#to devices that had heft

[big-red-button-official]

funny how those new-fangled smartphones dropped headphone jacks for "more battery" while at the same time getting worse lifespans and a stting that protects your battery by limiting it to 85%

[brainmuncher]

A mis-text-derstanding

After a long night of patrolling around Amity, Danny damn near collapsed onto his bed. His back ached from a stray ectoblast and his eyes felt heavier than a mountain. Technus had done something to the technology around the town. At random a piece of technology would suddenly go rogue with a virus the ghost implemented. The virus would make the item try to capture anyone in the vicinity using any means necessary. So Danny had been doing regular patrols around town to catch anyone who needed help.

That also means that his sleeping time had been radically reduced. Without even the energy to lift his head, Danny patted around for his phone. Once he finally found the device he hefted himself on his side with a groan. It was a new phone since he was the first casualty in Technus’ plan. Thankfully, Sam had given him another so his parents wouldn’t try to make him one. (Who knows what kind of ‘anti-ghost’ protection they would’ve put on it.)

Tucker had promised that he was working on fixing the virus going around. Hopefully, he had some kind of good news to share. As soon as Danny went to message him he realized he hadn’t downloaded their chat app to the new phone. With a sigh he knew that he would just have to use normal texting but with careful codewords.

Putting in Tucker's number with a yawn, Danny sent the first message.

‘It’s your undead bro. The night out tonight was killer. Any news on the techie progress?’

Danny smashed his face into his bed with a sigh after hitting send. Knowing Tucker he was probably face first in his laptop and won’t notice the message for a bit. He could probably just close his eyes and…

Before he could even consider taking a nap there was a generic jingle from the phone. He should really get to fixing that. Tuck deserves a much better ringtone than some bells.

‘Nothing noteworthy yet. It's harder to crack than normal but nothing I can't handle. Do you need me to take over for tomorrow?’

‘Also why aren't you using our chat?’

Danny squinted at the screen with a slight frown. It had been a while since Sam or Tucker tried to go out in his place. They learned pretty quickly that it made Danny way too anxious to have them out there without him. Something about not being there to protect them if they got over their heads made Danny’s chest ache. 

And of course, Tucker noticed that he wasn’t using the app he made. It was a bit glitchy at times, but what tech wasn’t when it came to Danny? Not only was it secure, but it became an easier way for them to establish a timeline for filing. Jazz had been the one who realized that they didn’t have steady information on not just the rouges but the events of the fights. It became a staple to write out what happened and what went wrong after hearing her lecture about it.

‘Don’t have it on this phone yet. And you know how I feel about you being out there.’

Danny watched the screen for a bit, waiting to see if Tucker would reply immediately again. His mom probably caught him on his computer all day and was forcing him to separate himself from it for a while. It wasn’t an uncommon thing for Ms. Foley to do.

‘Yeah yeah, Mr. Possessive. Do you need me to walk you through how to get it again?’

Snorting at the pun, Danny easily replied. If Tucker was feeling sassy enough to joke about that, then he would push some buttons back. It was a simple banter that they sometimes fell into.

‘You know how I get with technology. I’m more likely to break something. Especially since this phone is so new. Whatever happened to flip phones?’

Danny snickered to himself at the message. Tucker had an ongoing war between new and old technology. While he loved his PDA he also admired some of the top-of-the-line devices. It was like the past and the future mixed in his friend's room. He would gush about the new devices but also gush about the older ones that still had functions that the newer ones lost. But flip phones? That was the only technology he knew that Tucker hated. It was the worst of both worlds for him. He’d been so excited when Danny’s flip phone was bricked by Technus’ virus.

‘I’m going to ignore that you said that.’

‘Also there’s going to be trouble in the park near you tomorrow. I’m already planning on going. Do you want in?’

Scooting up from his lounged position, Danny started to write back his reply.

‘Of course, I’ll be there. Don’t need you to go in alone and join the dead. Unusual for him to leave his plans there though. That’ll be fun to write in the report.’

The image of Jazz reading about that brought a smile to Danny’s face. She always found it interesting when one of the ghosts would change a long-time behavior. The fact that Technus was able to keep this rather on the down low would guarantee her interest. He was always one to blatantly announce his plans to the world to hear. Even though it’s a bit of a pain that he’s learning to keep things to himself it would peak Jazz’s curiosity, which made it bearable.

‘It is weird. And don’t remind me about the report. I still have the one from last week to write and I don’t want to do it.’

That made Danny laugh to himself a little. Last week the lunch lady tried to embrace the Ultra-Recyclo Vegetarian life. In the overflow of food, Tucker had gotten trapped in veggies. He was visibly green from having to eat some to escape. Sam had been excited about it at first before she saw how much food was being wasted. She ended up getting attacked for trying to explain the damage overconsumption and food waste could bring.

‘You looked like you wanted to vomit afterward. Well, at least we are prepared this time. We don’t always get that chance.’

Danny stretched out his stubborn limbs, feeling himself try to sink into the darkness. He’d have to end the conversation sooner rather than later. At this rate, he wouldn’t have a choice on whether he was taking a nap or not. At the familiar sound of bells, he looked back down at the conversation.

‘Unfortunately. Well, I’ll be finished by the time we meet at the park. I know you usually like to sleep after a long night.’

The reply made Danny’s core feel fuzzy with happiness. Tucker always knows him so well. He doesn’t know what he did to get such a fantastic best friend. It was at times like these that Danny knew he was so glad that they were in this together. With two of his best friends at his side, it made being a vigilante so much easier to bear. 

‘Thanks. Remember that not just the dead get to sleep. Don’t push yourself. Goodnight.’

With that, Danny felt comfortable with setting his phone down to get changed into pajamas. It ached on his back to take off his shirt, but Jazz would be disappointed in the morning if he didn’t. She always got that pinched look on her face when he didn’t take care of himself to her standards. Her standards weren’t exactly high up either so it made him feel extra upset when he missed the mark.

Being careful to not lie on his back, Danny got back into his bed. He curled himself into the blankets with a small smile. One last chime of bells rang out in the room, probably from Tucker saying goodnight back. Picking up his phone, he opened up the lock screen and looked at his messages.

Instead of a goodnight, his stomach dropped as he realized a different number messaged him. A very familiar number.

‘Hey dude! I know you had to get a new phone so this is me. Not only did I figure out how it’s spreading, I think I finally found a way to get rid of the virus.’

Practically throwing himself off the bed, Danny got to his feet. Both his back and his mind screamed at him as he looked over the message. He tapped back to the one he’d just been replying to, finding his heart stopping at the string of numbers. One of the area code numbers was a six instead of a nine. He’d been messaging a stranger this entire time.

Looking back at the messages he convinced himself that it was fine. He was vague enough to not be recognized. It wasn’t like this person was from Amity. They won’t recognize the correlation between him and Phantom. Surely the other person wouldn’t take his words at face value. 

Worst comes to worst he can have Tucker take over his phone for a bit and make sure the other person can’t find out who he is. He hadn’t bought the phone or had it under his name in any way, so they could only find out from the conversation alone.

Breathing out a breath of air he kissed his night of sleep goodbye.

‘I’ll be over in a sec Tuck. I think I just made a mistake.’

[mondaymelon]

₊˚ෆ 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐃, 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐕𝐄! | sagau lyney, neuvillette, wriothesley x gn!reader

ˋ°•*⁀➷ cw: theme of obsessiveness, yandere (big surprise!!) lyney + wrio's part mentions past abuse, all the stuff that comes as a side to this au !! ngl neuvillette's part is pretty tame he's literally. just a guy (otter)

⤷ [ you, the heavenly being who created celestia itself, has descended upon teyvat in an earthly form. a god, or at least, theirs. ]

— sagau!lyney has always lived to be beheld by the eye.

Displays of extravagance, bouquets of flowers and pairs of white doves fluttering from his finger tips. Yes, that was where he belonged, standing on his place at the center of the stage, bright lights fixed on his form as he swept in his arm in a wide bow towards his beloved audience. Listening to their adoring cheers and drinking it all in - their support, the fame, their fanatic attention.

Attention was always something he had yearned for. Cold days exist in his memory, where he wandered the street aimlessly, pale skin littered with growing purple bruises, his only refuge the light tug of Lynette's soot-stained hands clinging onto what rags he wore. In those times, he remembers, a faint voice from above, angelic and holy, soft and compassionate.

A voice that was, in fact, yours. You had stared with wide eyes at your device as the cutscene began, instantly overcome with emotion. "Lyney, Lynette... was this how you had been living? Goddamn, I know every character in this game has a tragic backstory, but look at them!! They're... they're precious!! Wahhh, I want to take you in... Lyney, you better come home..." They were merely throwaway comments that you had blurted out in the shelter of your room, absolutely fixated on their pretty character designs and the dwindling number of primogems your inventory held. Not only had you lost the 50/50 to Qiqi herself, you were now nearing hard pity, and the charming magician was still nowhere in sight. You shut your eyes "Ah... Lyney, how come you-"

Light flickered before your closed eyelids, and you felt the wind tug at your body. Your stomach lurched, oh shit, were you falling..?

"-won't..."

Someone caught you with ease, swift and capable arms holding you, one supporting your back and the other hefting both your legs. Twinkling purple eyes met yours. "Ah, are you alright?" You quickly shook your head, too shaken to speak words at the moment. Surveying your surroundings only brought another wave of confusion - strange buildings, glittering blue lakes and trees, an unfamiliar landscape... Your gaze shifted, and you caught the sight of uncanny ash blond hair, and the hat that sat atop it. Lyney?

He hummed in acknowledgement. "So, you've just fallen from the sky." There was no way in mistaking his voice. "Is there an explanation behind that, or...?"

"I...I- I don't know why I'm here...!" You stuttered, and he visibly flinched at your voice, eyes widening. Shit, had you done something wrong? You trembled in his arms, attempting to stand by yourself, but he wouldn't let you move from his grasp.

"I see." His voice was quiet, now, and came in a single breath. His pupils shook as he closed his eyes in a smile. "Then, shall I bring you somewhere where you'll be safe?"

His heart was racing, pounding against his chest, and he could hardly breath, instead taking in short, desperate little gasps that did little to keep him standing. You.

It was a voice he swore he'd never let escape his recollection, and now there was a face, and touch to pair it with. He smile widened, and his eyes shined with pure ecstasy. It was you, in the flesh, his archon, his god, the highest being. Your body was holy, and he longed to praise it, his dark heart being cleansed just by bathing in your presence. Yet you seemed so fragile in his arms, how cute... it wouldn't be fair to keep you to himself, but being selfish is what allowed him to get this far. Like a songbird in a cage, he'd trap you, admire you, worship you.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, and you could feel his smile's sweet grow more sickening every beat of silence that passed. "No, What? I-"

His hand struck the back of your neck. Your voice died as your eyes fluttered shut. And in that moment Lyney pressed a kiss to both of your closed lids, a tender touch that one might describe as "loving", but what truly lie beneath it was far more twisted. His heart beat only for you, and red flushed across his cheeks.

"There's no need to worry, my eminence. I'll put on a show, just for your delight." ₊˚ෆ

— sagau!neuvillette has always yearned for warmth.

A warmth is not present in the courts of Fontaine. There, it is cold, sharp, the biting frigidness numbing the hearts of people - those who stand before him in trial, and those who watch with glee in the crowd, awaiting his final verdict with bated breaths.

Neuvillette was most renowned for his judgement. But it was his own that was a critical flaw. For what truly was judgement? Had he been justified in casting a murderer, in some eyes, but a hero in others, into the Fortress of Meropide? A mere child, who just sought for warmth, just as he had? He fears his heart has also grown cold and indifferent to the world, and he despises himself for it.

Was it not your warm hand that stroked him lovingly so back then, a quiet, soothing touch that swept away the tears and the salt that clung to his cheeks? Was it not your voice who called out to him on those ever so lonely nights, humming an otherworldly tune as your ghostly visage wiped the sorrow that flowed his downcast eyes? Yes, truly. It was your warmth that caused his eyes to glow anew, your warmth that allowed his cheeks and the tips of his pointed ears to flush with contentment.

"Oh, wise ludex! This man is a murder! He stole not only my mother's assets, but my mother's life!" The crowd gasped at the dramatic declaration, their gazes shifting back and forth, from the perpetrator to the "witness." "I will dearly miss her... this man, no, this monster, took my mother away by hitting her over the head with none other than a bludgeon!"

Neuvillette's eyes widened. "Mr... Lucas."

"Y-Yes, ludex?"

"It was never disclosed to the public of what weapon the killer used."

The crowd erupted into a series of sharp inhales, surprised noises muffled by a hand over the mouth, round eyes as large as dinner plates, and frantic head turning. Journalists scribbled frantically in their notebooks, sweat pouring from their faces as they stumbled upon their newest cash cow.

"The verdict. Mr. Lucas is found to be guilty."

And they cheered. For what? Neuvillette narrowed his eyes just a fraction, his displeasure rising. They knew nothing. They were just mindless puppets, willing themselves to follow the sway of the crowd, praising and applauding something that naught needed its praise.

A sensation came over him, like the soft caress and flutter of an angel's wings or a soft, sweet sigh escaping from pouting, half-opened lips. The man snapped his head up, hearing the glass behind him shatter and plummet downwards like crystal raindrops, but what verily sent his heart apounding was the sight of a figure, dressed in heavenly silks, bathed in golden light, and descending into the courtroom. He drank it all in with a bated breath, hearing that for once, the crowd was silence.

