to care for her more than you had ever imagined. You care so much your chest aches from holding the weight of it all. 

This will not do. There is too much work to be done. 

You rest your hand on her cheek, and gently push the strands of hair away from her face. You lean down and kiss her—once, twice—on the curve of her forehead. She stirs briefly, mumbles something in her sleep, but doesn’t wake up. 

“Be gentle to yourself, Sevi,” you whisper to her. “You’re a good woman and you’ve suffered enough.”

—

Sevika wakes up from a soft dream. This in itself is unusual; usually she has nightmares that leave her pillowcase drenched with sweat, the sheets twisted in her legs. Or, more often, she never dreams at all. 

This dream was different. Someone had been with her. Someone familiar and kind. 

The cobweb remnants of the dream cling to her as she opens her eyes and finds the bed empty. 

She looks at the window. It is open; a sweet spring breeze wafts in. The moon rises above the building tops of Zaun, clear and brilliant like the eye of a cat.

end note: i hope this fic is found by the people who need it and if so, i hope you enjoyed :) i honestly like how this turned out, but it is also late and i am very tired and will probably hate this in the morning.

anyway~ this one's for me and all the aro/ace-spec girlies who love sevika...

[mxtantrights]

get someone to call my lover

pairing: Johnny Storm x fem!reader

a/n: feeling inspired and also my crush on Johnny Storm has been relit, so I've decided to write while it's good! also a bit of a lucaya tease for all of you who know. this is a continuation after the first part, but can be read as a standalone. reader has the nickname specs and is female.

He picked you up from work last night and hadn't been away from you since. The two of you had dinner at his place, he ordered in. Talked a bit about the upcoming launch.

Then you spent the night.

Which you hadn't planned on but you can't really plan with Johnny.

You woke up to Johnny's face in your face. The two of you haven't even kissed yet. But it was so, domestic and routine. Like the two of you had been doing it for years now.

He was the one with the great idea to have a re-do on the lakeside date. This time he checked all the weather apps to be sure that it wouldn't rain.

Johnny drove the both of you on his bike. Which you hadn't ever been on. It took him a good ten minutes to reassure you that you'd be safe and he wouldn't do anything dangerous with you sitting behind him.

So you two rode back to the lake of your failed first date. You had packed a book with you to read. The first man to walk the moon wrote a book about it, you wanna know how he felt.

Really you were trying to prepare yourself for how Johnny might feel coming back home.

But he had another plans.

Johnny softly yanks the book from your hands. He looks at you with a pout.

"My time now." he says.

You chuckle at that and open your arms, "Yes, you're so right Johnny."

He launches himself into your arms and lays down with you. He had only gotten up to go and get your drinks. For your first official date by the lake.

Well technically this is the longest date you've been on. In a few hours you'll have spent twenty four hours with Johnny Storm. You keep thinking to yourself how'd you get here?

You bring your hand down to play with his hair. And for a split second you can hear him purr at the touch. You don't say anything about it though, you'll bring it up later. When he comes home.

"Johnny," you start.

"Yeah, Specs?" he asks.

"I'm really gonna miss you when you're up there."

He picks his head up and looks at you. A mixture of sadness but something else on his face. He wraps his arms around your middle a bit tighter.

"Do me a favor then." he says.

"What?"

"When you're about to go to bed, just look up for me in the sky." he says.

You can't fight the smile that grows on your lips. And that's when you do it. Johnny Storm is many things. Persistent. Confident. Daring. But also shy. And you've known for a while know that he wouldn't take the first step to kiss you.

He wanted you to lead. So you'll lead.

You lean forward, your lips ghosting over his just by a hair. You can feel his breath on you. His eyes drop down to your lips. And his lips upturn into a smile at the corner.

Softly you press forward. It's sweet. Something you didn't think to associate with him the you first met him. But now it just makes sense. How his lips follow yours. How presses against you to get closer.

He pulls away first, looking up at you from his position in your lap.

"I'll drive the damn space craft myself if it means I come home to you, Specs." he whispers.

You smile, "I'm pretty sure the team would kick you off board."

"Even better. More time with you." he says.

Then he leans in and kisses you again. A little less sweet than before. Right on the precipice of something more hungry and needing. You bring your hand to the nape of his neck.

It's not rocket science that you have feelings for Johnny Storm. But it's going to take rocket science to make sure he comes back home to you.

[dirtydragonthoughts]

I'm finally getting around to reading Transformers: Exiles and

omg. It is so bad. Like, bad on multiple levels.

I read Transformers: Exodus a few years ago. It was... OK. Definitely not a great work of literature, and there were some "huh" moments in it, but it was fine. But now I'm starting on the next book. I didn't look at the TFWiki entry for Exiles until last night, but just the Errors section is absolutely sending me. (The idea that the book was panic rewritten by Hasbro just before publication would explain a LOT of the issues I'm seeing.)

As someone who loves the franchise, it physically hurts that this guy was paid to write this. It is completely phoned in. Now, I'm sure he was writing on spec, and was probably handed an outline or specific plot points/characters that needed to be included, but even with that limitation it could have been a LOT better.

Anyway I'm going to jot down some of my impressions in this thread because I want to make sure I remember why I didn't like this book, years down the road when I see the book still sitting on my bookshelf. (If I even keep it, that is up for debate.) I'll even keep away from the things mentioned in the Error section of the wiki entry, since that's low-hanging fruit.

(If you enjoyed this book I'm glad for you, but I am down to just hate-reading it now. Sorry about that.)

Impressions will be behind cuts in case you don't want to spoil yourself for this masterpiece. XD

I've finished Part 1 and some of the things that stuck with me have been:

There's a thing in fiction writing that's often bandied about, how you should show and don't tell. It's hard to explain to new authors what this means, and why it's a bad thing. Well, this book has about a million examples. Instead of showing how a character is feeling, it just tells us. Optimus was stressed. Optimus was worried. Prowl was irritated.

Related to the showing/telling thing, this book loves just giving a laundry list of things that happen, regardless of how important it is. For example, we got a whole paragraph on what happened after a race on Velocitron. None of these details mattered to the story in any way, but we still got a whole half page of detail about it:

We got a multi-page scene of Prowl cultivating an informant. He gets named (Armco). A few chapters later Prowl brings him in saying "Here's someone who can keep his mouth shut" and then IMMEDIATELY someone tries to blow up the Ark, and Armco falls out of the plot, never to be seen again. RIP Armco, we never knew ya.

Weird character note: The Autobots show up on Velocitron and discover there's a schism in the leadership there, with factions forming on both sides. While the Autobots are preparing to leave the planet, the "bad" leader says something relatively innocuous to Optimus, who then punches the Velocitronian in the face. This sets off a giant battle between the two factions, whereupon the Autobots dip and go through the space bridge. Brilliant.

More when I finish part 2.

[yorutsuki]

「 ✦ Isekaied Reversed Pt. 3 ✦ 」

↳ Deciding it's better early than later, you inform Xiao about the reality of Teyvat and sooner or later doubts start clouding your head.

[Tags: @itztaki @hannya-writes @7sins7dreams @iota1111 @sakuramouchi]

──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────

The two of you sat in the living room, you sat on the couch as he sat on the preferred ground.

"Alright, promise you won't react too badly when I tell you this?" You questioned for confirmation. The adeptus only shrugged. "I cannot promise of what I don't know."

You stared blankly at the short man at his riddle but nodded nonetheless, "understandable."

Clearing your throat you proceeded the explaining, praying that whatever God (at this point), gave mercy on you with whats to come.

"Alright, well, to put it simply—Teyvat—in this universe, is a game that everybody knows about." You stated as it was now Xiao's turn to stare blankly in confusion. Sighing, you pondered of a way to rephrase it.

"What I mean to say is, everybody from your world is but fiction here. They exist—your whole universe exists widely here but its not physical. It exist as..." As what? Joy for us? a digital concept thats basically a roleplaying game in which we can control you and your friends and your whole universe is a lie and turns out to be just code and is owned by a company? Wait- that could work-

"-a virtual game, all code and scripts that this universe's people can control almost. Nothing about it is real yet everything is known"

...

Silence fell between the both of you. You waited anxiously for an answer, intently staring down the man as he looked like he was experienced an emotional and mental crises.

"So what your telling me..Teyvat—Celestia, everything i've known is just..A lie?" He uttered in disbelief, his whole existance and knowledge crashing down as he shook his head in denial.

"And how do I know this isn't just some excuse? Some lie that you've created?" He glared at you.

You mentally and physically prepared yourself for this thankfully, "promise that you'll allow me to explain everything first before making a final desicion?" You asked as he hesitated but nonetheless nodded.

Pulling out your phone, you turned it on before entering Genshin Impact. You went over towards the yaksha before sitting down near him. Far enough to respect his space yet close enough for him to see.

"See, that's what some of us think are Celestia's gates." You pointed towards the blinding pearly gates, that welcomed you with bright lights. Entering the vast world, Xiao immediately recognized the layout. "That's Liyue..And thats.-" Cutting him off, you nodded in confirmation, "yea, thats Zhongli in a digital world."

Xiao was beyond stunned, he was overwhelmed with questions and emotions-yet little answers and resolves. How could this be? Zhongli's so...small? And it seems you can control him at will.

"-And before you jump to assumptions, no, i'm not physically harming him, nor am I doing any sort of demon arts to control him or anything else. As you said earlier, theres different universes. Theres a common thing called a video game in my world, which is this thingy right here—and Teyvat is just one many games thats been created."

Xiao looked bewildered, distraught and crushed. You felt quite horrible for the man. Maybe you should've explained everything in a easier manner?

"Uhm..I-"

"Don't."

You quickly shutted up as you watched the adeptus stand from the floor. "I just...I need time to process this all."

You nodded in understandment, watching the man making his way outside to the balcony before disappearing—only small specs of teal and shadow-like fog trailed behind.

Ceasing this moment, you banged your hand against the table, letting out a tired groan. Emotions and social conflict—especially from or for others, were quite tiresome, thus why you hated social interaction.

You just hope this conflict can be put to ease in due time.

