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foxaftershocks · 5 months

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I saw you were asking for prompts for lars pinfield and was wondering if you were interested in writing something where the reader is the oldest spengler kid(like 10-12 years older than phoebe) and she works with lars and its obvious to Lucky and Trevor that there's something going on between the reader and Lars but neither will admit it. This got so long, sorry.

No need to apologise. It wasn't that long at all. It could have been even longer lol

“Oi, Pinfield.”

Lars looked up as you sauntered over, hand in your back jean pocket. His eyes swept up your body, lingering a moment longer than was appropriate. Coming to rest against the bench, one hip cocked, you smirked down at him.

“You’ve got something of mine,” you said.

“Do I?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yup. You’re nothing but a common thief,” you replied.

“I think I’m rather uncommon, thank you very much,” he said, looking back to the wiring he was working on.

“Are you gonna give it back or do I have to plan a heist to reclaim my property?” you asked.

“Depends on what it is,” he said with a small shrug.

He glanced up at you from under eyelashes, lips pulling up at the corner. You lent closer, placing one hand flat on the bench in front of him. His chin tilted up towards you, blue eyes sparkling from behind glass.

“You’ve taken my soldering iron you bastard,” you said.

“Company property,” he replied, pursing his lips, “you have no claim on it.”

“Check the bottom,” you said, a hint of smugness entering your expression.

He sighed, picking up the soldering iron he’d been using only moments before. Your name was scrawled there, practically carved into the metal. His lips pursed again and you felt the need to bite down on your lower lip, holding back your laughter. Your shoulders shook once he looked at you, raised eyebrow saying everything you needed to hear.

“Hand it over, nerd,” you said, holding out a hand expectantly.

When he didn’t, you reached forward, trying to snatch it from him. Warm arms caught you, pinning your arms to your side, Lars’ face was so close to yours and as his head dipped you had the irrational thought he was about to kiss you. Your cheeks heated, a flush of warmth making you want to lean into him too.

“Possession is nine tenths the law,” he murmured, “and as far as I can tell, I’m in possession of it.”

You struggled against his hold, surprised when his arms tightened. You were practically pressed up against his body, his warmth seeping into your body. For such a scrawny man, he was so solid, strong enough to keep you from breaking away. Your giggles were soft, even to your own ears, and while this wasn’t what you’d been expecting, you never turned away from when Lars turned playful, despite how few and far between it was.

His chuckle was soft in your ear, holding you in place as you tried to get free. Caught against him you could smell the copper of the wiring and the laundry detergent clinging to his shirt. You pressed your face to his chest, trying to stifle your laughter but couldn’t. He froze for just a moment before he melted, his hold almost turning into an embrace.

“What’s this?”

You peeked around Lars, finding your younger brother staring at the two of you, a look of confusion and disgust mingling on his face. Pulling away, you put space between the two of you, feeling like a teenager caught by your parents with your boyfriend. A chill settled over you and you snatched the soldering iron from the bench, forgotten in your struggle with Lars.

“Lars is a rotten thief,” you said.

“Yes because I hug all the criminals I come across,” he said, his dry sarcasm only making your cheeks heat further.

“We weren’t hugging. I was… being restrained,” you said, struggling to find the words.

You couldn’t even look at the taller man, still standing so close to you. If you did, you were going to die of embarrassment.

“Right, well, now I’ve got this I’m going to…” You indicated over your shoulder with your thumb, “stop stealing my stuff.”

“Company property,” he muttered just loud enough for you to hear.

You didn’t acknowledge him as you slunk back to your own work.

Some time passed and you could still feel the ghost of his arms around your body, pinning your arms, his warmth still burnt into your brain. It left you feeling breathless, barely able to concentrate on your work. Which was increasingly becoming a problem with him. You were so distracted by him.

“So.”

You startled, so lost in thought you hadn’t heard your brother approach. He slid onto the stool beside you, resting his elbows on the bench. You ignored him, using the soldering iron you’d stolen back from Lars.

“What’s going on with you and the nerd?” he asked.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” you replied.

“Really? You looked pretty close earlier,” he said.

“You mean like you and Lucky?” You shot him a look, watching his shift uncomfortably in his seat, “because I’m pretty sure you say nothing is going on there too.”

While you let him struggle with the conundrum you’d put him in, you went back to your work. You’d lost enough time thinking about Lars and had to make it up.

A steaming mug was slid in front of you and when you looked up blue eyes were looking down to you. Curling a hand around it, your lips quirked up.

“Chocolate or crips?” Lars asked.

“Chocolate,” you replied.