You landed in his arms. Beautiful. He almost didn't dare move with you in his arms, in fear of his legs giving way underneath him. Your head lulled into his chest, eyes shut, and your pure, unbridled warmth finally met him, finally doused him in its prescence.

"Your... your eminence..." His voice was a mere echo, quiet, containing little sound at all. "I..."

"To you who has granted me such the blessing of warmth, I shall repay with all of my heart." ₊˚ෆ

— sagau!wriothesley has always wanted... someone to hold him.

It's a selfish thing to long for, and a silent one. Who would pay any heed to a duke's ramblings? Love's a thought that he's never quite fully digested, almost as if he can't truly believe it exists. Of course, he's seen Fontaine's couples, strolling up and down the street, hand-in-hand, yet questions himself in what makes them able to love each other. Perhaps it wasn't his problem with them, but more so a problem with himself.

Ah, that was it.

His heart already belonged to someone, someone he had heard once and never witnessed again. Like the softest breath of the wind, or a joyful child's laughter, it brushed through his soul and soothed it, held it in its arms, and fussed over his messy hair and bruised skin. At times, Wriothesley wondered if it was all a dream, for only something that angelic, mesmerizing could not stem from reality. However, as young as he was in those years, he cannot deny the fact that in his dark days - it was your mysterious voice that carried him into the life, your presence that gave him the wings to continue living.

Yes, since that day, his every breath, every flutter of his eyes and every pump of blood that rushed anew into his veins from his heart was solely for the purpose of meeting you once more.

Another typical day at the Fortress of Meropide - paperwork strewn all over his once-organized desk, a cooled cup of tea sitting next to where his hand lie, the other furiously writing away on the said paper. He ran a hand through his hair, grumbling into his palm as he briefly shut his eyes... only to shoot them back upon in a start as he heard the sound of something crashing against the walls, and the sound of paper, flying everywhere akin to a bird.

There was someone, lying, or rather, sprawled across his desk. Dizzy-eyed and muttering something intelligible, a growing red spot on their forehead gradually becoming increasingly more visible. "How did you get in here?" He's immediately put up his defenses, readying his gloves as he steps over - with quiet remorse - the papers that now blanket the ground.

"...Wh...Where am I?"

That. That voice.

Has he stopped breathing? He can feel all the blood rush to his head, and he can hardly think a single coherent thought, only focusing on the rush in his ears, the shaking of his hands, and the sight of you before him, dressed simply in sleepware and glancing around frantically. Gorgeous. Ethereal. The mere sight of you before him had spurred his heart into an erratic, fanatic pace, beating within his body like he'd die if it slowed down.

"Is... Is something wrong?" He was taken aback at the hand waving over his eyes, before settling back into position, realizing that you had been trying to speak with him for the past half-minute in his zoned-out state. Could you see it? The sin that was clearly displayed in his every breath, in his every inch of being?

"No, nothing's wrong." You seemed to have calmed down somewhat, and while your eyes were still filled with confusion, you tilted your head at his words. How come he was smiling...?

"Ah, then about that question-"

"Home. You're home. And this is where you'll be staying, forever." ₊˚ෆ

(a/n) ugh i swear to god i hate every single thing ive ever written for wriothesley he seems so yucky and out of character WJODJKFLJDSMF>

REBLOGS APPRECIATED!! please consider following me as i amm soosososoo close to a follower goal ive been wanting to reach and itd be crazy if i could reach it before christmas!!!

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-> teehee what if yall left a message on my christmas tree 😶😶😶

[ikroah]

A girl can get somewhere in spite of stringy hair or even just a bit bowed at the knees if she can show a faultless…personality! —“Personality,” Johnny Mercer and the Pied Pipers (1946)

It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’ #26 - Ring-a-Ding-Ding V

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Read IKROAH on Archive of Our Own

Notes / Original Pencils / Transcript:

Notes:

ohhhhh my god why did i make this script so long my hand hurts this took forever aaaaagh

Welcome to the Lucky 38! This is a script that has remained basically the same for a long time but went through COUNTLESS extremely small rewrites over the course of production just to really nail Mr. House's dialogue. He's a long-winded guy, this whole issue is basically just him doing monologues, and I wanted to make sure it was all interesting and non-repetitive. I think I took out at least three uses of "merely" from the first draft.

One of the biggest production decisions of this issue was whether or not to cut the scene with Agnes and Cass and Victor, which immediately follows the end of the previous issue. The reason to include it was because it very necessarily established the change in location from the Vegas Strip to the Lucky 38 penthouse, which would have been jarring otherwise; the reason to exclude it was that it the issue was already extremely long and I thought opening right on Mr. House would have been more impactful. Ultimately, I did keep it, which was a good decision, but only because of the literally issue-saving idea to convey it as closed-circuit television footage instead of actual panels. Every single attempt at overlaying them with the lead-in to Mr. House was way too busy, but that idea really tied the page together like a nice rug.

And lastly, the framing device of the tarantula and the tarantula hawk was actually an extremely late addition to the comic. I had already finished the first three pages when I thought of it. My problem was that Mr. House's constant monologuing and Agnes' sad expressions got pretty repetitive. I needed something to break the action up while adding thematic heft and artistic variety. I've become a real enthusiast for wasps and tarantulas over the last couple months, so this one really was just a stroke of luck. It took only minimal revisions to make room for the framing device, with the most dramatic change being the complete replacement of the last page (which was originally just a splash page of the Lucky 38 in Vegas; bookending the first and last pages is so much better). So you see, the only reason for weaving a scene into this issue of a skittish desert-wanderer getting paralyzed and dragged toward a certain demise by a predator almost perfectly evolved to destroy it was just that I like bugs a lot. That's the only reason, yep.

Original Pencils:

Due to all of the photo-collage in the final version of the comic, there's a lot of panels and details that I (thankfully!) didn't have to draw myself. Sorry that the pencil isn't blue on the last three pages, I've been on the move for the holidays so they got scanned in grayscale by accident.

I did experiment with drawing the tarantula framing device myself, but ultimately went with the photo-collage method because the artistic juxtaposition actually made it much more readable when interspersed with the proceedings in the Lucky 38.

Transcript:

EXT. DESERT OUTSIDE OF NEW VEGAS. The city glitters in the distance, nestled between the shadows of mountains, with the spire of the LUCKY 38 towering above all else.

In the wilderness, a TARANTULA emerges from its burrow.

EXT. THE NEW VEGAS STRIP. On closed-circuit television monitors, a SECURITRON ROBOT approaches AGNES SANDS and ROSE OF SHARON CASSIDY, saying

VICTOR: Well howdy, partner! Fancy meetin' again here in Vegas!

CASS: What the fuck?

AGNES: Victor?

Unlike the usual police units, VICTOR's robotic "face" is that of a cowboy.

VICTOR: And heck, ya clean up nice! Sure lookin' a lot better now than when I rustled ya outta the bone orchard back in Goodsprings*--

CAP: *As was explained to Agnes way back in IKROAH #2. --Lou

VICTOR: --so how's about ol' Vic skips the rigamarole, huh? 'Fore all my yappin' makes ya want to go back, heh-heh-heh! I'm the welcome wagon, see. I'm to come and collect ya.

CASS: Agnes--

VICTOR: Boss wants t'see you, is what I'm sayin'.

AGNES: Boss?

VICTOR: Only of all of Vegas, friend!

CASS: Agnes.

MEANWHILE, the TARANTULA crawls beneath the starlight.

VICTOR: So why don't we mosey on over to the Lucky 38? And your good pal can come along, too!

CASS: I need to know what the fuck is going on, right now.

AGNES: I...I don't know.

VICTOR: And y'know, boss ain't ever let a soul inside before, least for not as long as I've been rollin' around on my spurs, so this ain't just an everyday social call, mind...

On the closed-circuit television monitors, VICTOR escorts AGNES and CASS to the entryway of the LUCKY 38.

VICTOR: ...but heck, I reckon ya'll oughta get along like franks on a fire! So come on! Lift's in the lobby here, and up to the top floor--and we can get the formalities out of the way before ya'll get [cut off]

INT. THE LUCKY 38 PENTHOUSE.

AGNES stands awestruck, looking upward, bathed in electronic green light. With horror, she ekes out a single question.

AGNES: ...what are you?

???: A "Hello" would have been preferable, but it'll take more than a crude faux pas to tarnish this moment. Who I am, Agnes--

What AGNES is looking at is a gigantic SUPERCOMPUTER and terminal, flanked by closed-circuit television monitors and guarded on both sides by SECURITRON police units. On the supercomputer's massive screen is the green-lit image of a face. The face

MR. HOUSE: --is ROBERT EDWIN HOUSE. The President, CEO, and sole proprietor of New Vegas--and more to the point, the intended recipient of a long delayed package.

AGNES: Oh, you...you mean the platinum chip?

MR. HOUSE: Correct. It's a...very precious artifact of the old world.

MR. HOUSE: My world, once.

In the back of the room, beyond AGNES, is an oil painting of MR. HOUSE, standing outside in front of what must have been a very large robot.

MR. HOUSE: In that world, I was the founder of RobCo Industries--a titan of innovation. We created a litany of robotic solutions for diverse markets, such as the Securitrons that you see here, and even a line of consumer-grade devices like the wrist-mounted Pip-Boy. But the platinum chip was, more than any other, my design. It was my vision.

MR. HOUSE: But it never left the factory in which it was originally made. Before it could even cool off from its assembly...we had the Great War. An international, thermonuclear bombardment of unimaginable power that annihilated the world in all of two hours.

MR. HOUSE: But not the entire world. Not Vegas. Not my Paradise. From my fortress of the Lucky 38, I saw to that. But as for the rest of the world, and my platinum chip--it took generations.

MR. HOUSE: First for the scarce remnants of humanity to crawl out from under their rocks, and for the world to at least resemble a functioning society again in which to do trade. And then for the work itself--of countless scavengers, treasure-seekers, and the like, all contracted to comb over the wreckage of Sunnyvale. It cost millions of caps, and later, New California dollars. And a not insignificant piece of my pre-war fortune as well. I, quite literally, moved mountains.

MR. HOUSE: I do not believe in providence, Agnes, but I do believe in destiny. How else to explain it? It was pristine when it was found. Neither the bombs nor the passage of time had so much as scuffed its sheen. But still...its value far transcended the mere market price of pure platinum.

MR. HOUSE: Amusingly, despite the discovery, I was still only as close to acquiring the chip as I had been originally in 2077. A final ordeal remained for me: how to ensure the safety of the platinum chip en route to its destination, from Sunnyvale to Vegas, without broadcasting its preciousness to thieves, armies, and raiders--or worse, to heavily armed fetishists for pre-war technology like the Brotherhood of Steel?

MR. HOUSE: Misdirection. Through a network of anonymous liaisons, I contracted the Mojave Express for a batch of deliveries, all superficially similar knick-knacks, to various intermediaries of myself. All but one of the orders were totally worthless decoys. But your identity as the carrier of the one genuine item was somehow compromised, leading to you getting attacked, and to the second disappearance of the chip.

MR. HOUSE: But look around you. Look where you are. You've made it, haven't you?

AGNES, still staring up at the visage of MR. HOUSE on-screen, doesn't respond. She frowns, nervous. The SECURITRONS guarding MR. HOUSE observe her stoically.

MR. HOUSE: Let me clarify: I had nothing to do with Benny's ambush. Heavens no! It goes completely against my interests. It would have been a perfectly quotidian day's work for you if not for his, and I stress, unexpected involvement. The platinum chip...belies its significance. For Benny to have not only discovered its delivery route but possibly enough of that significance to motivate such an act, this constituted a very troubling breach of my security. And I had been looking into it...but in a way, the issue seems to have resolved itself. Hm?

MR. HOUSE: A wild card. Now removed from the deck.

AGNES' gaze sinks to the floor.

MEANWHILE, a small shadow blots out the starlight in the desert outside of Vegas. It flies over the exploring TARANTULA.

AGNES looks back up at MR. HOUSE.

AGNES: I killed him.

HOUSE: So you did. I only wish that we could have spoken before you went rogue on my former protégé: if this story breaks, I can grant you amnesty, but not without controversy. And your infamy as an assassin could make our further arrangements quite difficult.

AGNES: Um...I didn't think there would be more to it than delivering the--

MR. HOUSE: Oh! Of course, of course! My apologies. Two hundred years of anticipation and yet I'm still getting ahead of myself. Well--would you mind? I've been waiting a long time for my mail.

The SECURITRON closest to AGNES wheels forward with its claw outstretched. AGNES reaches her fingers into a pocket beneath the belt of her dress to produce it: the PLATINUM CHIP. She holds it in her hand for a brief moment.

MEANWHILE, the shadow descends; the TARANTULA HAWK engages the TARANTULA.

AGNES relinquishes the PLATINUM CHIP to the SECURITRON.

MR. HOUSE: Thank you--it's a relief to pay for this chip for the final time.

The SECURITRON inserts the PLATINUM CHIP into a slot in MR. HOUSE'S supercomputer, feeding it into the drive with a CLIK.

MEANWHILE, the TARANTULA is fighting the TARANTULA HAWK.

From behind AGNES, another SECURITRON presents her with a stack of NEW CALIFORNIA REPUBLIC DOLLARS, which she gingerly takes in her hand and looks over.

MR. HOUSE: And I trust that you're satisfied with the agreed-upon compensation from the delivery contract, yes?

AGNES: Yeah, it's...it's fine...I'll be going now. Thanks.

MR. HOUSE: Oh? But you've only just arrived. I insist that you make yourself at home.