....

Almost two hours passed and still no sign of the yaksha. You knew quite well not to worry as almost nothing in your world could harm the thousand year old-skilled fighter—not even the FBI or swat team. But...you couldn't help but have a nagging feeling of dread.

Scenerios started to slowly eat away at you, your anxiety increasing with each passing thought. What if he really did leave? What if he had got caught by someone? What if he....what if he decided to find someone who could actually help him..?

The last thought killed your heart. Honestly, you were never the main character type-far from it actually. You were more of a background character that played no significant role in life. Though, this experience would change that—it would give your life better meaning..yet, if that one main factor is gone...then its just back to square one.

Shaking your head, you shoved the negative and selfish thoughts aside,

This isn't about you, this is about Xiao. He's experiencing a life and probably also identity crises at the moment.

But for now, all you can do is give him his requested time.

...

An hour passed, there was still an absent sign of the yaksha.

Your worry grew ever so slightly. You knew nothing from your universe could take him down—not even the fbi, but you still couldn't shake the feeling that something could've happened.

As you walked around the apartment, no yaksha was in sight, the only option left was the roof.

...

Making your way up the concerningly long ass staircase, you opened the rusted metal door, only to be met with the same jade spear from not to long ago.

"Is this going to be a natural-daily occurrence or..?" You chuckled, not daring to move in fear of being punctured.

Xiao huffed in annoyance, retracting his spear before it disappeared into his inventory-gold specs replacing it's spot before disappearing. "For someone who knows a lot about us, your will on living seems slim—shouldn't you know sneaking on an adeptus without warning can lead to injuries?" He lectured, crossing his arms with a grunted look.

You rubbed your neck embarrassed, a small nervous chuckle escaped your vocal cords in replacement of words. "Sorry."

The adeptus shook his head, dismissing the mishap before walking towards the edge of the roof top, settling down at the edge, you followed in suit.

The moment of silence was defeaning between the two of you—only the whirring and explosive engines of cars and chirping birds ever so now and then filling the gap.

"So...do you want to talk about anything?" You asked, breaking the small tension. Xiao looked at you before furrowing his brows in thought. Of coarse he had much to ask, he had a bunch of questions and concerns that were gearing through his head, honestly he was surprised he hadn't received a headache yet. Yet his stoic demeanor and built exterior wouldn't allow him to spill—to show vulnerability. Though his persona did allow one question..

"Why..."

You stared at him dumbfounded, "Context?"

"Why...why did you decide to tell me about...all of this?—Why were we made? I...Was everything just..a lie?..." Xiao furrowed his brows as he looked down, his head swirling with unanswered thoughts that ate away at him. It was grueling.

You looked at him apathetically, how could you answer it? You didn't know. "Well, isn't it best to know sooner than be crushed later? In a different perspective, knowing 'the truth'...don't you think it would be easier to let the emotions settle in early than having to deal with them later?" You questioned. The adeptus only looked down in thought before sighing in agreement. "Adding on, I don't think your whole world is a lie. As we're experiencing now, there's a whole bunch of universes. You just so happen to stumble upon one where..hm, lets say indulged in on your world? You—the others, the whole of Teyvat most likely exists in general, just not here—if that helps." You assured the man. You couldn't exactly put it into words as you weren't much of a comforter but fanfics help with that. you try.

Xiao couldn't muster any words, his brain still processing everything. Looking below him at the streets, the moving cars, the occasional barks of dogs, the scenery. With a sigh, he let his mind at ease into a new perspective.

"It...it will take a while for me to digest all of this. But while i'm here, I should know more about this world than anything else." He spoke, his demeanor still stoic.

You let out a small nod, smiling, "of coarse."

.................

[A/N: That took quite a bit, sorry for the long wait, mixed up the plot for the majority and had to restart. I really hope that this went at a good pace and nothing was too fast or slow. TxT, anyways, thank you for reading!]

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

{ Part 3 }

{ Part 2 }

{ Part 1 }

............

[ Masterlist ]

[plushyden]

CW Injury, blood, angst, hurt-comfort ish.. based on @dragon-queen21

Julianne panicked. It would only be a matter of moments until Sam noticed that the glass had fallen off the shelf and shattered. How stupid of the cat to put her sippy cup in the glassware cupboard. In a moment of desparation, she took one of the bigger shards and squeezed it hard in her palm, yelping in pain and crying harder. The sharp pain pierced through her arm and the sight of blood made her head dizzy. Julianne looked down to see her shirt stained with red before noticing her caregiver already next to her with a disappointed expression.

"What did you do? Why are you bleeding?!"

Unable to make any better excuse, the panicked kitten cried. She couldn't explain it was an accident, nor could she even defend her self-inflicted wound.

"Mama...hurt...I'm hurt.."

"Why did you break the glass in the first place?"

This sent the poor cat into total panic. She just continued crying, resisting her caregiver's attempts to heal her cut.

"Mama...not believe me..mama would be mad no matter what.." Julianne choked between her tears. Even though the both of them had been used to the cat's regression bouts abd episodes for quite some time, Julianne never shook off the feeling that her caregiver would be furious. She would be impatient or angry at her and like a wild mother bear, be ready to abandon her as soon as she could. But to her surprise, her caregiver was...kind. Sure, she was doting towards her when they were both outside a regression phase. They were fine girlfriends but the arguments they had casted more doubt into whether or not Sam would actually care for her if she regressed.

"Julianne, it's okay. Don't panic, just tell me what actually happened. I won't get mad, alright?"

A trail of blood followed them to the bathroom. Sam rinsed the kitten's paw under running cold water to wash away the blood. There was a large cut on her left palm from squeezing the shard. Thankfully there were no specs of glass left behind but the size of the cut was enough to be worried about.

"Made a mess..."

"I'll clean it up when we're done. You need to rest on the bed, I'll prepare an ice pack for you to hold."

The bear's ears jolted up when she heard her little begin sobbing again. No matter how frustrating caregiving got, Sam would never dare to be mean or angry towards her kitten. There were times where her anger clouded her judgement but she hoped, hoped Julianne would forgive her. Realizing how cold that last response might've come off, her tone softens aa she wraps her palm with a bandage and applies pressure to the cut to prevent it from bleeding.

"You can tell me what happened. I won't be angry, okay?"

"Uhm..I..I wanted milk..but my sippy was in the cupboard. I'm too short to get it so I broke a glass. I'm so dumb."

"Don't say that..it's an accident. Mama isn't angry but she's confused why you touched the broken glass?"

Her large fingers carefully soothe her palm. Her touch is now light, playing with the cat's smaller paw to distract her from the sharp feeling.

"So Mama doesn't get mad."

"Don't hurt yourself like that, please? I'm not mad."

"B-but sometimes you are..."

Julianne's tail wraps around her body. She hugs it for comfort as she hears her caregiver walk away. Before she could shed another tear, her caregiver comes back with the sippy cup she tried reaching for with fresh, cold milk inside it.

"Why don't you get some rest while I clean this up? I'll join you upstairs soon, but don't be so hard on yourself." She smiles.

[llyn1xx]

Top Best

Academic Rival!Scaramouche x Reader

Sypnosis: You and Scaramouche have been competing against each other in school. Often boasting higher scores or achievements to make the other jealous. However, lately, you couldn't help but fall for your one and only rival.

Genre/Tags: Academic rivals, highschool AU, modern, romance, fluff, cussing, nicknames, Scaramouche might be ooc, quick progression (i think)

You pushed your way past the crowd to get to the bulletin board in the halls. The rankings for this quarter had just been posted. You skimmed through the long lists to find your grade and searched for your name and..

○°•°○♡○•°○

"Holy shit," you breathed out in excitement as you widely stared at your name listed as #1, right above Scaramouche, the percentages were extremely close, but you still did it! You beat him.

You looked around to find the very man you had outdone, scanning for any spec of purple hair. You eventually see him make his way through the bulletin, doing the exact same thing you had done just a second ago. You observed how his eyes slightly widened as he saw the results.

You moved closer to him with a smug look on your face, preparing to boast your latest achievement.

"told 'you I'd beat you to it next time," You remarked with a mischievous grin on your face.

"Oh please," Scaramouche scoffed. "You only beat me by .67%, was that really the best you could do?"

"That .67% proves that I'm way better than you!" You argued. This was such a huge boost to your ego, and you weren't gonna let it go so easily.

"I beat you by over 1% last time. You just got lucky, (Name)." Scaramouche simply stated before gently flicking your forehead. Before you even got the chance to protest, he walked away, leaving you stunned and speechless.

You felt your face getting a bit hot too—it was just something about the way he said your name, and the way he looked at you, and the way he oh so caringly flicked your forhead despite acting all annoye- You abruptly cut your own thoughts off. You were getting carried away. You can't be falling for him. You hated him. He gets on your nerves all the damn time, yet why? Why does your stomach flip at every interaction with him? Why do you look forward to going to school every day just to see him and bicker nonstop with him once again? Why does he cross your mind even when you don't want him to? You couldn't take this. You just decided not to think about it. This is gonna pass anyways, right?

. . .

The next day, right after school ended, you found yourself in the library studying for your next test. You were more determined than ever, and you wouldn't allow your rank to drop again.

"Hm, working hard, I see." A familiar voice cooed from behind you. You didn't even have to turn back to look at the source. You knew that voice far too well.

"Fuck off, Scaramouche." These words rolled off your tongue like second nature. You felt the man in question slowly sit next to you with the same book you have.

"Don't you want to be study buddies?" Scaramouche asked, sarcasm floating in the air as he spoke. "That's the last thing I'd want to do." You sounded firm and serious, although you really wouldn't mind studying with him, and Scaramouche himself knew this. He stayed next to you as you expected, and he started prepping his materials to study.

"Whatever you say, princess." You were taken aback by the nickname that so effortlessly left his mouth. It took everything in you to maintain your composure, but you couldn't stop the familiar heat that crept up to your face.

"Are you blushing?" Scaramouche teased, obviously and annoyingly amused by your reaction. You wanted to hit him right then and there and storm off, but you couldn't handle more embarrassment than you're already feeling. "You're imagining things." You replied after what felt like eternity.