“Too bad. I only have crisps,” he said, tossing a packet on the table in front of you.

“Duble bluff, I love potato chips,” you said, opening the bag of chips, offering him a grin.

“Hoover,” he chastised but there was fondness there. You basked in it, the little private smile you seemed to draw out in him.

“Since when do you drink tea?” Trevor asked, reminding you he was still there.

“A while now,” you replied.

“You don’t even like tea,” he said.

“Sure I do,” you countered.

You took a sip from the mug as if to prove your point. It was still too hot, burning your tongue. You kept your wince inside, giving your younger brother a pointed look. Lars snorted at your shoulder, stealing one of your potato chips before leaving you, hand squeezing your shoulder as he took his leave.

Usually he’d sit with you as you drank your tea and disappointment swooped in your stomach. Clearly he wasn’t interested in sitting with your brother as well. A spike of resentment at his continued presence was a surprise to you.

“You’re only pretending to like tea,” Trevor hissed.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” you snapped back.

“You want to impress him,” he said.

“I doubt drinking tea is what would impress him,” you said, taking another of the hot drink in your hands.

“So you have thought about it?” he was quick to ask.

“Don’t you have someone else to annoy?” you asked, “Lucky perhaps.”

“You don’t want to talk about it,” he said, as if it was a gotcha moment.

“How about you ask Lars about it? I’m sure that will go well,” you said with a roll of your eyes.

“Good idea.”

He hopped off the stool and you were grateful to be left alone. Especially since you knew Lars wouldn’t stand for having your friendship questioned by your baby brother. Sarcasm and wit were his weapons and you knew your brother would be eviscerated.

When you took your mug into the kitchen to wash up you found Lars already there, head bowed and faucet running. You snuck up behind him on tip toes, keeping as quiet as possible.

“Boo,” you whispered, right in his ear.

He jumped, whirling around towards you, a clatter of a dropped mug in the sink. Wet hands landed on your waist and for a moment you weren’t sure if he was going to shove you away or pull you closer. His brow furrowed as he looked down at you, hands tightening on you.

“Easily scared there, Pinfield?” you asked, lips pulling up into a smirk.

“You’re a terror,” he said but there was no fire behind it.

The way he was looking at you was making your heart flutter. The softness in his eyes, the small smile on his lips, the warmth of his palms seeping through your cotton t-shirt. Your teeth sunk into your lip and it looked as if his eyes darted down to it, darkening for a moment.

“What’s going on in here?”

You jerked out of his hold, wet patches showing through on your shirt. Lucky was leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed, raised eyebrow. Once again heat rose in your cheeks and you had to turn away, hip checking Lars out of the way from the sink. He plucked the mug from your hand, manoeuvring you out of the way again.

“Crickets,” Lucky said, sauntering in.

“Because there’s nothing to say,” Lars said, slow to begin washing the mug he’d brought you.

“Looked like something was going on,” she said.

You rolled your eyes, shoulder brushing against his as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. His head twitched in your direction but his eyes were trained on the mug in his hands.

“Yeah, this is convincing,” she said.

“Nothing was going on,” Lars said, voice a touch harsh.

You looked down, not wanting anyone to see the disappointment you felt at his words. You knew you’d been saying the same thing to Trevor but it sounded so much worse in his voice. Especially when the outline of his hands were still on your shirt.

“And you’re sticking to that story, are you?”

His shoulder brushed yours again and when you looked towards him, blue eyes were already looking back to you. You couldn’t read the expression on his face but you could take the mug in his hand, fingers brushing together. You placed it on the drying rack.

“Mm hm,” Lucky hummed.

“I’m not having this discussion again,” you said to her, “ask Trevor. I’m sure he’ll enjoy spilling the details to you.”

You stalked out of the room, not sure how you felt. A mix of emotions were going through your brain and all you knew was that you wanted Lars to follow you. Sometimes it felt like you always wanted him around.

“Seems as if people around here don’t have enough work to do if they’re talking about us.”

Lars had followed you. You pressed your lips together to keep the smile from spreading over your face. You’d walked into one of the deserted parts of the lab, not wanting to have to school your features with your emotions. Now the walls felt closer having him just behind you.

“They’re meddling,” you said, turning to look at him.

He was closer than you’d been expecting, barely a step behind you. You had to tilt your head up to look him in the eye. He lent towards you, almost hunching his shoulders to be closer.

“They have no right to do that,” he said and you couldn’t tell if he was upset.