SFX: KZZSZZZTTT

The faces on the screens of the SECURITRONS in MR. HOUSE'S penthouse suddenly change from policemen to soldiers. AGNES recoils and tries to step away.

AGNES: H-hey, uh--

MEANWHILE, the TARANTULA HAWK pierces the underbelly of the TARANTULA with its stinger.

SECURITRONS surround AGNES.

MR. HOUSE: You are the first guest ever through the doors of the Lucky 38, you know. Nobody has so much as checked a coat inside since the war, so this meeting confers you a significant level of privilege...and inevitable celebrity. The people of Vegas have always gossiped, after all. Many have even clawed at the door desperately with dreams of being where you now stand. Surely you can comprehend how this compulsion to leave after such a deliberate and remarkable invitation risks considerable insult--to both myself and my citizenry? And very deliberate this invitation was. Don't you realize: if handing off my package was all for which you were needed, why wouldn't I have just had Victor relieve you of the chip outside? No, no, you see, as necessary as its acquisition was, the chip is ultimately just a key, for unlocking a new frontier...of possibilities.

MR. HOUSE: Possibilities for prosperity, peace, and technological advancement that haven't been seen in two hundred years. Possibilities greater than anything the New California Republic or Caesar's Legion could dream of, let alone achieve, by playing pretend in the clothes of their forebearers and convincing everyone else that it's statecraft. Possibilities--which if they key is turned by human hands--become certainties.

AGNES (a whisper): Are you not human?

MR. HOUSE: Don't let the video screens and computer terminals fool you: I am a living human. No less so than you. I just live with a particular set of, well...handicaps.

AGNES: You said you'd waited hundreds of years to--

MR. HOUSE: One could argue that the world has been waiting hundreds of years for this moment. Waiting for me. For the chip. For the long-dormant doors of the Lucky 38 to finally open, to a single and specially ordained individual: you, Agnes. And there are tremendous things waiting for us, waiting for us to accomplish them, together. I certainly couldn't do them with Benny. What do you say?

MEANWHILE, the TARANTULA has become completely paralyzed by the TARANTULA HAWK'S venom. The TARANTULA HAWK seizes its prey.

AGNES: ...no.

MR. HOUSE: I'm sorry--"No?"

AGNES: Yes--I mean, no. No! I don't want to help you! I...

Tears well in AGNES' eye.

AGNES: ...I just want to go back home.

MR. HOUSE: ...I see. Hmm.

MR. HOUSE: How do I put this in a way you'll understand?

MR. HOUSE: The die is cast.

AGNES, crying, looks up at MR. HOUSE again. Fear bulges on her face.

MR. HOUSE: Throughout the long delivery of this chip, several precise plans and fortuitous coincidences have aligned in just such a way as to make you, you specifically at this exact juncture, an irreplaceable asset in the ongoing endeavor of this wounded world's recovery from otherwise hopeless ruin.

MR. HOUSE: Your cooperation going forward is not merely crucial to this endeavor's success, but it's utterly non-negotiable. Should you entertain the moral issue of what's at stake, it's obligatory, even. It's why your refusal comes as such a...genuine surprise. Can't you see?

MR. HOUSE: I'm not a fascist, Agnes--I would never force you. But given the circumstances, I'm entitled, wouldn't you agree, to at least a brief demonstration of my vision? The vision that the platinum chip promises? Victor has surely seen your companion to the presidential suite by now--my other Securitrons can escort you to the basement, where I'm sure you can make a...properly informed decision.

The SECURITRONS close in on AGNES, who screams in protest.

AGNES: No! I said no! I already delivered your chip, I--I killed Benny! I-- I-- ...what do you want with me!?

MR. HOUSE: Haven't you been listening? I want what's best for you--for us. I know it's a lot, but bear with me for one moment longer, and I can assure you--that this is the beginning of something very incredible.

MEANWHILE, the TARANTULA HAWK has dragged the paralyzed TARANTULA back to the entrance of its own burrow.

The TARANTULA HAWK shoves its helpless prey into the hole, and then crawls in after it.

The TARANTULA is not seen again.

[yorshie]

5. “Just put your arms around me.”

With Raph. Fluff or romantic.

Ooo thank you for requesting! Writing romantic Raph is just like "treat yourself", ya know?

You weren't expecting your phone to ping with a message alert, hair up from a shower and mind buzzing with thoughts about what to cook for dinner. When you flipped the device over to see who it was, your eyebrows rose, surprised at what you found.

Big Red: Hey, sweetheart, are you busy tonight?

Your head cocked to the side, fingers moving quickly to reply that you weren't planning on doing anything big. Two seconds after you sent off the text, a heavy handed knock tapped your window with a familiar tune.

Smiling, you crossed the room, pulling back the curtain and scrunching your nose in hello to the red banded turtle perched outside on the ledge patio.

"Raph," you breathed, once you had unlocked the window and he had pulled the pane up, "what are you doing here?"

He gave you that soft, one sided smirk, shifting his weight to his far arm so he could hold the closest one out to you. "What does it look like? I'm picking my girl up for a date."

The line had you giggling, leting his hand slot against your own without hesitation, though you resisted his pull for a moment. "Hold on, let me get a hat at least, with the weather I'm likely to get a cold."

"Bring a coat too!" He called through the window, watching you as you grabbed said hat, shoes, and coat before returning to him at the window.

"Are pjs acceptable for a date?" You finally let him tug you out on the ledge patio next to him, your question soft as you craned your head up to meet his gaze.

He snorted, the air hot on the top of your head, "babe, you could show up in a paper sack, and you'd still be perfect. Here," he turned you sideways in the little space, bent his knees to bring his shoulders down to your level. "Just put your arms around me, need at least one free hand for this bit."

"My my," you teased, letting your hands smooth over his shoulders and lock in the little space between the back of his head and his shell, delighting in the rumble he gave at your proximity. "you were being literal when you said you were 'picking your girl up', huh?"

He flexed his traps at the sass, the muscle doubling, and snorted his amusement into your ear, before one large hand hooked behind your knees and he hefted you closer to him. "How does dinner, then a movie sound?They got one going on at that big screen in the park."

You held your breath as he jumped straight up, only breathing out when he caught the ledge he was aiming for and kicked off again. "Sounds-" he landed heavy on the top of the building, and your arms tightened around his neck, wary for half a heartbeat until his free hand shot out and he caught himself in a smooth roll of muscle "-lovely, Raph."

He chuckled, bunting his head gently against your own until you looked up at him, eyes soft and voice low. "Thought I'd drop you, sweetheart?"

"Never." You assured, letting him steal a kiss before he jostled you a bit, letting you settle into the curve of his arm and plant your elbow against his shell, before he eyed the gap to the next building.

"Just hold on to me," he reiterated, before bounding forward again.

[kyushiblast]

⤷ 〝 don’t fret. 〞

➞ pairing : grusha x gn! reader

➞ summary : you’re a pro electric guitar player and grusha just so happens to catch you playing one of your songs to his cetoddle.

➞ genre : fluff

➞ cw / other : nothing

➞ a/n : small idea

you’d beat your last gym with flying colors, the snow in the air flurrying around as if makeshift confetti for your win.

grusha was a little cold with his words. but that didn’t stop you from befriending him and inviting him to hangouts even before you’d decided to battle him.

“feel free to stop by again …if you don’t mind the cold, that is.” grusha had offered before walking away, his cetoddle in tow. or so you both thought.

once you’d finished waving goodbye and had calmed down a bit, you went over to the pokemon center close by. the warm aura of the lights and healing presence felt enveloping in the frigid air of the glaseado mountain.

you set down your guitar case, the weight making you stretch as it was lifted off.

a noise caught you off guard from behind you. when you turned around, you came to realize that a stray cetoddle had followed you, reminding you of the one that grusha owned as his companion.

actually, it was his. but neither you nor him knew that yet.

you collected your pokeballs from the attendant, tucking them into the inside pockets of your jacket. you’d noticed the pokemon in front of you hopping around, seemingly interested in your instrument case being hefted back onto your back.

“curious, are we?” you chuckled. “eh, guess i’ll let you come with us, at least for a bit …” the cetoddle chirped back in reply, trodding behind you.

you got an idea as you headed down the small downhill back near the gym battle grounds. “you know, i’ve got an amp, wanna hear me play something?” you asked the pokemon, even if it did seem a little silly. it seemed to say yes, so you went to go look for a place to sit and set up a picnic.

you found a perfect spot, a plain of white and the gym still in sight, but far enough so that you wouldn’t disturb anyone.

sending out your pokemon, you attached the amp and started checking the tuning as they rolled and rampaged on the snow with the cetoddle as a visiting playmate.

strumming a short tune, the wild pokemon around started turning towards your starting performance. the cetoddle sat down with your other pokemon who were busy making sure the other outsiders didn’t threaten to be a possible attacker.

playing the first few lengthened out notes, you gave into the performance and started delivering some sweet music. your audience started dancing along to it, just like how people would bob their heads to a good rhythm.

and when you picked your final chord, you looked up and saw amongst the crowd of pokemon the one and only gym leader you’d just beat. grusha.

“hey, long time no see.” he stated. you smiled a bit at his words.

the cetoddle ran up to him, happily cheering. “there you are! i should really start putting a tracking device on you or something …” grusha looked over at you. “ …it followed you here, eh? figured. it seemed interested in you when you arrived.”

“yeah. thought it was a wild pokemon.” you started to put away your guitar, the pokemon around you cheering once more before playing with your own.

grusha lifted up his scarf. “nice performance, by the way.”

“oh, thanks! when did you arrive?”

“about halfway through. you know …if you keep your dream up, you’ll probably be able to play abroad …not just here in paldea.” grusha turned around. “anyways, it’s a bit of a long journey back down. my home’s pretty close, you can stop by if you’d like.”

“ … oh, really? sure, i’ll take the offer,” you smiled. grusha could feel his face heat up a bit. “as long as you have a heater in there. it is freezing out here.”

“of course i do, now come on, before it starts snowing.”

you collected your pokemon and followed behind, thinking that it was sweet that he cared.

work of kyushiblast , please do not translate , copy , or repost here or on any other platform !!

[justsescape]

[Introducing the throwback drabble series: old stories brought back to tumblr!]

Ready for your swimming lesson, anon? A shame you don't have some flotation devices of your own~ <3

Kirika's texts read as loudly as her voice; you could almost hear her laughter echoing across the tiled walls. Though this indoor swimming pool was accustomed to dozens of visitors, the club leader spent her nights as a lifeguard, so private access was but a swipe of a badge away. She remotely opened the front door from her cozy security desk. Nothing but the gentle hiss of the HVAC system followed you inside.

I'm going to get into my swimsuit... and so should you, she texted. I'll meet you at the pool, cutie!

If the changing stall Kirika was about to use was anything like the one you had just used, she would be cramped and freezing cold. Surely she'd walk out wrapped in a towel and shivering from head to toe. That's exactly what you were doing, anyway. Even the surface of the pool water was so still that it's like it had been iced over. Moonlight spilled through the skylights and illuminated the room in an ethereal glow.

You spent a few moments handling the bitter air on your own before Kirika revealed herself.

"Here I come~," she called out. Her reputation had always preceded her -- as did her gigantic boobs as she rounded the corner. She'd never win a game of hide-and-seek in a forest. Her breasts would lunge out from behind the trunk of a tree.

"Hey anon, like my new swimsuit?" Kirika's thumbs slipped under the straps like she was wearing overalls. "I went up a few sizes, so I got something brand new!"

Kirika skipped the towel and went straight for the cowprint bikini. It was startlingly, unreasonably small, so much so that the outlines of her puffy nipples drew the cups taut and left a shockingly large portion of her areolae on display. Her stomach was entirely hidden behind the heft of her breasts -- and yet, for their impressive size, they didn't deviate from being nearly perfect spheres. Even beach balls would look on in jealousy at their generous proportions. And with every sauntering step she took, they ever so gently knocked into one another -- making a satisfying and rhythmic bounce that was every bit as hypnotic as a swinging pendulum.

"Sorry about the wait, anon. I took a shower before I came out here, so now I'm all squeaky clean!" Glistening droplets of water slipped down the lengths of her arms, coiled about her shapely legs, and dripped from the tips of her fingers. Some must have been on her stomach as well -- not that you could see it with her massive breasts in the way. What you could see, however, was the bottom half of her swimsuit digging into her waist. A rigorous swimming routine had granted her thighs and buttocks a thickness usually reserved for apple buckers and Olympians.

"Anyway, I brought some floats," Kirika said, taking your hand and intertwining her fingers with yours. A sudden warmth jolted up the length of your arm. With body heat like hers, she could melt ice like she melted hearts. "So why don't you just grab on to mine instead~?"

But what Kirika reached for were not floats -- at least, not in the traditional sense. She dragged your hand between her tits until you were wrist deep, forearm deep, elbow deep into her cleavage. It was comfortingly warm, yet undeniably wet; a combination of her perspiration and the shower water had taken up residence inside and rendered her skin slick to the touch.

"How do you figure, anon? Think they'll float, or are they too heavy?"

She had no interest in putting her question to the test. With you in her breasts' clutches, she forced your back against the nearest tiled wall. Dust shook from the ceiling. She was stronger than she looked.

Kirika couldn't hold her moan. The tiles on your skin were cold, cold, cold -- but her breath was hot, hot, hot. If she got any closer, she'd be swallowing you up completely. After all, her cleavage already was. Your arm all but disappeared into its depths, and now they were fully wrapping around your torso like molding clay and enveloping you from shoulder to waist. Meanwhile, her thighs surrounded one of your comparably slender legs. One little squeeze and she could snap your knee like a twig.