"Didn't know you had a thing for endearing nicknames, (Name)." You were ready to explode at this point due to embarrassment, anger, and fluster. "I swear I'm gonna murder you." You spouted, your face redder than ever.

"Alright fine, I'll cut it out, princess." Again with that goddamn forsaken nickname. Scaramouche had his signature cocky smirk on his face and you wanted so badly to wipe it off his face.

"Scara, if you don't have anything better to do, just leave. Cause unlike you, I'm actually trying to accomplish something here." You finally had enough of his bullshit at the moment and just wanted to study in peace.

"Chill, (Name). You're so fun to tease, you know that?" Scaramouche said with a chuckle. "But I'll stop for now, let's get to business, shall we?"

You sighed in relief and nodded at Scaramouche's words. You two surprisingly studied together often despite all the back and forth bantering. This was a common norm for you too. And surprisingly, you even started to look forward to it. You tried to dismiss those feelings every time it arised, but it grew increasingly challenging.

. . .

It was the weekend, you took a stroll in the park and sat down next to a tree. You deserved this break, you thought to yourself. After all, you've been working so hard lately. You felt youself drifting, struggling to keep your head up and eyes opened.

As you rested your head on the rough wood of the trunk, you sensed someone approach you. You jolted awake and turned to see the person in question, blinking a few times in shock.

"Didn't mean to wake you." The familiar purple haired boy muttered quietly as he bent down to talk to you.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You questioned, still not recovered from the sleepiness and the shock. Hell, you weren't even sure if you were hallucinating or not.

"Relax, princess. I was following this stray cat and I saw you here by chance." Scaramouche explained, pointing to the cat across you that was now eating out of a can of tuna. Did he feed it himself? You wondered, you thought this gesture was adorable and you didn't know Scaramouche had a soft spot for cats.

"Oh, what a coincidence, then." You simply commented, observing the cat silently. "Didn't know you liked cats." You added to keep the conversation going.

"Well yeah, I have a cat myself, and I've been seeing it a lot lately so I decided to follow its routine and feed it." You nodded at his words, about to stand up when Scaramouche reaches his hand to held you get up. You hesitate for a moment whether you should take it or not, in the end, you just took it. Your heart skipped a beat as you familiarized the feeling of his touch, his hands were rough and calloused, yet soft and slim at the same time. You muttered a soft "thank you," once you got up, averting your eyes from his gaze as you felt a bit shy.

"Wanna stroll on the park with me?" Scaramouche offered. It was an innocent and genuine question. Your heart was racing at the thought as you began to formulate a response, although you were struggling to.

"I.. um- sure" You mentally cursed yourself for slightly stuttering, but how could you not? You wanted to seem calm as if this wasn't affecting you in any way, but you probably failed the moment you held his hand.

You two decided to pick up on a trail by the riverside. It was quiet and peaceful. The wind was blowing on your faces, messing up your hair a bit. You listened to the rustles of the leaves and the songs of the humming birds. The momentary silence between you and Scaramouche surprisingly wasn't awkward at all, in fact, you found great solitude in it and you really wouldn't mind staying like this.

"Why were you on the brink of sleep in the park anyways?" Scaramouche broke the silence by his curious query, looking at you with a softness in his eyes that he only has for you, except you remain oblivious to this observation.

"I was just unwinding from everything. A tiny little break. I didn't mean to fall asleep but I really couldn't help it." You softly responded. "Oh, what about that cat anyways?" The thought suddenly went through your head, especially since you realized you just left the cat by the tree.

"That cat seemed to be happy with its lifestyle, being out and about all the time. I'll visit it from time to time, but I'd rather not disturb it."

"That's nice. Didn't know you had this side of you."

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me."

"Won't you tell me some of those things then?" You asked with great curiosity and a genuine smile.

"I guess a big one is that I like you." Scaramouche suddenly revealed as you both stopped walking. Your eyes widened and your heart literally skipped a beat. You noticed a tinge of red on Scaramouche's ears and how he slowly looked away from you.

"What?" You needed confirmation that what you heard was true and your mind wasn't playing tricks on you. Maybe you were just hearing things, and the lack of sleep and stress was finally getting to you.

"I'm not repeating it. I know you heard what I said." Scaramouche finally looked back at you, but this time with an expression you've never seen on him before. He had a shy and worried look on his face, yet he was looking at you with the most loving and gentle eyes.

"I.." You felt your words get stuck on your throat, genuinely not knowing what to do or say. "I like you too.." You mumbled quietly, your eyes straying away from his gaze as as you said this. You couldn't look at him right now, it was all too much.

Scaramouche gently placed his hand on your face and gently rubbed your cheek with his thumb, making you look at him. The tension between you two right now was through the roofs and you both leaned in for a quick kiss.

You both smiled at each other before you pulled him into a deep hug. The two of you stayed like that for a bit, and the rest is history..

A/N: Hi, this is my first ever fic and I hope you enjoyed reading through it <3

○°•°○♡○•°○

If I'm being honest, I'm not really a fan of how I progressed or wrote the story, but I'm too lazy to change things, and I decided to just post it nonetheless. I didn't proofread this so I apologize for any mistakes.

Thank you!

[ashes-2-ashes57cba]

The Bad Batch: Valkyrie

Episode 15: Plan 99

*jate ad: "good girl/child", Mando'a warnings: major character death, violence, Hemlock, swearing

Wrecker and Hunter pried the door open, revealing the clouds and terrain below. It was still quiet, with only the distant alarms of the Imperial compound damaged by Saw Gerrera’s explosives. 

Specter didn’t like it. They were in the middle of a swell—one wave had crested over, and the next was rising. 

“This is not ideal,” Tech stated, observing the scene.

“At least we’re not hanging under the car,” said Wrecker.

“This isn’t much better,” countered Omega. Specter was inclined to agree, especially as the other railcar, full of Imperial soldiers, began to open fire. The five of them ducked back and laid down cover fire. 

“Echo, get this car moving,” Hunter shouted over the noise.

“The explosions must’ve knocked out power to the rail line,” Echo reported, having tried and failed to get them going.

“I can try to reboot the system, but I will need to plug directly into one of the terminals on the track,” said Tech. Hunter pulled back. 

“You three,” he said to Wrecker, Omega, and Echo, “give us cover. Tech, Specter, up top with me.” The three climbed up into the upper area of the car; Specter calculated the climb up to the line and the run over to the terminal.

“If you walk me through it, Tech, I can do it,” she offered. 

“Absolutely not. I will not have you risking yourself to do this,” Tech quickly shut down. 

“Oh, and you can risk yourself?” she bit back, peeved but not surprised at his answer. He faced her fully, putting his hands on her shoulders.

“You have someone to live and fight for,” he said sternly, glancing at Hunter who was laying down more coverfire. 

“So do you,” she said. 

“Specter, this is what I was made for.”

Specter was too stunned to reply, merely standing by as Hunter hoisted Tech up to the top of the railcar. She didn’t like his tone.

“Spec, I could use some more blaster-fire,” Hunter snapped her out of her thoughts. She quickly got into position, releasing rapid-fire on the troopers ahead of them. The Batch was making little damage against their opponents, but every now and then, a blaster would permanently stop firing or someone would fall out of the car to their death. 

“I am plugged in. Stand by,” Tech came in over comms. 

“Spec, pick them off,” Hunter instructed. She nodded, reconfiguring her blaster to her rifle while making her way to the front of the car, barely sticking the barrel out of the window slots. Specter took a breath, focusing on her pounding heart and forcing the world around her to slow to her speed. Her dubbed ‘Valkyrie mode’. Her careful shots were few, but precise, killing several troopers. She breathed again, returning.

“We’ve got four ships inbound,” Hunter said. 

“Where? I can’t see them,” Omega reported. Specter couldn’t see or hear them either, but she trusted Hunter’s senses. If he said they were coming, they were coming. She readjusted her position, preparing to aim more upward—through her scope she caught sight of them.

“They’re coming in hot,” she announced. 

“Tech, we need power!” Hunter shouted as the ships approached. The Batch redirected their fire to the oncoming aircraft; Specter carefully aimed and fired a precise shot.

“One down,” she reported. The other three fired their barrage, flying by and circling around to make another pass. The railcar shook. 

“Echo, now!” said Tech. He plugged in and almost instantly the lights and electronics came to life. 

“We’re online,” Wrecker announced. Hunter fired another careful shot, hitting one of the ship’s engines and causing it to explode in midair. The one next to it was caught in the blast too. But the remaining pilot was relentless, directing all his fire at them. A blast caught the railcar's connection to the line and Specter yelped as she lost her footing and stumbled back onto the floor. Hunter came over to check on her.

“You alright?” he asked. She nodded, though she felt flushed and tired. The pair joined the others back in the main section, catching sight of the back half of the adjoining car hanging down.

“Where’s Tech?” Specter asked, holding her side. 

“I think he’s still back there,” Omega guessed, pointing to the precariously hanging car. Blaster-fire from the oncoming car interrupted them. Specter furiously shot back at them. 

“Get him up here, now!” she yelled. Wrecker and Omega carefully made their way back, finding their teammate holding on by his grappling line and inching his way up.

“Come on, Tech! Hurry!” Wrecker urged. 

“I am climbing as fast as I can,” Tech promised in between grunts. A lucky trooper aimed high, hitting the connecting clamps of the railcar. Specter fired angrily as Hunter turned to Echo. 

“Why aren’t we moving?”

“The car’s being ripped from the track.” Another rumble shook the car. 

“Wrecker, get him on board,” Hunter sounded extremely panicked now. Specter reconfigured her rifle to her shotgun, hoping to drown out the sounds of metal shifting and Tech telling Wrecker not to move. 

“Any shift in weight could send both of these cars over,” he warned. More air reinforcements were approaching; Specter couldn’t do anything, even if she entered her Valkyrie mode. “You must sever the connection hinge. Now!” She shook her head, even though he couldn’t see her, partially from the chill shooting up her spine and from her refusal to believe Tech was doing this. 