“Yeah, I mean, this is between us. Like, our relationship is no one’s business. We’re friend so they don’t need to get involved. It’s not comment worthy,” you said, not quite sure what you were trying to say.

“Exactly. There’s nothing odd about us being friends,” he said.

You stepped back, leaning against the wall. In the isolation of the corner, it felt as if the rest of the world was so far away. It was easy to forget other people existed and somehow that made it worse. Talking about being friends with the man who haunted your thoughts made your stomach roil.

“Fuck it,” he muttered to himself.

He took the step towards you. Something in his eyes burned and you felt your breath catch when he looked down at you. Chin tilted down, staring straight at you, your entire body heated. If he was looking to make you burst into flames, he was going about it the right way. You looked up at him, lips parted as you waited for him to do more.

Swooping down, he claimed your lips in a searing kiss. You gasped, hands reaching up, grasping at him. His hands were back on your waist, pressing you against the wall as his body came to rest against yours. His tongue swept along your bottom lip before he sucked it into his mouth. You moaned, fingers burying themselves in blond curls, arching against him.

He groaned into your mouth, and when his tongue brushed against yours, your nerve endings sang. You shuddered, tugging on his curls until his leg slipped between yours and his teeth sunk into your bottom lip. His hands were holding you tight enough to leave bruises and you were sinking into him.

The rest of the world didn’t exist. You lost yourself in him. It was hot, the way he kissed you like you were the very breath he needed to live. Pressed so close together, there was no space between your bodies, nothing stopping you from feeling every taut line pressed to your every curve.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” he asked, lips trailing down your neck, whispered into your skin.

“Bet I can beat you on that,” you sighed, pressing him closer to you.

“The first time I saw you,” he mumbled, “you walked in here, so beautiful, and I’ve wanted to kiss you since.”

“No,” you said, pushing him away far enough so you could look at him properly.

“No?” He sounded so confused.

“Because that’s how long I’ve wanted to kiss you,” you said, already wanting to kiss him again. He was so gorgeous with his molten eyes and his kiss stung lips and his flushed cheeks.

“You mean we’ve wasted months not doing this?” he asked.

“Plenty of time to make up for it,” you replied, flashing him another smirk.

“I hope you realise I’ve fallen for you,” he said, head tipping forward until his forehead rested against yours.

“Snap,” you said, “because I’ve fallen for you too.”

This time when his lips pressed to yours they were softer, sweeter. You sighed into his mouth, melting from the care he was showing you.

“Ew.”

Typical for your brother to interrupt your sweet moment.

“Go away, Trevor,” you shouted before kissing Lars again.

“You’re both such liars,” he said.

“Leave now or you’ll see something you really don’t want to,” Lars called out.

Footsteps retreated fast and you giggled, falling forward, face resting against his chest. laughter rumbled in his own chest, arms sliding around you in a hug.

“I think you’ve scarred him,” you said, muffled against his chest.

“Serves him right for all the questions he’s been asking,” he muttered.

You looked up into his face, relieved at the smile tugging up the corners of his mouth. The way he looked at you was so soft, like he couldn’t quite believe he was there.

“He was right though,” you said, “something was going on between us.”

“I suppose it was,” he replied.

And when you kissed him again, it definitely felt like something was going on between the two of you.

#lars pinfield x reader #lars pinfield imagine #lars pinfield

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specialagentartemis · 9 days

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I just started trying out stained glass, which I know you also do...any hot tips for beginners or things you wish you'd known when you were first learning?

YOOO STAINED GLASS. Fave. I would love to see what you come up with!

Are you primarily using foil+solder or lead came? I've never actually used came so I have very little advice in that department, though I do want to at some point...

Some things to keep in mind, some imparted to me by my craft center teachers and some discovered by trial and error:

Get a designated box to cut glass over, because the more ambitious the shapes you want to cut, the more shards WILL go everywhere and you want to keep them contained.

If you're cutting glass by hand, you cannot make sharply concave shapes. You will think you can. You will think it can't be that hard. You WILL push your luck. You will end up frustrated. Avoid concave shapes.

If you want to cut concave curves, make them very gently and generously sloped.

If you want to incorporate concave shapes in your design, use multiple pieces of glass to make the curve.

Design with glass in mind from the get-go, rather than trying to adapt a complicated image. If you're designing your own work, try to build it around larger, geometric shapes, without a lot of small fiddly curves. Small fiddly curves DO make fun images, but they will also drive you crazy when they inevitably don't quite fit together right. Make sure you build in enough larger, geometric shapes into your design to anchor your piece and save your sanity.