"You're so easy to toy with," Kirika teased, dragging two fingers gently across your jawline. A bead of water dripped from her chin like it was falling from beneath a melting icicle. Her lips were close enough to kiss. "But that's why I like you so much, anon... and that's why I'll let you do this..."

Kirika took your free hand in one of her own and guided it to her nipple. All it took was one little touch, one tiny graze, and milk began to soak through her swimsuit and trickle down her breast.

"Mmmmmmnngh... mmmOOOOoooo...~"

Kirika's moos echoed off the tile walls. The quantity of milk she was lactating was comparable to a garden hose, and soon her product slathered the floor in lazy, haphazard patterns. Puddles soaked into the grout between the tiles; some even dared to venture into the pool itself. You felt a sensation of stickiness underneath your bare feet.

The HVAC system clicked several times as it switched from heating to cooling.

"Forget the swim," Kirika breathed. She craned her neck until her mouth was right beside your ear. Her voice was as smooth as melted chocolate. "Let's drain the pool and fill it with my milk instead...~"

[siberat]

swindle wg thing? 🥺 I need to see that conman get BIG

Swindle’s deal goes sour

cw: weight gain, some force feeding, mild mention of emeto (no vomiting)

His spark suddenly dropped in his chasis. He couldn’t believe it! How did he manage to get into this situation? If there was a mech pulling shady deals, it was him!

Swi/ndle checked his account for the third time, each time the balance read zero. Prim/us knows where the credits went- someone must have hacked his account.

“Look…. Ahhhh….” The combat/icon shifted his weight from one pede to the other, scratching the back of his helm as he chuckled. “Turn’s out I am a little short… how’s my credit?”

“How short?” His dealer grumbled, placing his servo’s on his hips.

“Ahhh, I can get you the money in a few days…. A week max.” The smaller ‘Co/n put on his best smile.

“Do you value my time so little?” Lock/down narrowed his optics, but a grin soon appeared. “I think we can work something out.”

“That would be amazing!” Swi/ndle clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Whatcya got in mind?”

… …

‘Just keep thinking of your bounty!’ Swi/ndle repeated over and over to himself as plate after plate of foods were placed in front of him. While the instructions were clear- each plate consumed earned himself one tote- the combat/icon never thought he would have to eat to earn his bounty.

 But this was no problem, right? In fact, this exchange seemed like such a steal. Just think of the profit margin! He’d be rolling in credits in no time.

However, little did he know just how loaded these plates were. Sure, some consisted of little cakes, but there was like ten of them piled on ne dish. Others had hearty sandwiches loaded with a ton of cybermeat, cheese, lettuce, onions, tomatoes and slathered in mayo. No matter the type of food, it was available in overabundance.

The variety of the spread made the feast look as if set out for a party, but the party was just him. Swi/ndle’s optics quivered just looking at all the dishes…. And his belly gave a preemptive ache just thinking of consuming them all.

He wanted all the totes, afterall.

“Well?” Lock/down sneered, holding his palms out. “Let’s see you put your money where your mouth is. Eat up.”

“Ah…. what is that?” Swi/ndle cocked his head to the side as he watched the other set a device on the table and aimed it right toward him.

“You don’t think I’m going to take a financial hit over this soured deal, do you?” The green and black mech looked through the display, adjusting for the best view. “I plan to earn the credits back by hosting a stream.”

“Hey…. You gonna record me choking this slop down?”

Lock/down simply nodded. “Turns out there are quite a few mechs out there that would love to see you squirming under the spotlight. And who am I to deny them?”

Prim/us, he did not wish anyone else to witness this! “That’s not fair!” Just how many mechs has he upset? Doing the math quickly in his helm, the number equated to a lot.

“And neither is coming to our little meeting empty handed. Credits make the world go round. You of all mechs should know that.” The red button on top of the camera was pressed. “We are live. Put on a good show and make me some money.”

Swi/ndle hefted out a sigh. What choice did he have? Slag, remember the profits- he would definitely make a lot with no overhead. All he had to do was scarf down the meals in front of him.

Easy Peasy!

The first dish selected was a heaping bowl of mac and cheese. Picking up a spoonful, the mech shoveled it into his mouth and was immediately rewarded with such rich flavor! The texture was smooth and the sharp flavor of cheese just burst over his taste receptors. This begged for another heaping mouthful for sure. However, all good things must end, and the spoon scrapped against and empty bowl all too soon.

“Why don’t you give this a try next?”

A plate with a large lithium potato smothered with greasy bacon, sour cream and green seasonings pushed in front of him. “Sure, no problem.” Swi/ndle grinned, just thinking of the deal he was gonna walk away with. So what he had to engorge on food in front of the audience: this was easy earnings!

However, one dish after another slid his way. And dish after dish was consumed, but the pace slowed. While the energon foods were delightful, each swallow filled his tummy more and more. Soon, he could feel his abdominal plating grow uncomfortably tight. Dull aches surfaced, pinging his processor that no more food was needed.

“Finished already?” Lock/down tutted, shaking his helm in disappointment. “I didn’t think you would quit so easily.”

“I’m not finished yet!” Swi/ndle grumbled, rubbing a servo over his swelled belly. “I got plenty of room left!”

Was there more room? There had to be: he only earned a measly eight totes. He needed much more than that!

“I would hate to disappoint your adoring fans…” As if on que, an assortment of pings erupted from the broadcasting device.

Swi/ndle furrowed his optics as another plate was dug into. Fried cyberchicken, and you can bet that meat was sucked from the framework! As if putting on a show, Swi/ndle sucked his greasy fingers clean while looking into the camera, then patted at his bloated stomach. “Is that all you got?”

More plates were pushed his way, and the struggle became real. After each bite, his belly would let out a troubled gurgle. After each swallow, he’d be gasping for breath. After each plate finished, sweat would be dripping from his brow. His abdomen was obnoxiously distorted and quivered in pain! And only three more plates had been finished.

“I think after all that food, you need to wet your whistle.” Lock/down stifled a grin.

 Swi/ndle knew this wasn’t good, but he was thirsty. A large pitcher of light green liquid was placed in front of him.

“Give that a taste, hm?”

“Got a glass?” Swi/ndle asked, giving the flab that squished out his seams a pinch.

“Drink it from the canister, piggy.”

The solo combat/icon reluctantly obeyed and brought the large pitcher to his lips. It was cold and very sweet tasting! However, he noted how thick the liquid was as it pured into his mouth. “What the slag is this?” Swi/ndle coughed, returning the picture to the table.

Lock/down’s hands held the canister in it’s spot. “Does it matter? Chug it.”

Swi/ndle’s optics grew. The recording device sang out pings and whistles. He knew that sound to be credits being sent in via the livestream. And those noises only multiplied as the canister was raised to the chubby mech’s lips.

And the con artist had no choice but to drink. And with each gulp, he swore his belly bulged out even more! His plating grew tight, and not even halfway through the drink, a loud pang rang through the air.

Dear Prim/us, was that his abdominal plating shooting across the room? The pressure on his abdomen decreased and something heavy but soft bounced on his lap. Exploring servo’s rubbed the mass, confirming yes, this was his protomesh belly resting upon his thighs, fully exposed for the world to see.

How embarrassing! And painful! The mass ached as if the beachball of the belly was about to pop. But the cream kept puring down his maws, and the pained mech kept swallowing. More spasms trembled though his belly.

How much more could his poor tanks endure?

When the canister finally lowered from his lips, Swi/ndle gasped. What a relief to be able to breath in air to cool off his warming frame! But this was short lived. His tummy cramped and spasmed, it’s surface itching from the freshly acquired stretchmarks.

Isn’t that just peachy?

Swi/ndle whined as his belly churned, its surface shaking like an earthquake. A sharp and clenching ached formed from deep within. This uncomfortable feeling caused the combinor’s optics to shoot wide open.

Something was coming up. He could feel the pressure rising, creating a stabbing sensation along his internal digestion tract. All the while, the chimes rang, reminding the pained mech he was in front of an audience. Prim/us, if he purged, he would be mortified!

Not to mention he would most likely have to return the totes if he lost the meals.

Swi/ndle swallowed hard a few times, attempting to coax his belly’s contents to stay put, but this was a losing battle. Whatever this feeling was, it was rising rapidly. He barely had time to moan before his throat tubing widened, releasing an obnoxiously wet belch in the air.

“Bllllllaaaaaaaaaarrrrruuuuuughgggghhhhhhhhh….” It was loud. It was painful. It echoed through the room.

And the viewers went wild, but all Swi/ndle could do was sit there, gasping for breath as he rubbed his obnoxiously stuffed belly.

“Have you had enough?” Lock/down chuckled. “You only earned twelve totes.”

“That’s it?” Swi/ndle griped, feeling incredibly overstuffed and sick. The burps kept coming, and his belly kept growling. “You sure you counted correctly?”

That wasn’t nearly as much as he wanted to take home!

But one troubled question festered in his processor: which dish would be easy to consume next?

[indigosabyss]

Senku's Adventures in Konoha: Shuriken Training

Iruka kept an especially close eye on his charges as they all rushed out for the first thrown weapons class of the school year.

The kids in this class ranged in age from nine to eleven, and definitely not ignorant of the way blades should be handled. Except for one.

Gaku Shiraishi - or Senku, as he demanded to be called - was a late entry who had previously been rejected because of both his underdeveloped chakra system and utter lack of athleticism to make up for it.

Why he had been let in after that, Iruka didn't know, but the kid didn't seem too happy about it either.

Personally, Iruka thought that he was using his unenthusiasm as a shield to hide his worries about falling behind. But Iruka may also be projecting.

But still, he watched the boy pout at the back of the line for the shuriken box. This left him with a handful of blunt shuriken that no one wanted.

Everyone else went before him, until finally the last few were standing in front of the target posts trying to hit the center.

Well, all the others were. Shiraishi was sitting on the ground looking completely unwilling to attempt even one throw.

"Don't be worried." Iruka offered, sidling up to him, "Give it a go."

Shiraishi looked up with narrowed eyes. Iruka gamely frowned right back, until he finally hefted himself up and held one of his hands up in the seal of confrontation, eyes closed.

Iruka watched, bemused, "You know that you aren't fighting the target, right?"

Shiraishi didn't respond, eyes flicking open as he picked out one shuriken and then tossed it.

Kids who had been watching and snickering fell silent.

The shuriken had hit the target dead center. It barely sunk in at all, expected with the power Shiraishi hadn't put into the throw, but miraculous considering this was his first time throwing something.

"Good job, Senku!" Iruka congratulated, "Think you can do that again?"

Shiraishi groaned, frowned at the target again for half a minute, and then landed another bullseye.

This process repeated until all the shuriken were embedded within the dot of the target.

The other classmates buzzed with jealousy.

"You've got a talent for this." Iruka tried to encourage him nonetheless, "Now if you can do it faster, that'll be great."

Shiraishi glared at him, "I'm crunching the numbers as fast as I can. Let's see you try to factor air density into trajectory equations."

"What?"

Shiraishi sighed condescendingly, "Never mind."

---

Next time they had a thrown weapons class, Shiraishi came out with a small bundle of cloth, that was finally unraveled to reveal a handheld metal device with a thin barrel pointing straight out.

"Uh... what's that, Senku?" Iruka asked, as Senku elbowed himself to the front of the targets without even picking up shuriken from the box.

"You wanted me to do it faster." Shiraishi explained, a sheen of excitement in his eyes despite the uninterested facade he had up.

He held up the device.

"I call this a gun."

[joeygoeshollywood]

My 25 Favorite Films of 2023

It's that time of year again! Here are my top 25 films of 2023.

25. Joy Ride

Following in the footsteps of Bridesmaids and Girls Trip, Joy Ride offers some of the biggest laughs of 2023 proving once again women can be just as raunchy as men. The cast includes up-and-comers Ashley Park, Oscar nominee Stephanie Hsu, and a scene-stealing breakthrough performance from Sherry Cola. Joy Ride marks a strong debut from writer-director Adele Lim.

24. Theater Camp

Anyone who had aspirations of becoming an actor can relate to Theater Camp, a mockumentary about the staff of a theater camp struggling to keep it afloat. Molly Gordon, Ben Platt, and Noah Galvin lead both behind and in front of the camera in this superb comedy that will leave you singing from the rooftops.

23. A Thousand and One

A Thousand and One is a heartbreaking indie film about a mother's desperate effort to form a bond with her estranged son by kidnapping him from the foster care system following her stint in prison. Teyana Taylor packs an emotional punch with her crushing performance with the help of A.V. Rockwell in her feature debut as a writer-director.

22. Thanksgiving

Eli Roth's filmography in horror is a mixed record, but his latest flick Thanksgiving may be his best work yet. Not only is it a solid slasher with great over-the-top killings, its brilliantly hilarious. In a time where horror franchises can be tiresome, Thanksgiving is one that could call for a second or third helping.

21. Somewhere in Queens

TV icon Ray Romano makes his feature directorial debut in the family comedy Somewhere in Queens. He stars as the father of a promising high school basketball player who goes through perhaps desperate means to assure he lands a college scholarship. Joined by the wonderful Laurie Metcalf, Somewhere in Queens has plenty of laughs as well as plenty of heart.