“Not until you’re up here,” Wrecker insisted. The railcar shifted again. Specter beat the side of her helmet, contradicting herself in trying to focus on the mission and unfocus to ignore their peril at the same time.

“There is no time, Wrecker,” Tech said, his tone changed. She didn’t like it. “Plan 99.” Specter practically sobbed, almost dropping her shotgun.

“No! Tech don’t do it, please!” she begged, taking off her helmet and attempting to go to him until Hunter held her back. He was shaking, but he wouldn’t lose her too. Wrecker groaned and grunted, trying to hold the cars together and keep himself upright. 

“Don’t you do it, Tech!”

He sighed.

“When have we ever followed orders?”

A single shot broke the hinge. The adjoining car started to fall… Tech along with it. Wrecker and Omega cried after him. Specter screamed in Hunter’s hold, falling to her knees. 

The car reconnected and sped off away from the site. Wrecker was frozen in place. Specter was paralyzed with anguish, allowing for Hunter to get up to stop Omega from wanting to go back. 

“Omega,” he called, grabbing onto her arm.

“Go back! Go back!” she begged. He couldn’t. They were approaching the end of the line but,

“The car’s going too fast,” Hunter said to Echo, who was clearly struggling to get control.

“The system’s fried. I can’t stop it.”

Specter could barely register her own hands coming up to hold her head and Hunter running to cover Omega as they crashed through the station. 

One by one they woke up and crawled out of the wreckage. Omega slowly stood up, her side and leg were hurting. 

“Tech,” she called out, still looking for him among the ruins and smoke. She took a few steps before she collapsed again, her vision going blurry, then dark.

She opened her eyes, the scene had changed. There were a pair of dead soldiers, but there were no blaster shots. Their helmets were broken, as were their faces. She tried to move her head towards a strange sound.

Specter was mercilessly beating a pair of unfortunate troopers caught in her wrath. Her helmet, used as a weapon, sported splatters of blood and was tossed to the side once the trooper in her grasp had collapsed. Her back was towards the girl, but Omega could see her chipped hand guards and bloody knuckles as the woman held up a trooper by his collar and pounded into his head. 

When she was satisfied, Specter tossed him aside, turning to another fallen trooper to kick his head, snapping his neck. 

“Omega,” Hunter’s distorted voice came through. Echo alongside him. “We have to get her out of here."

“I got you, kid,” Wrecker grunted. She felt weightless in his arms as he carried her away.

“Incoming! Get to the Marauder,” Echo yelled. Her vision was still a little fuzzy but she could see Specter shove on her bloodied helmet and charge at the approaching enemy with her axe. Hunter reached out for her.

Her heartbeat was loud. It was dark. Then dim. Then gray. 

“Come on! Come on!” Echo urged. 

“Specter! Recall, now!” Hunter called out. Omega couldn’t turn to look; she didn’t want to. Wrecker carried the girl into the ship. 

“Head to Ord Mantell. AZI can help her.” Someone.

“Hurry!” Someone else. Dark again. 

Specter bounced her leg up and down, gripping her axe with white and red knuckles. They had made it back to Cid’s, who had stopped blabbering about their absence when Wrecker came in with an unconscious Omega. They placed her in Cid’s room so AZI could work on her and give her time to heal and rest. Wrecker sported a neck brace and Hunter had his torso wrapped. Echo was relatively fine, save for a few scratches and bruises, but Specter refused treatment. She had a minor concussion but insisted she was fine, AZI thought it was acceptable enough to let her go without treatment. 

The five—four—of them sat in a circle, processing what had happened and trying to figure out what to do next. 

“I never should have asked for you all to do this,” Echo muttered. 

“What do we do? The Empire’s gonna know it was us,” Wrecker warned. Hunter sighed, looking at each of them and at the soft light coming from Cid’s room. 

“We… we’re out of options. We can’t keep doing this, especially now,” Hunter said, his voice weak and tired. “Pabu might be a good place for us to forget it all and start anew.” They all perked up at the remark, surprised he was suggesting it. “We—I—can’t afford to lose her now,” he pointed towards Omega’s room, “and Pabu was the only place she was ever free to be a kid. We can’t keep up with the fight anymore.” Specter felt her grip on her axe slipping, she tightened it again. Wrecker sighed.

“I say we go with Pabu. What about you Echo? You gonna stick around?” he said.

“I can stay with you guys for a little… but I can’t give up on the other clones. And Rex needs me…” Echo said. Wrecker and Hunter gently nodded, understanding his mission. He glanced at Specter but went cold; her demeanor shifted, just slightly, and the air around them stilled. Specter slowly turned to face him—just there, the silver in her eyes flickered—almost as though she were going to say something more. He had seen this side of her only a few times, but didn’t think it was anything beyond his imagination. He glimpsed the monster that prowled under the skin of his teammate, flickered in that silver fleck in her eyes.

“I’m going to be in the Marauder for a while,” he excused himself, getting up and leaving. Cid watched them from the bar and sighed.

“How about I pour you guys some drinks?” she offered. The three stood up, Specter gazed at the chair they accidentally set out for Tech as Wrecker walked by it. She passed by Hunter, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Can I talk to you?” she requested in a low and hoarse voice. He wordlessly followed her into one of the back rooms. She still didn’t turn towards him, even as they both entered the room. “Close the door, I don’t want Wrecker to hear.” Hunter carefully closed the door behind them. Only after that did she turn to face him; her eyes were red with tears long gone and the bags under her eyes had darkened. 

“I can’t go back to Pabu,” she admitted, turning to rest her hands on a nearby table. “I should never have interfered. I can’t look at Phee and tell her that he’s…” Specter cried out and wiped everything off the table in a frenzy of short-lived rage before tangling her hands in her hair. “We should have listened to Cross when he warned us but now we’re in too deep. We are nowhere near closer to finding him and now Tech is gone!” she shouted, pacing the room and losing her breath in her breakdown.

“He’s dead. He’s dead and it should have been me.” Hunter stepped forward to wrap her in his arms before she could say anything more. She sobbed into his neck, he stroked her hair with shaky hands. “I love you, but I can’t just give up and allow his sacrifice, his Plan 99, to be for nothing.” Her tears were gone again soon enough; she hiccuped as she rested her head against his chest. 

“Please say something,” she whispered. Hunter pulled away and cradled her face, he had been crying too. 

“I hear you. And I understand you. But his sacrifice was so that we could escape the Empire. We can do that on Pabu and when we get there, we can figure things out,” he offered. She sniffed, wiping her face. He hugged her again, resting his cheek by her head. “I know you want revenge, and so do I. But I cannot—will not—stand to put you and Omega in danger anymore. I know Tech would want the same thing. Crosshair too, with or against the Empire. I love you both too much to know that enough is enough.” She stilled at the mention of her twin. The taste of bitterness, perhaps bile, filled her mouth, she buried her face more into Hunter, weakly hugging him back. “Do you understand me, Spec?” 

She nodded.

“I’d like for you to say it.”

“I understand you.” She didn’t. She couldn’t. But for his sake she said so.

“Thank you, starlight,” he whispered, kissing the side of her head. Specter still hung her head, dejected and tired beyond anything. He pulled back, gently taking her hands in his and looking at the blood caked on her knuckles. “You really did a number on those troopers.”

“Did she see?” she asked. She was vicious and practically feral after their railcar crashed on Eriadu; the boys theorized it was some sort of Valkyrie state—Specter knew it was nothing but her own rage. Perhaps it was another defect of hers to be susceptible to fits of bloodlust.

“I don’t know. I’d like you to have AZI take a look and bandage you up while I check on her. Is that alright?” he offered. 

“Okay,” she mouthed just below a whisper. They left the room and went into where Omega was still unconscious. The droid noticed them. 

“She is in stable condition,” AZI said. “She suffered a concussion, a bruised rib, and a sprained ankle, but I was able to successfully treat all of her injuries. She should wake up soon.” Hunter brushed the girl’s hair out of her face and sat by her. Specter came close too, wanting to reach out for her, but recoiled at the thought of hurting her more. Instead, the woman turned to the droid.

“You wanna take a look at my hands?” she offered. The droid eagerly hovered toward her, scanning her hands and the rest of her as they walked out of the room toward the bar. “How bad is it?”

“You have no fractures, but you are at the risk of dislocating or possibly chipping your knuckles. I recommend cleaning your wounds and wrapping your hands to prevent further displacement and provide support for your ligaments and tendons,” the droid recommended. 

“And my concussion?”

“Fully recovered, as it was only minor. But your serotonin and dopamine levels are severely depleted… more so than the others.” AZI said the latter facts quieter for Specter’s discretion. She didn’t respond, only grabbing the bandages AZI offered and headed to the washroom. 

Omega groaned, feeling a dull ache everywhere. Her eyes fluttered open, finding herself in a dim room. Turning her head, she saw Hunter next to her with his head down on the makeshift bed.

“Hunter?” she said aloud. He perked up, relieved to see her okay.

“Hey, kid,” he softly greeted, leaning forward to brush hair out of her face. The girl groaned as he helped her sit up a little, supporting her head with his hand.

“W-what happened?” she asked. AZI floated in just in time.

“Hello, Omega. I am relieved you are awake,” he said, scanning her over. “You each sustained multiple injuries. However, you all will make a full recovery with proper treatment and rest,” the droid explained. Wrecker appeared in the doorway, massaging the back of his head.

“You’re… you’re okay,” Wrecker sighed with relief upon seeing the girl, kneeling down to her. Specter came in after him, though she pressed herself against the doorway, holding her arms with bandaged knuckles. “Don’t scare us like that again,” he said, hugging her.

“How do you feel?” Specter asked, though her voice was still hoarse.

“I don’t know,” the girl said. “The last thing that I remember, we were in the railcar when…” she gasped, “where’s Tech?” All three of the Batchers deflated. Specter lowered her head, letting her hair fall over her face.

“Omega…” Hunter slowly said, “Tech didn’t make it.”

“We have to go back!” the girl insisted. “What if he’s hurt? He… he needs us. Tell him, Wrecker.” Not even Wrecker could convince her of the truth, or Hunter to follow the lie. “We can’t just leave him!”

“Omega,” Hunter tried to explain, reaching for her shoulder. 

“No!” She swiped his hand away. “Tech’s not gone! He… he can’t be,” she broke down into tears, letting Hunter sit next to her and wrap an arm around her.

“I know, kid,” he soothed. Wrecker sighed, sniffling a little as tears started to form again; Specter watched him leave the room, she hated to see him cry. AZI followed him out, patting his back in comfort. Omega leaned against Hunter.

“Why did Tech do that?” she wondered, looking up at him and rubbing her eyes.

“He knew we were out of time,” he started to explain. “Tech put the squad ahead of himself. He made a sacrifice, Omega, and we’re not gonna waste it.”

“What does that mean?”

We’re giving up and letting them win, Specter wanted to say, still upset with the decision. 

“The galaxy has changed, and so have we. It’s time to put being soldiers behind us for good. Wrecker and I think Pabu would be a good place to make a new life for ourselves. And the rest of it, well, we can figure out along the way.” Hunter placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. Specter could see Omega was surprised they were going to settle down.

“Omega, is that something you want?” he asked. Specter quietly scoffed, bitter that he asked Omega instead of her… but she supposed the kid would be the driving force of all their decisions. Guilt overshadowed her bitterness. The girl nodded. “Then that’s what we’ll do.” Hunter stood up, grabbing the empty canteen from beside the girl’s bed. “I’ll get you some more water,” he excused himself, walking out of the room and giving a pointed glance at Specter when he passed. Specter returned the glance and looked back at the girl, who gazed at her with pleading and tired eyes; she reached out for her, Specter couldn’t resist the pull.

Her heart melted as she went to warmly embrace Omega. Specter held her close, kissing the top of her head and slowly rubbing her back as the girl cried again.

“Shh, shh, I know, hun, I know,” she comforted. “We’ll be okay,” she promised. Omega nodded, her clutch on Specter loosening as her cries slowed to a stop. “I’m sorry about everything,” the woman started to say, “We should never have taken that mission. It was too risky, too… violent.” Specter looked at the bandages on her hands.

She could still hear armor and bones cracking, screams of pain as she brutally attacked the soldiers that came upon them after the crash. She could see their terrified faces as her punches broke through their helmets. It felt natural, as though she had stepped into a role that was made and waiting for her.

“Specter,” Omega interrupted her thoughts, pulling away to look up at her, “it’s okay.” Specter shakily placed her hand on the side of the girl’s face; Omega held it close and leaned into it, feeling the bandages wrapped around her knuckles. “You were just angry, and trying to protect us. Like any big sister or mother would,” she said. Specter felt her lip quiver but she smiled from her kind words. With both bandaged hands, she held Omega’s face and kissed her forehead. 

A commotion was heard, Hunter ran in with blaster-fire behind him. Imperial commandos were hot on his tail, but he closed the door between them

“What’s happening?” Omega asked, standing up along with Specter. 

“It’s the Empire,” he explained, out of breath but already moving to the adjoining room and shoving crates out of the way. “Take the mining tunnels to the spaceport and find Echo. I’ll get Wrecker,” he instructed.

“Hunter, you’re injured and in no condition to fight them alone. Let me help you,” Specter said, even as he practically shoved her axe into her arms and opened the hatch to the tunnels. 

“No. You, Omega, and AZI need to go,” he growled, helping Omega take the first few steps down the hatch and handing the girl her bow. Specter still stood defiantly, refusing to go. ”That’s an order!”

“I am not leaving you behind!” she argued. He angrily stood up and held her face, smashing his lips onto hers; Specter could taste desperation and feel his fear, almost as though he knew this wouldn’t end well. When he pulled away she gazed at him with pleading eyes. 

“I can’t lose you. Either of you. Please, go now,” he whispered. She swallowed her words, barely moving her head in a nod, and crouched down to join Omega and AZI down the tunnel. They both watched as Hunter closed the hatch and walked away. The girls only climbed down so far before Specter stopped, Omega with her.

“Omega? Miss Specter? We must keep moving,” the droid urged. 

“I can’t do it. We already lost Tech. I’m not gonna lose them too,” the girl insisted. 

“I know, hun,” Specter agreed. She took a sharp breath and looked back up to the hatch. I’m sorry, Hunter.

“Omega, take the tunnels to the ship. You get Echo and I’ll get Hunter and Wrecker; if we time this right, we can fight back and escape at the same time. Copy?” Specter ordered, looking down at the girl.. 

“Yes ma’am,” Omega nodded, just as determined as she was. 

“Jate ad. Be safe, alright?”

“I will. You too, Specter.” Omega and AZI descended deeper into the mining tunnels while Specter made her way back up, pausing at the hatch to wait for troopers to finish their sweep of the room before climbing out and into the air vents, hoping to reach the boys in time.

Hunter wasn’t planning on not seeing the girls again, but he surprised himself by how desperately he kissed Specter. He had to tell himself over and over again in too short a time span that it wasn’t goodbye, he just had a job to do first.

He shielded his face as the explosive blasted back the door and the two Imperials with it. With only his pistol, he carefully left the room and aimed out into the bar, only to find a downtrodden and complacent Wrecker cuffed and on his knees, surrounded by commandos with Doctor Hemlock in front of them holding a case, watching him as he shuffled forward, trying to calculate who to shoot first.

“That’s not very strategic, Hunter. You don’t need to use your enhanced senses to know you’re outnumbered,” Hemlock said. Hunter carefully eyed him as the man turned and held the case out to someone. “The Empire thanks you for your assistance,” he said.

Cid came out and took the case, sparing Hunter a deeply apologetic glance before hanging her head again. Hunter wasn’t surprised, but disappointed nonetheless.

“Our business is done. Leave.” He jutted his chin, indicating for Cid to make her exit. She opened and closed her mouth, wanting to say something, but ultimately walked away. “Please, consider your next move very carefully. I would hate for this to end poorly for both of you,” the doctor warned. Hunter didn’t budge. “Here is how this is going to go. You will lower your blaster and hand over Omega. And I will allow you to keep breathing.”

“Omega’s not going anywhere with you,” Hunter bit back. The doctor only held his hands behind his back and tilted his head in curiosity.

“Oh. Well, who knew clones are so paternal? Fascinating,” he drawled. “I’m sure the Valkyrie, or Specter as you have called her, has also developed a maternal instinct I’m sure you find enticing. I would have loved to meet her.” He wanted to ask how he knew what Specter was, but Hunter clenched his teeth, careful not to react. When the doctor was met with no response, he resorted to a different method of mental torture.

“I was saddened to learn of your friend’s demise. What was his name?” Hemlock paused, letting the rhetorical question hang in the air. “Oh, yes. Tech.”

Wrecker growled and strained in his cuffs, the commandos were sure to keep him grounded and contained as the Doctor was handed something. 

“I’m afraid this was all I could salvage. Consider it a gift.” Hemlock tossed Tech’s broken pair of goggles by Hunter’s feet. He allowed himself a look; they were surely his. His heart fractured again, but he held himself together and still aimed at the man. “To lose one of your own, it must weigh heavily on you as their leader,” he said, taking a few steps forward. Hunter watched as the commandos pressed their blasters to the back of Wrecker’s head. He growled in response. “And if you don’t lower the blaster now, you will lose yet another.”

I’m sorry, Specter. He had to. He was tired of failing and losing his team… and it had all started with Crosshair. He slowly relaxed his grip and his aim, carefully putting the pistol down on the floor. Hunter gently took Tech’s goggles. I’m sorry, Tech. 

“Wise decision,” Hemlock complimented, gesturing for two of his soldiers to detain him and another to check the back rooms. Hunter grunted as they forced him in cuffs and stood him up to stand over by the doctor and Wrecker; thankfully he was still able to hold onto the broken goggles. The third commando returned.

“Sir, the girl’s not in the office,” he reported.

“She’s long gone,” Hunter drawled with a smirk creeping in. “Like I said, Omega’s not going anywhere with you.”

Doctor Hemlock only hummed.

“We’ll see.” He nodded for his entourage to lead the two Batchers outside. Hemlock took a final glance around the room before exiting with his team. 

Despite trailing behind, Hemlock carried himself with pride… not noticing a figure appear in the shadows a short ways away from him. 

“Royce Hemlock!” Specter called out, stepping into the light, holding her axe by her side. The doctor promptly stopped in his tracks, eyes wide with fascination as he and the guards faced her, weapons raised. 

She raised her axe as well, pointing it at the man. She had seen Cid take the credit for their capture, Hemlock’s jab at Hunter’s feelings about her, and his cruel attempt to get them to comply and surrender Omega. She had enough loss already, but not enough bloodshed to make up for it. “You wanted to meet the Valkyrie? I’ll give you the fucking Valkyrie.”

Hemlock merely smiled. 

“No lethal weapons. She’s far too precious a specimen to damage,” he ordered. Specter shifted her stance as three of his guards holstered their blasters and charged at her with stun batons. 

Specter glanced at Wrecker and Hunter, both of them shaking their heads and mouthing for her to stop. Her desperate rage wouldn’t allow her. 

I’m sorry boys. 

I’m sorry Tech. 

I’m sorry. 

She cried out and swung her weapon as the soldiers reached her. One after the other, Specter deflected their blows, striking from behind and knocking them onto their faces. 

Entering and exiting her Valkyrie mode was second nature now; one of the troopers met the lethal end of her weapon and was cut down by his chest and head. His partner managed to stick the electric probes of his baton into her side, sending shockwaves through her body. Specter cried out, dropping her axe, but bared through it, slowly but surely rising up to face him directly and slamming her head into his, knocking him back and quickly reaching for her weapon. She could hear the third trooper behind her, she grabbed the axe and twisted onto her back, throwing it over her head and into his shoulder. Immediately he cried out and dropped to the ground.

Specter growled and stood up, prying her bloodied weapon out of his body and stalked toward the doctor. She had nearly reached him before every muscle in her body tensed. One of the soldiers—the one she had knocked back with her head—had recovered and struck her side with his stun baton.