20. Dream Scenario

The remarkable comeback of Nicolas Cage continues with his brilliant performance in Dream Scenario, a dark fantasy horror comedy in which he plays a college professor who inexplicably starts appearing in everyone's dreams, sparking a national phenomenon that will ultimately take a personal toll. Cage balances the absurdity of the situation his character is in with emotional heft that comes with it. This marks Norwegian filmmaker Kristoffer Borgli's first English-language film and based on how well-executed Dream Scenario is, hopefully it won't be his last.

19. The Covenant

Guy Ritchie's latest The Covenant is a heart-pounding war film based on the true story of Sgt. John Kinley's rescue effort of his Afghan interpreter Ahmed. Jake Gyllenhaal and Dar Salim make a perfect duo in this dramatic, suspenseful film that may be Ritchie's strongest work to date.

18. Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret.

Judy Blume's 1970 adolescent classic Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. finally made its way to the big screen this year in the heartwarming coming-of-age tale of a girl's awkward journey from childhood to adulthood as well as the complexities that come from being an interfaith household. Abby Ryder Fortson shines as the titular Margaret in an outstanding performance not often seen from child actors. Also, we need more Rachel McAdams.

17. BlackBerry

Arguably the biggest surprise of 2023, BlackBerry offers some of the best laughs in the comedic retelling of the rise and fall of the iconic BlackBerry device. BlackBerry is a showcase of talent of its star Jay Baruchel, Matt Johnson (who also directed and co-wrote the film), and Glenn Howerton of It's Always Sunny fame, easily giving one of the best on-screen performances of the entire year.

16. You Hurt My Feelings

Writer-director Nicole Holofcener reunites with her Enough Said star Julia Louis-Dreyfus with You Hurt My Feelings, which centers a turbulent chapter in a couple's marriage after a novelist overhears her husband mocking her latest book. The dramedy examines the thought-provoking nuances of how fully honest one actually should be with their spouse (the answer may surprise you!). The greatest strength from Holofcener's latest is how its humor comes naturally from the reality of relationships.

15. Mission: Impossible - Dead Reckoning Part One

Mission: Impossible does the unthinkable in Hollywood: keeping a franchise in top-notch shape. Dead Reckoning Part One, the whopping *seventh* installment of the Ethan Hunt saga, delivers on a compelling plot and incredible action sequences, all of which is cemented by the star power of Tom Cruise, who has carried this spy franchise for nearly 20 years. There have been hints that Dead Reckoning may be the beginning of the end for Mission: Impossible, and if that's the case, it's going out with a bang.

14. Talk to Me

The best horror movie of 2023, Talk to Me is a chilling film about a group of teenager's ill-fated decision of doing a viral challenge of interacting with the dead, only to mistakenly leave the portal open between the living and the spirit world. What makes Talk to Me work is the family drama at the core of the film and the powerful performance from its troubled heroine Sophie Wilde.

13. Sisu

Inglorious Basterds meets Mad Max: Fury Road meets John Wick, Sisu is a WWII-era revenge action flick about a gold prospector's quest to retrieve the gold that was stolen from him from a group of Nazis. Full of brutal, bloody fight sequences with a twisted sense of humor, Sisu is one helluva ride.

12. Creed III

Creed III is a throwback to the era where Hollywood blockbusters were able to provide complete satisfaction. The latest installment of the Rocky spin-off franchise marked the strong directorial debut of its star Michael B. Jordan and also may have sadly marked the final film of the incredibly talented Jonathan Majors, whose recent assault conviction may be a knockout punch to an otherwise booming career.

11. May December

Often having vibes of a soap opera, Todd Haynes' May December is a compelling and at times disturbing film of an actress (played by Natalie Portman) who shadows the woman she's depicting in a film (played by Julianne Moore) famous for her 90s love affair with a then 13-year-old, who later became her husband. Despite the powerhouse performances from the two Oscar winners, the film really belongs to rising star Charles Melton, whose character finally comes to grips with the trauma he unknowingly endured as a child. And Melton's performance is among 2023's best.

10. Anatomy of a Fall

We don't often get great courtroom dramatic thrillers these days which is why Anatomy of a Fall really stands out. German actress Sandra Hüller gives a breakthrough performance as a wife and mother who becomes the prime suspect in what authorities believe is the murder of her husband, who had fallen to his death from the attic window. With plenty of twists and turns, Anatomy of a Fall will keep viewers guessing throughout.

9. Maestro

Not only does Bradley Cooper give the performance of his career, he has also shown his ability to direct is no fluke. Maestro, a biopic that spotlights the personal drama of legendary composer Leonard Bernstein, is a beautifully-shot, well-acted film that solidifies Cooper as one of Hollywood's newest talented filmmakers.

8. Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse

One would assume that a Spider-Man cartoon would solely be geared towards children but Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse is such a sophisticated film between its complex plot and the remarkable animation that are a continuation from its 2018 Into the Spider-Verse predecessor. Between a strong voice cast, an amazing score and a brilliant cliffhanger, Across the Spider-Verse was the shining gem of the many superhero duds 2023 had to offer.

7. Killers of the Flower Moon

At 81-years-old, legendary director Martin Scorsese hasn't lost his step with Killers of the Flower Moon, his best film in at least a decade. The crime drama is based on a true story on the 1920s murders of members of Osage Nation and its ties to the marriage Ernest Burkhart and Mollie Kyle, played by the reliably gifted Leonardo DiCaprio and powerful newcomer Lily Gladstone.

6. Saltburn

Following her strong debut with 2020's Promising Young Woman, filmmaker Emerald Fennell makes a valiant return with her twisted comedic psychological drama Saltburn, which surrounds an Oxford student who is quickly embraced by the wealthy family of a classmate and the jarring fallout as a result. Barry Keoghan (The Banshees of Irisherin, Dunkirk) proves he's more than capable of being the leading man and is joined by rich ensemble including Rosamund Pike, Jacob Elordi, Richard E. Grant and Carey Mulligan. With stunning visuals and some of the most shocking things you'll see onscreen in 2023, Saltburn is a stirring work of art.

5. The Holdovers

It's been a long time since a new Christmas movie can live up to beloved holiday classics and Alexander Payne makes the closest effort with The Holdovers, a 1970-set dramedy about a miserable teacher at a boys academy who is stuck essentially babysitting the "holdover" students who didn't go home for the holidays. Joining the always-brilliant Paul Giamatti is newcomer Dominic Sessa as his troublesome student and Da'Vine Joy Randolph, who gives a powerful Oscar-worthy performance as the cook mourning over the loss of her son. The Holdovers is the perfect film to warm your heart over the holidays this year and every year going forward.

4. Past Lives

Perhaps one of the more unsung heroes of 2023 cinema, Past Lives is a touching story about love and what if. Greta Lee stars in a breakout role as a married woman who rekindles a relationship with a childhood friend from South Korea but rather than going down the typical "will they, won't they" or "love triangle" paths this film easily could've taken, Past Lives delves into the emotional complexities with such tenderness that only writer/director Celine Song could've told (the film is semi-autobiographical).

3. Oppenheimer

If anyone knows how to make a biopic an epic, it's Christopher Nolan. Oppenheimer is essentially two films rolled into one- a tick-tock thriller about the creation of the atomic bomb as well as a political drama that J. Robert Oppenheimer endured. Cillian Murphy gives the performance of his career and leads a gigantic ensemble cast in a film that despite its 3-hour running time goes by fast. And while Barbie may have won the box office battle, Oppenheimer certain won the war in more ways than one.

2. Polite Society

Polite Society is a brilliant action comedy following an aspiring stuntwoman who believes her sister is marrying into a sinister family. In the style of a Tarantino movie, up-and-coming filmmaker Nida Manzoor makes a strong feature debut that is the epitome of a fun popcorn movie, which have been in short supply in recent years.

Poor Things

Yorgos Lanthimos has quickly risen as of the strongest filmmakers of this generation, proving so once again with his latest film Poor Things. Emma Stone gives an Oscar-worthy performance as a woman brought back to life who embarks on a journey of self-discovery and autonomy and is accompanied by an excellent supporting cast. Like a modern-day Tim Burton, Lanthimos was able to create a mesmerizing universe with incredible production design, a whimsical music score, and stunning cinematography. Going to the movies is meant to be an escape, and Poor Things perfectly encapsulates that.

[lunaraen]

Engi-nearing the Limit

Jesse has, in a word, goofed.

And that doesn’t sound so bad, right, not at first? She’s Jesse, she goofs, it happens.

She has goofed bad.

“Um, Olivia-”

“What the fuck is wrong with your pistons.” The not-a-question, more-of-a-declaration-of-something is directed at the inventor with the misfortune of having been recruited by Jesse for this little venture, and Jesse winces as Andrew’s voice rises to match Olivia’s.

“My pistons are fine, why the fuck are yours so loud?”

Bad idea. The last time Olivia was this mad, Aiden had sabotaged something and had to flee from a wrench flying squarely at where his forehead had been. It’s been ages, honestly, and Jesse would like to sink into the nostalgia, but Olivia’ll probably commit inter-world murder if she gets distracted now.

“Hey, hey, Andy- Olivia- can’t we talk this over?”

“We’re talking!” Having the joint fury of two capable inventors focused on her is scarier than half the monsters Jesse’s fought.

“…at a slightly quieter volume?” Or with nicer words, that works too.

Olivia sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, and Jesse feels bad for dragging her out of Redstonia for this.

“Jesse, you don’t get it. This is obscene.”

For pretty much as long as Jesse’s known Olivia, Olivia almost always prefers snark and subtlety to outright confrontation, but her work is in a league of its own and dear to her heart. Even when she figured they’d never be more than nobodies, Olivia’s always been passionate about redstone work.

“I- okay, you’re right, I don’t get it.” She’d wondered, briefly, if these two wouldn’t get along great, but she’d figured it would be over differences in design, or automation- not this. “It’s a lot quieter now, right? Isn’t that a plus?”

It is, apparently, not!

“I didn’t almost go deaf for nothing, Jesse!” Olivia smacks the lever in front of her, activating the piston she happened to have on hand (always handy for repairs) and making Andrew cover his ears. “This sound is essential to a piston! If I have to wear ear protection for a reasonable sound, so be it!”

Her fellow inventor, shaping-up-to-be-dead-rvial disagrees.

“You’re insane!”

Jesse’s attempts aren’t working, and she can’t rely on Olivia’s other oldest friend, since Axel’s in the spawner chamber throwing himself at mushroomed skeletons and -personified cyclones?- -the wind itself?- a challenge too good for griefers to pass up on, apparently.

Good battle experience, at least.

Lukas speaks up, the hero to Jesse's rescue, except he sounds only passingly interested, far more focused on the devices lined up in front of him, and suddenly this feels a lot more like adding fuel to the fire than rescuing anybody.

“I dunno, Olivia, don’t these crafters balance it out? We could get so many supplies ready; it’s the sort of thing Beacontown’s builders will go nuts over.”

“As soon as I fix how they sound.” The crafters themselves don’t seem to be much of a problem for Olivia, whose eyes had lit up an eternity-also-known-as-fifteen-minutes-ago at their suggestion, but the pistons part of the elaborate assembly line had offended her on a personal level as soon as Andy demoed the system for them.

“Suit yourself." Lukas shrugs, not even looking over. "Bye, Andrew, it was nice meeting you.”

Petra’s contribution is about as helpful, except it’s not meant to be and is also worse, and Jesse gets a sinking feeling as Petra hefts her new toy.

“Hey, you don’t need to reengineer the weapons, right?”

“Knock yourself out.”

Petra proceeds to absolutely wreck the copper side-wall of the lab, dark metal of the mace shining against the duller green. The sound rings out, strikingly unique and as impressive as anything Petra does. Visually, besides being super destructive, the contrasting colors mirror how her weapon looked shattering green, boggy bones, when she’d been fighting alongside Axel before following them to this room.

Lukas is less impressed, glancing over from the line of crafters to give her the look. (Reserved for griefers who fall on him, usually.)

“Really, Petra?”

Riding the adrenaline high of battle, maybe, or just seeing how this is heading down a dangerous path anyway, Petra shrugs, smirk on the verge of a grin as her shoulder rests against the reddish part of the wall.

“He can replace it with the red kind, it’s cooler.”

“It’ll just keep oxidizing.”

Not for Petra to worry about, based on her shrug, and Jesse’s overwhelming fondness for her friends wars with her absolute exasperation at this shitshow.

“Better keep on top of it, then.”

Andrew takes the wrecking of his wall as well as any engineer would, honestly, by focusing on how it relates to his livelihood. His dramatic finger-pointing at Olivia might be earned, because this group is a disaster, but Petra’s the one with her fingers wrapped around the mace handle, eyeing his skull and it’s just generally not helping- and Jesse’s exasperated with him too.

“So that’s your play, huh? Have your warrior smash up my workshop?”

“Not a bad idea.”

All this over how a piston sounds.

Still.

She’s known Olivia for ages, and just because it doesn’t bother Jesse enough doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be an affront to everything Olivia works with and for. Jesse wishes Harper’d had the free time to come with, instead of hunting down project parts elsewhere in the portal network, but then she considers how intense two inventors are and considers herself lucky she didn’t make it three.

Andy scoffs at the threat.

“Please, that won’t work on any of my machines-”

Olivia steps forward and, yup, there’s the wrench, steadily being smacked against her palm as a substitute for where she’d obviously like to aim it.

“Then there’s a certain griefer who can help me re-engineer their insides.”

While Axel might be too lost to chaos and the thrill of destruction for Jesse to recruit him for calming Olivia down, Jesse has absolutely no doubt Olivia could redirect him to griefing the lab, especially not when Petra’s already made the first strike and Andy’s been insulting Olivia right back.

Ah, she loves her friends.