He quickly upped the voltage, not making the same mistake as before. Specter fell to her knees, gritting her teeth as the energy coursed through her. Her hands spasmed, she dropped her axe again. Another baton was forced into her side—the soldier who sported a wound to his shoulder—she screamed out with rage and pain, staring Hemlock in the eye before hanging her head from the strain. A kick to her ribs sent her to the ground, hissing and wheezing in pain; binders were promptly clasped around her wrists. A drop of blood from the wounded soldier hit her cheek. 

Distantly, she could hear Hunter struggling against the troopers, calling her name. 

She was dragged to her feet and brought before Hemlock, who lifted her face by her chin with a gloved hand. 

“Don’t you touch her,” Wrecker threatened. Specter’s defiant glare was threatening enough. The doctor hummed.

“It’s an honor to finally meet you in person and see you up close,” he greeted, flexing his hand and stepping back. 

“Enough of the formalities, Hemlock,” she growled. 

“I’m telling the truth. I’ve been looking forward to this meeting,” he said. “I must say I am quite impressed with the result, despite your genetic impurities.”

“What do you care about my genetics?” she spat.

“So you haven’t figured it out. Did they redact my name on the file?” he tilted his head. “I created you, Sidne. You and all of your other sisters, including your twin, Sigrun.” Specter tried not to react, but her eyes widened nonetheless; he knew her given name and her never-to-be twin. Hemlock smirked a little, gladdened to see his tactics were breaking through. “You could have been so perfect, and so much more than you are now. But I suppose I should be thankful to Crosshair that his DNA saved you from the corruptive blight that took your sisters. He never-”

He was interrupted when her boot collided with the side of his face. He cried out as he was knocked back, one of the soldiers struck her side as punishment. Despite the fresh pain, Specter smiled as she watched the man wipe blood from the corner of his mouth. 

“It’s a shame that you were not my primary objective, Sidne,” he muttered, stepping close once more. She could see the rage shimmer in his cold gaze. “But I’m sure I’ll be able to make use of you and your bloodlust,” he whispered in her ear, wiping the blood that had stained her cheek. She could only jerk her head out of his grasp and watch as a soldier picked up her bloodied axe and presented it to Hemlock, who scoffed in response. 

“Take her to a shuttle.”

The back end of a blaster to the side of her head knocked her out cold.

Hunter quietly marched alongside Wrecker as the commandos led them toward a shuttle. Hemlock had Omega and Specter within his grasp, hundreds of regrets echoed in his head. So much was left unsaid.

The sounds of blaster-fire and yelling made their escorts stop in their tracks. Half of them broke formation and ran off toward the sound of chaos. A walker stalked toward them, firing at the nearby shuttle; Hunter and Wrecker ducked out of the way as it crashed.

“Echo?” Wrecker asked.

“Gotta be Echo,” Hunter agreed as he kicked the trooper behind him, Wrecker breaking his cuffs over his knee. He turned to break Hunter out of his. “We gotta find the girls,” he urged.

“Well I think I found one of them,” Wrecker said, looking at something over Hunter’s shoulder. He turned just in time to see a trooper flying back to the ground, Specter appearing from the direction he came. What he didn’t expect to see was Specter kneel on the fallen soldier and mercilessly pound into his head, screaming in rage. When she had deemed him good and dead, she grabbed her axe attached to his hip and marched over toward the boys. 

“Are you okay?” Hunter carefully asked, giving her a once over. She had dislocated her thumb to escape her binders, her armor sported splatters of blood. 

“I’m fine. Where’s Omega?” she asked, clipping her axe to her back and grabbing a blaster off a fallen soldier. 

“Hemlock’s got her,” Wrecker quickly explained. 

“Just up ahead at the next docking port,” Hunter said. They knew she was their one chance at getting Omega back. Specter wasted no time and sprinted as fast as she could to the port while carefully avoiding the sights of the walker that just shot down the one Echo had commandeered. 

It’s all my fault. I should never have let her out of my sight. I should have listened to Hunter, she scolded herself, tears streaming down her face as the idea of losing Omega was starting to finally catch up to her. 

Just as she made it through the entryway, the shuttle doors closed and they began to take off. Specter screamed after the girl, firing blindly and relentlessly as it flew higher and higher. 

Someone was yelling at her from above.

Hunter.

“Specter! Get to the Marauder, now!” he shouted. Through tears she dashed out of the port, through the once familiar streets of Ord Mantell City to where they were docked. As the first one there, she wiped her face and powered up the ship, waiting for the others. They ran inside a minute later, followed by blaster-fire hitting the sides of the hull. Specter lifted them off the ground and, even with a damaged engine, flew them away; when the tears and panic began to overwhelm her, Echo took over for her. 

Her hands went into her hair, tangling it as she tried to catch her breath and force herself to stop crying. Hunter came around to place his hands on her shoulders in an attempt to calm her. The panic disappeared so all that was left was her sorrow. She brought her hands to her face and sobbed into them, sinking to her knees in the main hold. 

They had never been so defeated. Echo sat alone in the cockpit as they flew through hyperspace, Hunter and Wrecker had taken to the console chairs in the hold while Specter sat slouched on the floor, legs splayed out and head bowed, staring at her hands cradled in her lap.

“There was no way to track Hemlock’s ship,” Echo said. “He could have taken her anywhere.” Specter lifted her head again, tired, and again, so infuriated she couldn’t help but shudder. Hunter turned to look at the tail gun—Omega’s room; Lula was positioned upright against the base of the seat. He sighed.

“We are going to get her back,” he said, looking at Wrecker. “And we don’t stop searching until we do,” he promised, looking Specter in the eye. She matched his rage and made her own promise.

Even if it meant meeting Him—her maker—again, she would do whatever it takes and kill anyone who would stand in the way of rescuing Omega. She would live up to the Valkyrie title… however monstrous it may be.

I am So sorry I cannot change the canon guys! Believe me this was hard to write... Anyway, that concludes this chapter of the Bad Batch. Thank you so much for reading Specter's story thus far and I hope you stick around for season 3! I Will have to take a hiatus so I can get the story written and give you the best quality of work for this final chapter. I'm not sure when exactly, but keep and eye out for announcements and other tidbits I may share. Thank you again!

[bowokshop]

Growing Up Queer in Australia - edited Benjamin Law

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘No amount of YouTube videos and queer think pieces prepared me for this moment.’ ‘The mantle of “queer migrant” compelled me to keep going – to go further.’ ‘I never “came out” to my parents. I felt I owed them no explanation.’ ‘All I heard from the pulpit were grim hints.’ ‘I became acutely aware of the parts of myself that were unpalatable to queers who grew up in the city.’ ‘My queerness was born in a hot dry land that was never ceded.’ ‘Even now, I sometimes think that I don’t know my own desire.’ Compiled by celebrated author and journalist Benjamin Law, Growing Up Queer in Australia assembles voices from across the spectrum of LGBTIQA+ identity. Spanning diverse places, eras, ethnicities and experiences, these are the stories of growing up queer in Australia.

‘For better or worse, sooner or later, life conspires to reveal you to yourself, and this is growing up.’

With contributions from David Marr, Fiona Wright, Nayuka Gorrie, Steve Dow, Holly Throsby, Sally Rugg, Tony Ayres, Nic Holas, Rebecca Shaw and many more.

I am privileged enough to have grown up with the internet, with information about queer people and queer identities so difficult to hide, such that even at a christian school, I was able to find the words to describe myself almost as soon as I recognised those parts of myself.

Even so, hearing first-person accounts of Australian queer people, like me, dealing with Australia's culture and biases, made me felt seen in a way I don't think any other medium could have.

Growing Up Queer in Australia portrayed all different aspects of queerness, from celebration and pride to rejection and heartbreak. It was a wonderful reflection of thoughts and feelings I've had, as well as those I would never have considered to be part of the queer experience.

I really appreciated the range of queer identities represented in the book; from lesbian and gay to queer, every letter of LGBTQ+ was represented. I do wish we got more stories from the '+' part of the queer community, but I am glad that Growing Up Queer does make an effort to include more than just gay and lesbian authors. I especially appreciated the range in gender identities and presentation of the authors, including both masc- and femme-presenting lesbians and their struggles, trans people who realised both early and late in life, people who had strong gendered feelings that didn't neatly fit into these boxes.

I also welcome the intersectionality present in Growing Up. As someone who is white and able-bodied, it was eye-opening to read how deep the authors' queerness was related to other marginalised parts of their identity such as disability and race. I appreciated the variety in Australian class and location represented in the book, including rural, small towns, suburban and city perspectives. It made me really happy in one story to notice where they were from and say "Hey, that's near me! That's my community!"

As Benjamin Law addresses in the wonderfully written foreword, I am very glad that the title chosen is 'Growing Up Queer in Australia.' The use of 'queer' feels very inclusive and tells me Law is not shying away from the tougher parts of queer identities in an effort to make the book more marketable.

For me personally though, trying to digest the a-spec parts of my identity has been a big part of my personal discovery, and for this reason I would loved to have seen asexual and aromantic representation. It seems from personal anecdote to make up a surprisingly large section of the lgbtq+ community, so it was a bit disappointing that with dozens of authors involved, there was not a single a-spec author.

In general, I was a little disappointed there weren't many authors from the '+' part of lgbtq+, such as a-spec, non-binary and genderfluid. There are some identities that feel marginalised even within the queer community and this book could have been a good opportunity to bring light to them. I would have especially loved to see 'contradictory' identities such as he/him lesbians.

I am still giving 5 stars because I understand when compiling and publishing a book like this, there will always be people who felt left out by it, and I can see and appreciate the effort that has gone into diversity and intersectionality in Growing Up Queer.

Growing Up Queer, through its diverse collection of stories, reaches out and says, You are not alone. There are others who have been in the same situation.

[louisepalanker]

My Norman Lear story begins at Metromedia Square where I finally landed a much coveted job as a studio page. These jobs were said to be our gateway into show biz land and, gratefully, the legend proved true for me.