They aren’t helping, unfortunately, and Jesse’d better brainstorm up a way to smooth things over before Andy’s head is as dented as the wall.

She’s not seeing many options.

Lukas has apparently judged this whole thing as a step below wrestling with an ocelot, in term of dangerous stunts he’s not even going to bother considering, Petra looks ready for her new mace to see some more exciting action, Axel’s Axel, and-

Well, Radar and Ivor are pretty good at bringing things to reason, through stuttered platitudes and stern scowls respectively, but they’re both too busy marveling over a vial of something ominous, inky tendrils licking at the inside of the glass and two red eyes staring back out at them.

(She also spies the new bulge in the top of Ivor’s satchel, leather pushed up by at least four new potion bottles, because of course he had to snatch those. It looks like he’s repurposed Radar’s bag for smuggling samples out, too. If this gets ugly, properly, she has a feeling Ivor will be more than happy to jump in and see firsthand what they do in close quarters.)

It shouldn’t have to come to blows, or explosives, or them getting banned from a cool world with weird pistons, but that’s what Jesse gets for not thinking this through.

This- this was a bad idea.

[piedpiperart]

Tim Ten pt 2

Part one Back at Drake manor, Tim immediately went in search of his father’s toolbox. He hefted it up into his room and up onto his desk. Getting out a few tools, he picked up a screwdriver and placed his newly altered wrist onto the desk.

 “Woah,”He whispered, inspecting the device. It was incredible how the technology seemed to glow, yet it didn’t feel like anything harmful. Tim figured it might be sleeping, or something of the sort. He felt a spike of panic at the thought that the device might be leeching his life force or something, but brushed it off. The only feeling he could get from the device was a weight on his wrist that wasn’t there before. Taking a breath, Tim inspected the watch for any sort of area he could use to pry it off before tapping it with his screwdriver. Nothing happened, and the watch seemed unaffected at his ministrations, so he continued. Half an hour later of careful prodding and Tim was about to try breaking the watch. He felt a bit of panic at not being able to get the thing off, and he just wanted to be done with it. It was scaring him. He picked his screwdriver up determinedly, prying more harshly at the edge when suddenly his vision went bright green with a flash.

  Tim shut his eyes quickly, hoping the watch didn’t suddenly want to kill him, and felt a bit of disorientation. It was like his whole body went fuzzy, and he couldn’t feel his limbs. Upon opening his eyes- eye? He wasn’t sure what exactly had happened. He could feel something buzzing all around him, something like electricity? He looked down at his hands, noticing the black, white and green color scheme as well as the distinct lack of human hands.

  Did the watch turn him into an alien?? He wondered. Tim stood up, surprised at how fluid he moved with this new body. Did he even have bones? He wasn’t so sure. Turning, he inspected his new body to find a lanky, tall white and black creature with glowing green lines. And the buzzing. He could feel a pull towards it, and instinctively followed it to his computer. Tim felt a bit giddy as his eyes laid on his monitor screen, and he reached out to touch it, only for his new body to rush to cover the technology. “Woah,”Tim breathed, reeling at the microphone quality to his voice. He could feel the way the computer altered under his own thoughts, and the internet beyond it.

  Tim laughed, feeling excited at the new experiences. Maybe the watch wasn’t so bad if it gave him superpowers, Tim thought. He’d worry about changing back when he was done upgrading his computer though. Upgrade, Tim repeated in his head. That had a nice ring to it.

part three

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Chapter 20: Morut'yc (Second Chances - Hunter x reader)

Morut'yc. adj. safe, secure.

Chapter summary: Safe for the moment, your squad takes a moment to assess the situation before moving on to Phee's surprise.

Chapter warnings: fluff?, Omega is best girl, Nav processing grief, Nav processing lots of big feelings actually, hidden relationship, the plot makes an appearance briefly but this is mostly fluff

Word Count: 4,560

< Previous chapter | Next chapter >

The warm Rintonne breeze does little to wick away the sweat you’ve worked up while helping Tech disassemble the paneling of both the Marauder and the Redthorn. He’d insisted on doing full diagnostic scans of each ship to ensure that tracking devices were not installed by Imps while you were all stuck in the sinkhole city, but apparently wasn’t satisfied with the flashing green light at the end of the scans. He wanted to physically check. 

Sure, Wrecker could have moved the paneling on his own, but you’d stepped in, needing a distraction from the lingering feeling of Hunter’s lips on yours.

Yet distracted you remain. You whack your shin on an exposed beam and curse, eyes watering.

“There is a beam there,” Tech says, ever helpful.

Swallowing down a scathing retort, you massage the bruised area and settle for sarcasm. “Wow, thanks.”

“My pleasure.” 

You catch the tiny smile tugging at his mouth as he turns away to loosen a bolt in the Redthorn’s belly. Soft, gentle warmth blossoms in your chest at the realization that he’s joking with you. You heft the bundle of cables higher onto your shoulder, then carefully step over the offending beam. You straighten up, back protesting, as you emerge from beneath your ship. Tech’s current plan is to link the two ships together to ensure a seamless data encryption and secure a private comms channel, which requires the thick cable you carry. One end plugged into the Redthorn, you make sure that the wire doesn’t snag on any bushes as you approach the Marauder.

“Need a hand?” Phee asks, falling into step next to you.

You grunt. “Might in a sec.” 

She follows you under the attack shuttle, both of you crouching. Tech had shown you where to plug in the cable, but now that the sun has begun to lower in the sky, you’re going to need another light source to find the correct socket.

“Watch your feet.”

Phee stands clear as you drop the thick coil of wire to the ground, flattening the wild grass. As you retrieve the exposed plug, Phee seems to understand what you need and clicks on her torch.

“Aim it at that panel,” you say, gesturing vaguely to the large, rectangular panel tucked next to the Marauder’s landing gear. As the light illuminates the labyrinth of wires, tubes, and empty sockets, you quickly identify the correct one. The wire hums faintly to life as it slides home. 

“So,” Phee says, lowering the beam of light. “You and Dark ‘n Broody, huh?”

Cutting your eyes over to her, you stiffen for a moment. “What?” 

“Oh, c’mon, there’s something there,” she says. She bumps her shoulder playfully against yours. “What happened when you literally ran over to him?” 

“Nothing,” you say, a little too quickly. Phee gives you a dubious look, her eyebrow cocked in a silent eye roll. “Really. The Redthorn was throwing out some funky warning errors that he couldn’t clear. Needed my help.”

She stares at you for a long, hard moment. “Alright, sure. If I ask him, he gonna tell me the same thing?” 

“Yes,” you say, striding away from the panel, “because that’s what happened.” 

You know she knows you’re lying, but you and Hunter both agreed, breathless and starry-eyed, to keep this new development in your relationship under wraps. At least for now. You all have enough on your hands trying to stay one step (preferably more) ahead of the Empire and keeping Omega safe. Trusting Phee to not pry any further, you step out from beneath the Marauder and wave over to Tech to signal him that the ship is ready.

He waves back. The panel behind you sparks and crackles with energy for a moment, but before you can even do anything about it, the electric hum dies down to a manageable level.

Phee stands beside you, at the edge of your peripheral vision. “We shouldn’t stay here too much longer.”

“We won’t,” you assure. “Just as soon as Tech calls the all clear.” 

“I know,” she says, “I just don’t like feelin’ like a sitting duck.” 

You hum in agreement. Letting your gaze drift, you take in the scenery. It’s just as beautiful as you remember from your first visit. Massive trees take up most of the view here, their thick trunks and heady pine scent consuming your senses. The wild grasses grow nearly to your waist. Above, puffy cumulus clouds tower into the atmosphere, the air thick with the promise of rain.

But your eyes keep coming back to Hunter. Perched atop the Redthorn with Omega, the two of them scrub at the carbon residue from the firefight over Nixor. Omega grins at something Hunter says, and even at this distance, the easy, caring smile that breaks over Hunter’s face is as warming and healing as the dawn. Tearing yourself away from the two of them, you refocus on Tech to make sure you haven’t missed anything. 

Kark, if Echo could see me now, you think wryly. The thought of your best friend makes your heart squeeze. You should send him a message soon.

The thought of Echo leads you to thoughts of the armor currently spread out in the middle of the Maruader’s hold. Wrecker definitely saw it when he went up to see his gift, but so far he hasn’t come to say anything to you about it. You study Hunter for a moment more, wanting it to be a surprise for him to see you in it. You make up your mind.

Figuring that the others can help Tech if something goes awry in the next few minutes, you make your way as casually as possible up the ramp. A few of the plates shifted when Tech landed, but otherwise, they remain as you left them, arranged neatly and in anatomical order. Gingerly stepping over the legs and arms, you crouch by the helmet. The paint seems fully dry at this point; you make a mental note to thank Omega for the idea of using the squad’s colors. 

A turquoise sunburst curls over the crest of the helmet, its yellow and orange rays stretching down the torso and limbs. Triangles of teal, stars against the dark-wash field of night, burst across the spaulders and gauntlet plates. A rush of pride crests within you. 

The armor will take some getting used to, the plastoid plates resting atop your clothing like an exoskeleton. Tech did an exceptional job, just as you knew he would, of making sure the pieces fit properly; none of them pinch, jut, or overlap where they shouldn’t. In the tiny, cracked mirror of the ’fresher, you meet your reflection’s gaze as you lower the helmet over your head. 

You nearly rip it right back off, the claustrophobic sensation immediate and terrifying. Chest heaving, you stare down into the black visor of the helmet.

“We’ll work on that,” you mutter to it. 

It remains silent.

When you emerge from the ship, helmet tucked against your hip, Wrecker is the first to notice you. Giving a whoop! that echoes off the surrounding trees, he leaps in excitement. 

“Wrecker—” Hunter’s tone is harsh, dipped down into his battlefield voice, but he cuts himself off as soon as he catches sight of you.

Omega flashes you a smile from atop the Redthorn. She scrambles to slide down the edge, calling for Wrecker to catch her. As soon as her feet hit the ground, she scampers over to you. 

“It looks so good!” she gushes. 

“Couldn’t have done it without your help, kiddo,” you say with a warm smile. And you really couldn’t have. Glancing up, you catch Tech’s curious gaze as he approaches. “Or yours, Technically.” 

He inclines his head. “We will need to make sure the plastoid withstands our usual stress.” 

It’s as close to a compliment as you figure you’ll receive from him right now. You’re fine with that; it’s not his opinion you care about. 

Hunter’s eyebrow is cocked as he halts a few feet away, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze sweeps you from head to toe, and you flush, lips tingling with the ghost of his. For a long moment, you hold your breath, anxious, palms sweating in the gloves.

Finally he grins, joy spreading over his face. “It suits you. You look...” He clears his throat. “You look like one of us now.” 

Ducking your head, you smile, face flushing. “Was hoping you’d say that.” 

He hums, but before he can say anything else, Tech interjects. “The ships are clean and re-encrypted. We can replace the panels now.”

To your relief, Wrecker helps with this part, making things go by much faster than if you’d done it alone. As you push against the final panel of the Redthorn, holding it in place for Tech to tighten the bolts, Wrecker grins down at you. 

“Wanted to say thank you for the gift, Nav,” he says, “before we took off again.” 

You smile, arms shaking a little with the strain. “I promised I’d help you learn to cook. While it’s not technically cooking, per se, blenders are fun. I’ll show you how to make a smoothie first.”

His grin widens, and yours does, too, his excitement palpable and contagious. “Great! What’s a smoothie?” 

“Typically you make one with fruit,” you say after a moment, forgetting that for all their combat experience, the squad really hasn’t had much time to be regular people. “Some people like to put yogurt or milk, protein powder, whipped cream....” 

“Aww yeah!” His booming laugh cracks over you. “Healthy and tasty? I can’t wait.”

The sun is still above the horizon by the time both ships are fully closed up again. Stretching your arms out to alleviate any future soreness, you sigh softly. A presence makes itself known in your periphery. Omega melds herself to your shadow. “Can I come with you?” 

“I did promise you a ride in the Redthorn, didn’t I?” 

She nods enthusiastically. “I’ve been studying scout-class ships as part of my training!” 

Tech’s chest puffs with pride at his star pupil’s energetic admission. “Then I expect a full report of the Redthorn’s capabilities after we arrive...wherever it is we’re going.”

Omega’s face falls for the space of a heartbeat, but when Phee steps forward, the girl brightens once more. For your part, you can’t help but lean forward in anticipation. Phee’s penchant for embellishing and exaggerating is well known, but even you can’t quell the curiosity stirring in your chest, your desire to finally learn her surprise.

“Here,” she says, handing you a data stick. “Coordinates. When we get there, we’ll be expected to spend some time with the mayor, but afterward, you’ll have a place to rest.” 

Hunter catches your gaze and twitches his eyebrows up. He says, “Mayor? What kind of place are you taking us, Phee?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” she says with a cheeky grin. “Now let’s go, before the Empire shows up again.”

As Phee follows Tech and Wrecker up the Marauder’s ramp, Omega practically skips to the Redthorn, disappearing into its hull with bright, excited eyes. You hesitate for a moment in the tall grass, within arm’s reach of Hunter, his presence nearly overwhelming in its proximity. 

“I’ll see you there,” Hunter says. He jerks his head back toward his own ship. “Don’t want them getting suspicious.”

“I think that ship has sailed,” you say with a sheepish smile. “At least for Phee.”

His eyes darken a bit at that, becoming shards of obsidian glass. “Hells. Well, at least I won’t have to listen to the others tease me. Yet.”

“Would that be so bad?” you ask, quirking one eyebrow.