At Metro-Tape, (Sunset and Van Ness) I was a studio page for The John Davidson Talk Show, Gimme A Break, The Family Ties pilot, numerous telethons and all of that year’s Norman Lear sit-coms, including Diff'rent Strokes, The Facts of Life, One Day At A Time, and The Jeffersons, where a girl named Louise quickly and proudly earns the nickname, Weezy.

I was a page for one year during which the entertainment industry dreams of a kid from suburban Buffalo were realized every day I drove my silver Honda hatchback onto the studio lot.

I was responsible for seating the studio audiences, running errands (James Brown needed clear nail polish before he would sing on the Davidson Show. I found some,) and filling in where needed in offices around the lot.

At Christmas, I received a free turkey coupon from Metro-Tape, (Not a great gift fit for me and my toaster oven) and one state-of-the-art Dustbuster from Norman Lear. Yes, his Christmas list extended to include the studio pages. The dust-buster went to my cousin Trish as the maid’s room I inhabited offered only one electrical outlet. She reports that it can still bust the hell out of some dust.

Within a year, I was offered a job at PM Magazine which led to writing for Rick Dees and co-founding Premiere Radio. One of my many privileges at Premiere was interviewing celebrities, which led to one day, years later, a chance to speak with Mr. Lear about his new sit-com, The Powers That Be.

Despite the opportunity to properly thank him for my Dustbuster, It was not going well. I had run through any questions I may have prepared and was beginning to think that he really did not like me when he suddenly began interviewing me.

Where was I from? What did my job consist of? Did I hope to become an actor? I told him that I wanted to write sit-coms. He asked me to send him a script.

Wow. That turned quickly. A friend and I wrote a spec script for The Powers That Be. We were called in to meet the producers. It was there that Mr. Lear pulled me aside and said, “What have you written by yourself?” My spec scripts were stale so I went home and wrote a Seinfeld spec and sent it in. I then received a phone call from Norman Lear who said, “You don’t need to write with anyone else.” OH. MY. GOD!

I was called in to pitch story ideas for The Powers That Be. My memories of this are quite vivid. I’m sitting around a conference table with maybe 15 people. One of them keeps falling asleep. I’m boring him. I better rush. Norman Lear asks me why I’m talking so fast. I can’t point and say, “Because that guy is asleep,” so I slow down. Another fellow is listening to each of my story ideas, nodding and then offering, “We did that on Maude.” OH. MY. GOD! How did I arrive in this room with these people! Astonishing.

About a week later, The Powers That Be was cancelled by NBC with episodes yet to air. You should know that David Hyde Pierce and Joseph Gordon-Levitt were on this show. Two of our finest three named actors! Also, John Forsyth, and Holland Taylor! What the hell, NBC! Also, the show brilliantly skewered modern D.C. politics, featuring a Senator, his anorexic daughter and her suicidal congressman husband. So good.

This is one tiny window into how Norman Lear walked through life. He was consistently sharing his great gift and offering opportunities to the next generation.

Having him and his important voice here on Earth with us for 101 years has been a lesson and a blessing. Mr. Lear, we are so very grateful.

[surfthesinecurve]

What grades did you get on your GCSEs and do you have any study tips? Because, Like I get good grades but I know I could do better but I can't physically bring myself to work..

Also where in England are you?

hi!!! i got four 7s, four 8s and two 9s!

one of my study tips is definitely don’t fall into the habit of thinking only your final exams are important. they are, obviously, and ofc topic tests aren’t officially included in your final grades but they help A LOT if you prepare for them. You make your resources in advance and learn them ages before your final exam, so when it comes to going back over them, it’s so much easier and quicker (and 100x less stressful). if you haven’t done it before, it’s not too late to start now!

another tip is so put equal amounts of effort into memorising content as you do understanding it. to do this i make mindmaps to comprehend everything, and then make flashcards based on those mindmaps to memorise it.

and if you’re struggling to get yourself started, i know people normally don’t recommend it but start with a topic you enjoy/know quite well (or just better than others). it can be hard to get into the habit of revision if the first thing you try to tackle is something you have no idea about. but make sure you eventually do work through the difficult ones!

while you’re working through the topics, make sure you’re following the spec and check you’ve learned everything!

lastly, get good sleep PLEASE 💗 and take it day by day, do the amount that’s healthy for you!

i hope that helps!! if you’re looking for advice more specific to gcse or a level, or specific subjects like maths, english etc lmk!

also i live in liverpool 😋

[dukeofriven]

People who've never played the series, especially the modern games, don't understand just how deeply, unsettlingly weird Agent 47 is— think 'Batman is prepared for anything' but if the Pattison Batman was older, more reptilian, and had worse halitosis. Thus, given some of the ridiculous shit you do in those games OP is not joking so much as writing a perfectly valid Hitman level spec script. Riffing on it, there would be, as some available costumes: convention volunteer, hotel bellhop, schlubby blogger with press pass credentials, convention security, and a shirtless or at least visibly buff fur-ears-and-briefs-with-tail furcon riff on a Chippendales dancer. There would also be a side-story where you disguise yourself as a famed furry artist and have to sit-in at his booth in artist alley drawing tame softcore fur art to unlock intel on the target (or kill him in some surprising booth related manner), proving 47's surprisingly good drawing skills. Conversations overheard in the level: a catgirl in a bathroom who is crying to her friend about a breakup text sent by a real jerk, two or more con attendees all dressed as the same franchise character getting into a heated argument over who has the better costume, staff in the hotel kitchen discussing how yeah it was weird but not nearly as weird as that business convention last year those rich assholes were up to some real freaky shit, a cleaner complaining about getting the cocaine out of the target's office carpet, and somebody whose locked the head of their fursuit in their car in the parking garage along with their keys and is freaking out about it. If you retrieve the head you can put an explosive in it and contrive to get the secondary target to put it on a blow their brains across half of Hall B. You can unlock a wolf tail as a custom garotte.

They’ll never do a Hitman level set in a Furry Convention because gamers would absolutely ruin it but imagine. like the target isn’t a furry he just owns a hotel that happens to have one every year but you can disguise yourself in a fursuit and some guy will ask you “what species is your sona” and 47 would be like “a wolf. i always felt a connection with…hunters.” and then diana would be like “let’s see if you can sniff out some information, furrty-seven” and then he comes to my house and kills me for writing this

[5090gamingpcs]

Why 5090 Gaming PCs Are Redefining the High-End Gaming Experience in 2025

In the ever-evolving world of gaming, performance is king—and nothing embodies cutting-edge power quite like the new 5090 Gaming PCs. As NVIDIA’s most advanced GPU to date, the RTX 5090 has sparked a new generation of ultra-high-performance gaming rigs that push the limits of what’s possible. Whether you're a competitive esports player, a content creator, or a tech enthusiast, these next-gen machines are built to blow your expectations away.

What Makes 5090 Gaming PCs Stand Out?

At the heart of 5090 Gaming PCs lies the powerful NVIDIA GeForce RTX 5090 graphics card. With a significant leap over its predecessor, the RTX 4090, this GPU delivers higher frame rates, improved ray tracing, and AI-powered graphics enhancements thanks to DLSS 4.0. Paired with the latest Intel or AMD processors and DDR5 RAM, 5090 Gaming PCs offer an elite-tier experience that caters to the most demanding gamers and creators.

These systems aren’t just powerful—they’re also efficient. The 5090 boasts advanced cooling technologies and improved energy usage, ensuring that even under full load, your PC remains cool and stable. Whether you're gaming in 4K, diving into VR worlds, or rendering complex 3D scenes, a 5090 Gaming PC is built to handle it all without compromise.

Designed for 4K and Beyond

One of the biggest appeals of 5090 Gaming PCs is their ability to handle 4K gaming at ultra settings with ease. Games like Cyberpunk 2077, Starfield, and Alan Wake 2—notorious for their graphical demands—run incredibly smooth on these systems, even with ray tracing maxed out. If you're looking for a future-proof gaming setup that delivers cinematic visuals and buttery-smooth performance, this is it.

Gamers using high-refresh-rate 1440p monitors also benefit immensely. With frame rates consistently above 240 FPS in competitive titles like Call of Duty, Fortnite, and Valorant, 5090 Gaming PCs ensure you get the edge you need in fast-paced online matches.

AI-Enhanced Gameplay

The RTX 5090 isn’t just about raw power—it’s about smart performance. With DLSS 4.0 and AI frame generation, your games look better and run smoother than ever. These features use deep learning models to upscale lower-resolution images in real time, giving you high-end visuals without the performance cost.

This AI integration also helps with tasks beyond gaming, such as streaming, video editing, and 3D modeling. If you're a creator, a 5090 Gaming PC becomes not just a gaming powerhouse but a productivity machine.

Built for the Future

Investing in a 5090 Gaming PC is a step toward long-term performance. With PCIe 5.0 support, ultra-fast NVMe SSDs, and up to 128GB of DDR5 RAM, these systems are designed with tomorrow's games and applications in mind. You're not just buying a PC for today—you’re preparing for the next 5+ years of high-end gaming.

Many premium brands are already offering prebuilt 5090 Gaming PCs, including Alienware, ASUS ROG, MSI, and Origin PC. These systems are custom-engineered for performance and reliability, with premium components and sleek designs that match their powerhouse capabilities.

Final Thoughts

If you're ready to experience the pinnacle of PC gaming, 5090 Gaming PCs are the way to go. With unmatched graphics power, intelligent AI-driven features, and future-proof specs, they represent the next level of gaming technology.

Whether you’re chasing frames in competitive esports or immersing yourself in next-gen AAA titles, a 5090 Gaming PC will give you the power, performance, and visual fidelity you've always dreamed of.

[gabbarsingh27]

Build My Computer: A Step-by-Step Guide to Creating Your Dream PC

In today’s tech-driven world, building a custom computer has become a rite of passage for gamers, professionals, and tech enthusiasts alike. The phrase “build my computer” isn’t just a search query — it's a declaration of independence from generic, pre-built systems. Whether you’re after blazing-fast performance, budget-friendly computing, or something uniquely yours, building a PC offers flexibility, education, and satisfaction that off-the-shelf machines simply can’t match.