He chuckles with a shake of his head. “With Echo not around? Nah.” 

You hum in agreement, another memory of his teasing jests surfacing. “Right. Well, stay safe.” 

“You, too.” He lingers for a moment longer before retreating to the Marauder. 

Turning, you’re halfway to your ship when he calls for you to wait. “What is it?” 

His eyes have softened, buttery and mellow. “It really does suit you, (y/n).”

Your nerves sing with electricity. “Thank you, Hunter.” 

With a nod, he waves, then climbs the stairs to the Marauder. 

Sighing as you climb the ladder to the cockpit of your ship, you school your expression into something more neutral than the adoration you’re sure is etched into each line of your face. Omega swivels the pilot’s seat around as you haul yourself up, her brown eyes glittering with excitement.

“Can I fly?” she asks.

“You can help,” you say. There’s no way you’d be able to say no her anyhow, not with the pleading look you know she’s capable of mustering up. “But only after we take off. She’s a touchy ship.”

Cheering, Omega shuffles out of your seat just long enough for you to sit down, before launching herself up into your lap. With a surprised chuckle, you tug her farther into your lap to make sure she’s secure. Your hands move over the control panel with ease, the familiar pre-flight checks settling the roil of nerves that have suddenly made themselves known. You’ve never particularly enjoyed surprises—a preference for which the irony is not lost on you—and Phee’s desire to keep ahead of the Empire has you more on edge than you initially realized. But you’re not alone. Not anymore. Across the clearing, the Marauder lifts off from the ground.

Sliding the datastick into the navicomputer, you narrow your eyes as the pre-selected coordinates feed into its system. The coords aren’t ones you’ve seen before, and based on the navicomputer’s readout, it’s not a well-traveled system, wherever it is you’re heading.

“Alright, ’Mega,” you murmur. “Hands on the yoke.” 

“Really?” she gasps. 

You nod. When she places her hands on either side of the controls, you rest your hands overtop of hers, and then gently pull back on the padded grips. “Just like this. She’s responsive, so you don’t need to yank it around the way Tech does with the Maruader.” 

She giggles. “Tech’s a good pilot.” 

“He is,” you concede, “but every ship is different. You can’t fly one ship the same way you fly another.”

Once the ship lurches away from the ground and clears the treetops, you remove your hands. Omega audibly gulps, but then her jaw sets. She glances around at the various readouts, all of them showing normal. 

“Flying is about a feeling,” she mutters to herself. 

You raise one eyebrow, curious about where she heard that—she’s not entirely wrong, but you know she didn’t pick that up from Tech. Holding your breath, you wait to see what she does. 

After a moment more of hesitation, she twitches the yoke back a little farther to catch up to the Marauder. The Redthorn responds beautifully, accelerating steadily as it climbs through the atmosphere back toward the vastness of space. Omega realizes, without your input, that the ship isn’t quite aligned with the other ship’s course; she gently adjusts her grip on the yoke, and brings the Redthorn into alignment. 

“Well done, kid,” you say, beaming. “You’re a natural.”

She cranes her neck back to look at you, her nose scrunched in a wide, toothy smile. “You mean it?”

“Of course.” You ease her head back forward. “Eyes on the prize, though, kiddo.”

“Sorry,” she giggles. “I just— Tech promised me flying lessons, so now I can impress him with my skills whenever he lets me fly the Marauder.”

Your own gaze focuses on the bright, blazing thrusters of the other ship, several hundred feet ahead of you. “I’m sure he already knows how skilled you are.”

“I suppose,” she says. As you glance down at her, a sudden wave of emotion crashes over you, your heart soaring and squeezing at the same time. Her brow furrowed in concentration, her tongue pokes between her teeth in the exact same expression you’ve seen Tech wear when he works on particularly delicate projects. She may be Hunter’s daughter, you reflect, but she is also very much the squad’s sister, too. 

You don’t realize tears have gathered in your eyes until you blink and one slides down your face. It drops onto Omega’s shoulder, instantly soaking into the dark fabric. Clenching your jaw, you will the rest of the moisture to retreat, not wanting the girl to worry about you. You nearly succeed, too, but not before the Redthorn exits the gravity well. Ahead of you, the Marauder stretches and vanishes.

Omega peers back up at you. “Nav, are we ready to j—are you okay?” Her eyes widen. Letting go of the controls, she twists on your lap. “What happened?”

“Hyperspace lever is that one.” You point, then, with a quick glance to the navicomputer to ensure the coordinates have held steady, you slide the lever forward. The ship jumps to hyperspace without issue.

“Nav,” Omega says, reaching up to wipe your face dry, “what’s going on?”

“S’nothing,” you say with a weak smile. More tears well up now that there’s attention on them. Omega’s brow scrunches with worry, her lips turned down in a doubtful frown, and in your heart of hearts, you think you finally understand the feeling of your entire being, your soul, shifting. 

“Ad’ika,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. Caressing her curls, you swallow against the lump of emotions lodged in your throat. “Ner ad’ika.” 

Her eyes widen further, tears welling up to match your own. “Buir.” 

You can only nod, smiling tearfully. Omega burrows against your chest, her arms wrapping around you. Holding her close, you press your face to her curls, eyes screwing shut. You don’t know, and don’t frankly care, how long you remain there, holding your daughter, your little sister, your shadow. Now that you have a moment to breathe, a moment to think, all you can think about is the girl you hold next to your heart and her safety. If Phee’s surprise turns out to be just another stop in the journey of making sure Omega is protected, so be it. You’ll explore every system untouched by the Empire if that’s what it takes.

You wait for her to pull back first. When she does, her eyes are dry but bright and shining. You smile at one another, and then dissolve into laughter. Your abs hurt—you haven’t laughed like this in far too long, since Arien, but it’s a good kind of soreness. As you both calm, you ruffle her hair. 

“C’mon,” you say. “I’ll give you the grand tour.” 

She opens up every locker, most of which are empty. Her curiosity can’t be contained, and you wouldn’t stop her anyways. She deserves to explore, to be a kid. Yet, despite how sternly you tell yourself that, anxiety trickles into your bloodstream as she gets closer to your private locker, the one with the gray uniform and identification badge stuffed to the bottom. The thought occurs to you to lie, to say that that door is broken, but you’re past lying, especially to her. 

When she flings open the door to that locker, she stills, her smile fading, the sun dimming behind clouds. 

“What was the academy like?” she asks after a long moment. 

“Stressful,” you say, quiet. “I...was never going to make high ranks. And I was okay with that. Supply officer was still an honorable post, one that served from behind the scenes, supporting the front lines without ever actually getting into combat.” You shrug. “School was never my favorite, but I was good at it.”

She tugs the uniform out of the locker. Pinching the gray fabric between her thumb and fingers, she frowns down at it like it insulted her. “You believed in the Republic.” 

She doesn’t phrase it as a question, but you feel compelled to answer anyway. “I did. I do.”

“But the Republic is gone.” 

“It is.” You sigh, sinking onto the bench that rings the cargo hold. Rubbing your face, you let out a long sigh. “I can’t imagine we’re the only ones who see the corruption of the Empire. Why else would they be hunting me down?”

With a shrug, Omega places the uniform back into the locker and shuts the door. She sits next to you, kicking her feet. “They don’t like people who stand against them. It was the same with the Republic; the Republic was just better at hiding it.” 

You blink at her. “When did you become so wise?” 

“Kamino,” she says with a grin. “I watched a lot of the training my vode went through. The Republic wasn’t the best, but it was better than what we have now.”

You can only nod at that. Sitting in silence, save for the hum of the hyperdrive and that damned squeaky panel that won’t stay fixed, no matter how many times you whack it with a hammer, you finally let yourself process the last several days. You realize, with a start, that Coruscant was only...four, maybe five days ago. And yet, so much has happened. Exhaustion settles heavy and frigid in your bones. Memories of your time in a Coruscanti prison cell drift through your mind: bland, tasteless meals; forced medications; and an Imperial officer who seemed entirely too smug after you called her a di’kut. 

And then there’s the matter of Tarkin. You still only know the name and the fact that he’s not a fan of clones. Wracking your brain, you try to hypothesize why someone like that would be so interested in finding you. Leverage? Power? You clench your jaw, frustrated at the lack of information.

“Do you have a holo of Arien?” Omega asks suddenly. 

You jump, so wrapped up in your thoughts you momentarily forgot where you are. Hand pressed over your heart, you nod. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, hang on.” 

You’re glad you had the wherewithal to keep your old datapad stashed aboard the ship when you went to the academy. You hadn’t been allowed to bring your own, so you’d asked Arien to keep it safe. Of course, she had, but not without adding a few holos to it. Retrieving the datapad from its charging port on top of the highest rack, you click it open. 

Arien’s toothy smile and shining purple eyes glint up at you from the screen. Your steps falter. For a moment, all you can do is stand and look down at the selfie she’d taken, probably just days before she died. Her long hair tied back and swept over one shoulder, eyeliner winged and perfect, crooked teeth bared in a show of exuberance: that’s the Arien you want to remember. 

Omega stands on her toes to peer at the screen, as well. “She looks like fun.” 

“Oh, she was,” you chuckle. “The most fun I ever had in my life was with her.” You nudge Omega’s shoulder with a wink. “You’re a close second, though, kid.”

“Yeah, right,” she laughs. “We don’t get to have fun.” 

“You might now,” you say, thoughts turning back toward your surprise destination. “Who knows what we’ll find when we get there?”

Gazing up at you, the gears visibly turn in Omega’s mind. After a moment, she shrugs. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. Can I see more?” She gestures at the datapad. 

You hand it to her. “Yeah, here.” 

She retreats to the bench that lines the wall and tucks her feet beneath her as she swipes back through the holoscans. A knot begins to loosen in your chest, one you didn’t even know was there until this moment. Seeing Arien as she ought to be remembered, you expected the pain to be crippling, paralyzing, but instead it was...dull. Present, for sure, and still very upsetting, but not debilitating like it had been just a few weeks ago. 

“Grief is a normal part of the process,” she’d told you once. “And once we stop grieving, that person has found their way back into the galaxy. We don’t have to mourn for new life. We celebrate it.” 

Maybe the lessening of your pain means her Force energy is moving closer to being reborn. Or whatever. You’re not certain if that’s even what she or her people believe. 

Settling next to Omega, you smile at the holos as they pass by. You answer her questions, but mostly, she just studies the holoscans. Most of them are of Arien making various faces, some of them silly, some of them staged like she intended to set up one of those HoloNet dating profiles; but there are a few of you in there, too. Ones you didn’t know she took. There’s you, frowning up at one of the skyscrapers on Coruscant. There’s you, mid-bite of a dish you remember being one of the best things you ever ate, a blissful expression on your face. There’s you, asleep on your shared couch. And there’s a handful of ones with both you and Arien, faces smushed together.

The last one in that folder is another one of you. Brow furrowed, pen held between your teeth, your gaze looks like it could burn a hole through whatever you’re reading. And it probably would have, if that kind of power was possible. You don’t remember what you’d been reading in that moment, but that image is so painfully you—so determined, so passionate, so concentrated—that it leaves you breathless. 

Arien saw you. 

You want Hunter to see you the same way. You vow to show him these as soon as you’re able.

But you’re wrenched away from that thought as the navicomputer trills over the intercom. Rushing up the ladder, you slide into the pilot’s seat and ease the lever back in the same movement. As the hyperlane condenses back down into starlines, which collapse back into stars, your breath catches at the sight of the planet below you. 

Glittering azure in the light of the nearby sun, the water world is a giant gem. Swirls of puffy white clouds and dots of brilliant green marble the planet’s surface. As Omega perches on your lap, you can’t hold in the disbelieving chuckle that bubbles up from your sternum. 

“Look at that, ’Mega,” you say in a hushed, awed voice. 

“I grew up on a water world,” she says in the same tone, “but I never thought water could look so...beautiful.”

This place’s beauty only grows stronger the farther down into the atmosphere you guide the ship, following the contrails of the Marauder. You circle a tall, conical island while Tech lands his ship, and your breath hitches at the sight of dozens and dozens of buildings nestled along the flanks of the island. Docks fan out at the base like so many fingers. As you lower the Redthorn, people’s faces turn up, shielding their eyes against the glare of the sun. At the top of the island, in a flattened courtyard, you land the ship close to the Marauder, and just sit for a moment, taking in the surroundings. A massive tree twists upward with a gnarled trunk in the center of the courtyard. In the alcoves of the wall that rings around the space, people pause, looking curiously at both ships. 

“You ready?” you ask. 

“If you are.” 

You ruffle her hair. “C’mon. Let’s go meet the mayor.”

Taglist: @the-hexfiles @fjordg @idoubleswearimawriter @skellymom @jedi-hawkins (if i missed you or you'd like to be added pls lmk!)

BONUS!

Nav's armor!

[tinycoded360]

In the darkness, I could use a little company: Chapter 6: Lighten Your Burdens

Sage bounced against the thick fabric encasing her as the giant lumbered on. The musty scent of his clothes flooded her senses, barely covering the earthy tang of sweat. With each labored breath, the walls of the pocket puffed out, then collapsed around her again. Thump, thump, thump—his footsteps and heartbeat pounded in her ears. Enough of this. She braced herself and kicked hard, pounding her tiny fists against the wall of the pocket. Mackenzie's steps faltered, jostled by the unexpected flurry of movement in his chest pocket. A look of surprise crossed his face as he reached into the pocket with fingers that could easily envelop her whole body. Yet his touch was gentle, always so gentle, as he lifted her out and placed her on the broad shelf of his shoulder. The cool air brushed against her skin, not too cold but enough to make her shiver after the cocoon of warmth she'd been nestled in. "Easy there, little one," Mackenzie's deep voice rumbled, warmer than the air, steadier than his breaths had been moments ago. "What's got you so stirred up?" "You sound real bad," Sage said. "Like you're fixin' to keel over." Mackenzie chuckled, his laugh interrupted by wheezes. "Just this blasted pack weighing me down is all. But I'll manage."