In this guide, we’ll walk you through everything you need to know to build your own computer — from planning and picking parts to assembling and powering on your custom rig.

Why Build Your Own Computer?

Before diving into the how, let’s tackle the why. Here are a few compelling reasons to build your own PC:

Customization: Choose exactly what you need — CPU, GPU, RAM, storage, and even aesthetics.

Performance Optimization: Tailor your build to your specific needs, be it gaming, video editing, programming, or general use.

Cost Efficiency: Get better performance per dollar compared to many pre-built systems.

Upgradability: Future-proof your system with easy upgrades over time.

Learning Experience: Understand the inner workings of a computer, which can be empowering and useful long-term.

Step 1: Define Your Needs

Start by asking yourself what you want the computer to do. Is it for high-end gaming? Video editing? General home or office use? Your purpose will dictate the performance requirements and budget.

Common use cases:

Gaming PC: Powerful GPU, strong CPU, fast RAM.

Workstation (e.g., editing or design): High-core CPU, large RAM, fast storage.

Home/Office PC: Modest specs, focus on reliability and efficiency.

Step 2: Choose Your Components

Here’s a checklist of core components you’ll need:

CPU (Processor): The brain of your PC. Choose Intel or AMD based on your needs and budget.

Motherboard: Make sure it’s compatible with your CPU and has all the features you need (Wi-Fi, USB ports, expansion slots).

RAM (Memory): 16GB is great for most users, 32GB+ for heavy multitasking or professional use.

GPU (Graphics Card): Essential for gaming and creative work. NVIDIA and AMD are the primary options.

Storage: SSDs (faster) for operating system and frequently used files; HDDs (cheaper) for bulk storage.

Power Supply (PSU): Choose a reputable brand with enough wattage for your build.

Case: Make sure it fits your motherboard and components; consider airflow and aesthetics.

Cooling: Stock coolers are fine for many CPUs, but high-performance builds may need aftermarket coolers or liquid cooling.

Operating System: Windows, Linux, or even dual-boot options depending on your preference.

Step 3: Gather Tools and Prepare Workspace

You’ll need:

A clean, static-free workspace

A Phillips-head screwdriver

Thermal paste (often included with CPUs or coolers)

Zip ties for cable management

Anti-static wrist strap (optional, but recommended)

Step 4: Assemble Your PC

Here’s a high-level overview of the build process:

Install the CPU and RAM onto the motherboard.

Mount the motherboard inside the case.

Install the PSU and route power cables.

Install storage drives (SSD/HDD).

Install the GPU in the appropriate PCIe slot.

Connect all cables: power, data, front panel connectors, etc.

Check everything is secured and cable-managed.

Step 5: First Boot and BIOS Setup

Once everything is connected:

Power on your system.

Enter BIOS/UEFI (usually by pressing DEL or F2 during boot).

Ensure components are recognized and configure boot settings.

Install your operating system via USB or DVD.

Step 6: Install Drivers and Software

After the OS is installed:

Download and install drivers for your motherboard, GPU, and peripherals.

Install essential software (browser, antivirus, etc.).

Run system updates.

Final Thoughts

When you say "build my computer," you’re embarking on a rewarding journey. Not only will you get a machine perfectly suited to your needs, but you'll also gain valuable insight into the technology you use every day. Plus, there's nothing quite like the feeling of hitting the power button and seeing your own creation come to life.

So go ahead — do your research, pick your parts, and start building. Your dream PC awaits.

[sovereigncreatureeidolon]

10 Plumbing Installation Secrets Your Contractor Doesn’t Want You to Know 

Plumbing installation might seem like a straightforward job—but there are plenty of insider details most contractors won’t openly share. Whether you're building a new home, remodeling, or just replacing a few outdated fixtures, understanding the plumbing process can save you time, money, and long-term headaches. 

The Hidden Truths Behind Plumbing Installations 

Plumbing is one of the most critical systems in any property, yet many homeowners leave the entire process in the hands of contractors—without understanding the potential shortcuts or oversights that may happen. Here's what you need to know. 

Secret #1 – Not All Pipes Are Created Equal 

Material Matters More Than You Think 

PVC, PEX, and copper pipes all serve different purposes. Some contractors might choose the cheaper option without considering long-term durability. Ask for material options and compare the pros and cons for your specific installation. 

Secret #2 – Water Pressure Isn’t Just About Flow 

Poor Planning Can Lead to Future Damage 

Improper pressure regulation can lead to leaks, burst pipes, or appliance failure. Always ask if a pressure test is being done before the system is sealed. 

Secret #3 – Permits Are Not Optional (Even If They Say So) 

Unpermitted Work Can Cost You Later 

Some contractors skip permits to save time and money. But unpermitted work can lead to failed inspections, fines, or issues when selling your home. Always confirm permits are in place. 

Secret #4 – Sloped Drain Lines Are Critical 

A Small Angle Makes a Big Difference 

Drainage systems need the right slope to prevent blockages. Even a slight miscalculation can cause slow drains or backflow issues. Ask about the slope specs for your drain lines. 

Secret #5 – Hidden Access Panels Are Your Friend 

Make Future Repairs Easy 

Access panels behind walls or under floors allow for easy maintenance. Without them, you’ll face costly repairs down the road. Always request accessible designs for key plumbing points. 

Secret #6 – Shut-Off Valves Should Be Installed Everywhere 

Control at Every Connection 

Every sink, toilet, and appliance should have its own shut-off valve. If not, you'll need to turn off your entire water supply for minor repairs—ask to double-check during the installation. 

Secret #7 – Fixture Placement Affects Functionality 

Don't Just Go with What’s "Standard" 

The location of fixtures (like sinks or toilets) should be based on how you’ll use the space, not just where it’s easy to install. A little planning here adds massive value and comfort later. 

Secret #8 – Insulate Pipes, Even Indoors 

Energy Efficiency and Freeze Prevention 

Most people think only exterior pipes need insulation. Wrong. Indoor pipes—especially in basements or crawlspaces—benefit from insulation too. It prevents heat loss and freezing in cold climates. 

Secret #9 – Ask for a Plumbing Diagram 

It’s Your House—Know What’s Behind the Walls 

A visual Commercial plumbing contractor helps with future renovations, repairs, or emergencies. Always request a copy from your contractor before the walls are closed up. 

Secret #10 – Cheaper Isn’t Always Better 

You Get What You Pay For 

Low quotes often mean cut corners. From subpar materials to rushed labor, the cheapest option could end up being the most expensive in the long run. Always prioritize quality over cost. 

Conclusion 

Plumbing installation services is far more complex than it appears—and unfortunately, many contractors skip key steps or hide important details to cut costs or save time. By arming yourself with the right questions and knowledge, you’ll be better prepared to oversee your plumbing project and make informed decisions. 

[autolevel]

Smart Strategies for Negotiating the Best Price on Used Cars in the UAE

When buying a used car in the UAE, knowing how to strategically negotiate for the best deal is vitally important. While you gain access to a whole range of options in the UAE’s thriving used car market, successfully navigating this complex landscape requires preparation, research, and confidence.

This guide will help you do just that, with smart strategies that enable you to negotiate like a pro and drive away with the perfect car at the right price.

Reliable Used Car Negotiation Strategies

1. Do Your Homework

Before starting negotiations, arm yourself with the necessary knowledge. Use online platforms like Dubizzle, Cars24, or Carswitch to understand the average price range for the car model you’re eyeing. Assess factors like mileage, age, and condition to gauge the market rate accurately. Request a detailed report on the car’s history, including past accidents, ownership changes, and servicing records. This can reveal any hidden flaws and provide leverage during negotiations.

2. Set Your Budget and Stick to It!

It’s easy to get carried away when you see a great car, but knowing your budget and sticking to it is essential. Factor in additional costs such as insurance, registration, and any potential repairs. Having a clear upper limit will prevent you from overspending.

3. Inspect the Car Thoroughly

Don’t be hesitant to dig into details of the used car you are interested in purchasing. Look for dents, scratches, or unusual noises. Don’t forget to test the brakes, suspension, and air conditioning system which are vital for UAE’s climate. If you’re not confident in your assessment skills, bring a trusted mechanic to give the car a detailed inspection.

4. Time It Right

Timing can significantly influence your negotiation success when buying a used car. The summer months or Ramadan will often get you better deals, as sellers may be more motivated to move inventory. Similarly, dealers may be more flexible with pricing at the end of the month to meet sales targets.

5. Negotiate Like a Pro

Be confident but polite during your negotiations with the seller. Leave room for negotiation by starting slightly below the market value. Avoid extremely low offers, as these can offend the seller and spoil the discussions. If you’ve spotted any issues with the car, such as worn tires or pending maintenance, use these as bargaining points to bring the price down. Let the seller know that you are willing to explore other options if the price doesn’t meet your expectations.

6. Consider Certified Pre-Owned Options

For added peace of mind, explore certified pre-owned vehicles. These cars often come with extended warranties, thorough inspections, and a more transparent history. While a CPO vehicle may be slightly pricier, the added value can be worth the investment.

7. Leverage Cash Payments

Cash payments can give you added bargaining power in the used car market of the UAE. Many sellers are willing to offer discounts for cash, as it eliminates the need for financing and simplifies the transaction.

Negotiating the best price on a used car in the UAE doesn’t have to be daunting. With complete research, keen observation, and strategic negotiation, you can drive away with a vehicle that meets your needs and budget.

AUTO LEVEL — YOUR TRUSTED PARTNER FOR PREMIUM USED CARS IN THE UAE

We are Auto Level, providing smarter commuting solutions with our top-quality used cars in the UAE. We have a vast inventory of used cars with GCC and non-GCC specs for you to choose from. All our vehicles are affordably priced, so you can do away with the hassle of putting your negotiating skills to use with us. Get assured precision and reliability when you transact with us.

Choose Auto Level today and take your driving to the next level! You can call 80053835 to talk to us or schedule your test drive.