Sage nodded, relief flooding through her. At least he wasn't ill or injured. Sage's eyes narrowed as she studied the overstuffed bag. "That thing's gonna be the death of you. Making it so's you can't hardly walk or breathe! How you gonna run from a bear draggin' all that?"

He arched an eyebrow, amusement crinkling the skin around his eyes. " Well perhaps you can advise me on what to leave behind then..." Sage nodded firmly. "I can tell you what to leave. We gotta travel light if we aim to get far." Mackenzie smiled at the determined glint in Sage's eye. He picked Sage up and gently set her down on a good sized rock peeking through the snow covered ground. Mackenzie began to unload his bag with a series of thuds as each item hit the ground. Sage watched intently. "See here, we've got food, water, a first aid kit..." Mackenzie listed, holding up each item for inspection. Mackenzie watched her with amusement as the tiny girl continued scrutinizing the contents of his pack. He didn't really need her advice on what to carry, but he found that it was nice to see her open up to him. Plus, he found it beyond amusing to take orders from someone so small. He took it as a good sign that the tiny girl was getting more comfortable around him.

Sage leaned forward, her brown eyes scanning the assortment critically. "But what's all this then?" she questioned, pointing a diminutive finger towards a bulky cooking pot. "That's for meals," Mackenzie replied, but even as he said it, he knew the argument was weak. "Seems too big," Sage insisted. "You could eat from smaller containers. It would save space...and weight." Mackenzie couldn't suppress a smile. Her earnestness was infectious. He picked up the pot, feeling its heft, and after a moment's consideration, set it aside. "Alright, you win on that one." "Good," Sage nodded approvingly. Then, her gaze fell upon the stack of firewood. "And do you need all this wood?" "Better safe than sorry," Mackenzie responded, though his conviction wavered under her scrutiny. "Can't you gather more along the way? If it slows us down, it's a risk." Her voice was firm. "Fair point," he conceded, removing most of the wood from the pile and leaving just enough to get them through the night. As they debated each item, Sage's confidence seemed to grow, and Mackenzie found himself weighing her input seriously. The can opener, he explained, was non-negotiable, demonstrating how it worked and why it was essential. Sage watched, fascinated by the device's mechanics, but agreed it was worth keeping. Piece by piece, the inventory dwindled, decisions made in quiet consensus or gentle debate. With every discarded item, the bag's straps seemed to sigh in relief, its girth shrinking to a more manageable size. "Looks like we're traveling lighter now," Mackenzie observed, hoisting the bag onto his back once more. The difference was immediate; his posture straightened, his breath came easier. "See? Now you can run if you need to," Sage said, a trace of pride in her voice. "Thanks to my little advisor," Mackenzie chuckled. As he hoisted the lighter pack onto his shoulders, Sage gave a satisfied nod from her perch on a nearby rock. He held out his hand, palm up, hoping Sage would step on. After a moment's hesitation, she walked cautiously onto his hand and grabbed his thumb to steady herself. Gently, Mackenzie lifted her up to his shoulder, where she took a seat near his neck. He could feel her tiny hands clinging to his collar. "How's the view from up there?" he asked. "Very high," Sage squeaked. Mackenzie grinned. "Don't worry. I won't let you fall." Mackenzie smiled to himself, sensing the borrower girl was warming up to him. He'd let her ride on his shoulder as long as she liked. At least until the cold forced her to retreat to his pocket for warmth. "Well little one, I guess you were right about the pack being too heavy. I can breathe much better now without all that extra weight." Sage nodded, a serious look on her small face. "You were breathing so loud, it was gonna attract every wild animal for miles." Mackenzie chuckled. "I didn't realize I was being so noisy. Thank you for looking out for me." Sage nodded then she patted Mackenzie's shoulder as if to say "onward."

Mackenzie walked on through the quiet forest, acutely aware of Sage's tiny form perched on his shoulder. He felt her delicate hands gripping his collar, her little body tense and alert. She said nothing, just watched the woods around them with wary eyes. After some time, Mackenzie felt Sage shiver against the chill. "Getting cold up there?" he asked gently. Sage nodded, rubbing her arms for warmth. Mackenzie carefully lifted her off his shoulder and cradled her in his palm. She grabbed his thumb to steady herself. "Alright, back in the pocket you go," he said. Mackenzie placed her gently into the front pocket of his jacket, making sure she was nestled deep in the warm fabric. "Comfy?" he asked. "Mm-hmm," came her muffled reply. Mackenzie smiled, then continued hiking. After some time, Mackenzie finally makes to the spot where a rope is tied to a boulder, with care he climbs down the ropes, once at the bottom, he finds the cave entrance, this is the only way out of the town Milton. He crafts a torch and lights it. With a deep breath he enters the cave system. The only way out is forward. The darkness deepened around them, the empty cave passageway still bitterly cold, but inside himself, a warmth bloomed. It was an unfamiliar feeling, a tenderness he hadn't allowed himself to feel since—since he and Astrid were together. Sage's presence, so small yet so significant, stirred a bittersweet ache within him. She was a living echo of a dream shattered long ago, a dream where there was a happy family of three, instead of two shattered people, where guilt and grief were too much to bare…too much to keep a marriage together.

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

Day 12: Semi-Conscious / Over-the-Shoulder Carry

@febuwhump prompt: Semi-Conscious @badthingshappenbingo prompt: Over-the-Shoulder Carry

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Hunter, Wrecker Continuation of Day 5: Rope Burns / Bound & Gagged Word Count: ~635 Click here to read on AO3

Synopsis: Wrecker helps hunt down the mercenaries who had kidnapped Omega.

(Did you read Day 5: Rope Burns / Bound & Gagged? This is a continuation of it! Follow the link above to catch up on the story so far)

“What’s the plan, Sarge?” asks Wrecker through a private com channel. He jogs alongside Hunter, rifle at the ready, whilst his brother creeps swiftly but stealthily along the twisting corridors of the facility.

He doesn’t need to ask if Hunter knows where he is going. Hunter always knows where he is going.

“How many speeders did you count out there, Wrecker?”

“Five. Each with a pillion passenger.”

“They won’t stick together. They’ll fan out to comb the facility.”

“You suggesting we split up?”

“It’ll be the quickest way to deal with them.”

They stop as the passageway branches, Hunter pressing close to the wall and checking down both paths.

“You take that side,” says Hunter, gesturing with his pistol. He doesn’t look at Wrecker, turning down his own path without a backwards glance.

“Sure thing.” Wrecker steps forwards, then pauses. “What shall I do with the guys when I find ‘em? Bring ‘em to your position?”

Hunter shakes his head distractedly. “Just deal with them.”

-

Wrecker pushes his helmet back on his head, looking down at the two slumped bodies before him.

“Whups… guess I do hit hard,” he grins, crouching down and rolling one of the figures onto his back. The man groans, head lolling, rendered senseless by the mighty blow from the clone berserker.

“Not gonna learn anything from you two,” Wrecker mutters to himself, checking the other mercenary only to find him completely unconscious. He grabs the limp body, then hauls the first casualty to his feet. The man sways, unable to stand, and Wrecker hefts him up and drapes both over his back.

He sets off down the corridor again, slower now that he carries their pair of mercenaries across his broad shoulders.

“Hey, Hunter,” he says into the com. “I got two of them. They’re, uh… not quite ready for questioning yet.” In his ear, the semi-conscious casualty groans at being jostled. “Where shall I meet ya?”

He listens for a moment, frowning at the silence that emanates from his com. He shakes the small device and tries again.

“Hunter?”

Nothing. Wrecker gives an exaggerated groan.

“Awww! Com’s on the blink,” he complains to his dazed audience. The mercenary raises a hand in an ineffectual gesture before slumping back over Wrecker’s chest, moaning softly.

“Yer right,” agrees Wrecker, nodding sagely. “We’ll catch up with Hunter eventually. Let’s see if we can find some more of your friends first.”

--

When Wrecker spots the protruding legs of a mercenary from the doorway to the room ahead, he grins and picks up speed to a jog. Hunter has been here. He must be getting close to catching up to him.

“Let’s stick you down here,” he says to his casualties, sliding the two mercenaries from his shoulders and letting them fall to the floor with a graceless thump. He carefully props up first one, then the other, so that they are slumped in sitting positions against the wall – the first is starting to regain consciousness too – then rolls over the mercenary left behind by Hunter.

Sees the blaster burns to the chest. The knife-wound across the throat.

Pulls his hands back, gloves sticky with blood.

“Hunter,” he breathes in alarm, then quickly grabs the com and rattles it. He presses the button desperately.

“Hunter,” he growls into the link, praying it will work. “Hunter, come in.”

Still no response. He flicks to the open channel and tries again, just in case.

“Come in, Tech,” he pleads, low and urgent.

He exhales sharply in relief when the com crackles with reply. Tech’s voice, distracted and unconcerned. “What is it, Wrecker?”

Wrecker looks back at the mercenary’s body, the evidence of Hunter’s loss of control. Bites his lip, then presses the com close to his mouth as he answers his brother.

“I need backup.”

Continued on Day 19: "Please Don't" / Adrenaline Crash

[romeo-golf]

Let me tell you about Pete (Part II)

Looking for Part I? It's here.

Every year, the time for Pete's annual employee medical check arrived. It was an event that Pete approached with a mix of anticipation and mild trepidation. The doctor's office, with its sterile scent and clean white walls, served as the stage for this yearly ritual. As Pete settled into the waiting room chair, he couldn't help but reflect on how his body had grown over the past months, a testament to his insatiable love for food.

Soon, Pete found himself in the examination room, facing the stern yet well-intentioned gaze of Dr. Anderson. The doctor's eyes swept over Pete's considerable form, taking in the expansiveness of his physique. Pete's size was undeniable, each inch of him radiating an air of unabashed indulgence and gluttony.

"Good morning, Pete," Dr. Anderson greeted, his voice a blend of professionalism and warmth. "Let's begin with your weight and body fat percentage, shall we? Could you remove your shirt and jeans, please."

Pete's body was revealed in slow motion, each shirt button being undone released a few more inches of heft over his waistband. Heft which he then had to tug out of the way to undo his jeans and release himself from their tight grip on his thighs and ample backside.

His heart raced slightly as he stepped onto the scale, the digital readout flashing numbers that confirmed his suspicion: his weight had increased yet again. Dr. Anderson noted the numbers with a practiced eye and then turned to the body fat analyser. The device hummed softly as he attached electrodes to Pete's skin, calculating his body fat percentage with precision. Pete could feel sweat forming on his forehead as the machine printed off the results slip, he knew what it would say and was focusing hard on not becoming too aroused while standing here in just his boxers.

"Your weight and body fat percentage have both gone up since last year, Pete," Dr. Anderson said gently, concern evident in his voice. "I strongly recommend that you consider making some changes to your diet and lifestyle. Your health could be at risk if you continue on this path. Currently, your results suggest you're severely overweight which is quite shocking for a man of your age."

Pete nodded, his expression a mix of understanding and detachment. He had heard similar advice before, and yet, his love for food held an irresistible allure. As Dr. Anderson continued to explain the potential health consequences of his weight, Pete found his mind drifting. He already knew what he wanted to do next.

Leaving the doctor's office, Pete's thoughts were fixed on his favourite restaurant. The very idea of indulging in a sumptuous feast sent shivers of excitement through him. The doctor's warnings echoed faintly in his mind, but they were drowned out by the call of gluttony and the sensation of being too full to move.

As he settled into the booth at the restaurant, the menu seemed like a map to culinary paradise. Pete ordered with abandon, his eyes alight with anticipation. Dish after dish arrived, each a masterpiece of taste and texture. He savoured every morsel, his appetite insatiable as he allowed himself to be consumed by the joy of indulgence, his clothes hugging tight around his expanding body.

The buttons on Pete's shirt strained valiantly as his body swelled with each bite. His breathing grew heavy, but it was a sensation he had grown accustomed to. He chuckled softly to himself, his belly protruding over the edge of the table. It was a sight that would draw stares in any other context, but in the cocoon of the restaurant, he revelled in his grandiosity.

As the meal reached its end Pete's frame had expanded to a point where even the expansive booth seating began to protest. A sense of amusement danced in his eyes as he realized that he was quite literally wedged in. He attempted to shift his weight, but it was futile. Chuckling, he caught the eye of the young waiter, Andy, who was making his rounds.

"Hey there, Pete," Andy greeted with a warm smile, clearly familiar with this particular customer. "Looks like you could use a hand?" Pete nodded sheepishly and, with a practiced strength and execution, Andy helped him manoeuvre his way out of the booth. The two shared a laugh, a camaraderie that had been formed from these regular moments of tacit understanding.

As Pete left the restaurant, his body sated and his heart content, he wondered how he could get to know Andy better. He wanted to share these dark desires with him, hoping he felt the same. He knew despite the challenges ahead he would continue down the path he had chosen. Dr. Anderson's advice would fade into the background, overpowered by the symphony of flavours that called to him. His love for food and his appetite for gluttony remained unwavering, a testament to his unapologetic lust for obesity.