That said. NGL incorporating things like fossils and marbles and weird shaped natural things is Fun. You can wrap anything you want in copper tape.

Draw or print out your pattern on paper and number each piece on both the pattern and the glass itself. Sharpie wipes off glass pretty easily.

When grinding glass, make sure each piece is ever so slightly smaller than it is on your pattern. The thickness of copper tape seems negligable but adds up when you want pieces to fit precisely.

There are non-lead solders, and they're basically fine, if a little more annoying to use. Lead melts more easily, but I usually use zinc because it's not lead lol. Though if you're not eating off of your stained glass, using lead proooobably isn't a huge deal. Always wash your hands after glasswork regardless.

Tip tinner is your friend! Tin the tip of your soldering iron before and after use, it makes it so much easier.

When you're soldering pieces together, I find laying down a base of thick cardboard, laying out your design on the cardboard, and then using thumbtacks around the edges to anchor the glass pieces in place and prevent them from sliding around helps a lot.

If you want to hang up your stained glass creation like a suncatcher, add loops or hooks, and try to put them at junctures/seams of different pieces of glass to distribute the weight and pressure. My go-to method to make loops for hanging the pieces is to take a metal paperclip, and then loop it around needlenose pliers to make a circle with the wire sticking straight out on either side. Lay the flat wire ends along the outside and solder it down. It makes good secure loops that you can tie a ribbon or attach a chain to, while distributing the pressure along the outside of the piece. And it’s metal so solder sticks to it.

I hope that's not too much! I love working in glass, it's fun and it's so pretty.

#asks #consolecadet #stained glass

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nkjemisin · 11 months

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I'm sure you've been asked this a bunch of times, so I apologize for making you answer it again, but in the Broken Earth series, why didn't people use bronze for tools and edged weapons instead of volcanic glass? It's less fragile and it doesn't corrode. Thank you very much for writing that series. I and many members of my family really enjoyed it. I'd been kind of waiting my whole life for someone to write geology fantasy, it turns out. :)

They do use metal tools for things that stone and glass can't do. They use metal wiring for electricity, etc.; there are some things metal is just better for. But for simple tools and weapons? The Stillness tends to adapt an "If it ain't broke" attitude about stuff like that.

Because volcanic glass (depending on composition, porosity, and some other things) can actually have a greater tensile strength than bronze! A lot of Indigenous American societies used things like obsidian blades and arrowheads in large part because the blades were easy to produce and replace, and because they were deadly as hell. For example, the Aztec people used this kind of flat club that they added obsidian edges to, which turned it into a sword fully capable of decapitating a person.

So given that the Stillness is a world where bare ground within the walls is precious and better used for food growing than mining, and where trade sometimes shuts down for years at a time, I figured they would be practical and stick to a toolmaking method that doesn't require you to have a regular supply of copper. Rocks are a lot easier to come by.

#answered asks

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aparrotandaqrow · 9 months

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Fun fact, if you have some acid, a few inches of half-inch copper pipe, some graphite paint, and electricity, you can make this

Turn into this

And then into this (using a Dremel with grinding stone and wire brush)

And then into this (oven at 350 F for a little while)

Then this (little longer in the oven)

And then this (just a little longer)

(it'll get put on a flat-link gold or brass chain of some kind)

Magic! Science! Alchemy!

It's really not terribly difficult to learn to electroform, and startup cost is maybe $150 if you're starting from zero, including a power supply. Highly recommend; this dramatically ups the gift-giving game!

#electroforming #jewelry #crafts #diy projects #art

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perpetualfox · 1 year

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I wanna chomp into his arm and tell him to flex !! Fill my whole mouth with him and make him have to pinch my nose to get me off. Take a bite off the extra meat packed onto his inner thigh before eating that mf out. Chomp chomp chomp

Bite Me - Simon 'Ghost' Riley x GN!Reader [NSFW]

Warnings: Biting, blood play, pain play, rough handling.

Wordcount:

All I can say for myself is this:

→You kneel before him, taking your place at his feet like it’s the easiest thing in the world—an act of submission devoid of shame; one he beholds in silent wonder from his perch at the edge of the bed. He looms above you, still mostly clothed, his back ramrod straight—a soldier even in moments of respite. The thick treads of his boots sink into the plush carpet, his laces still pulled tight through dented metal eyelets; thick cord knotted so tight it creaks against the dark leather. His belt lays across his lap—flayed open in seconds by eager fingers—the heavy buckle lost beneath the sharp curve of his hipbone. When you had asked, he’d pealed back his cargos, but they’d made it no closer to the floor than his knees, the thick material bunched up beneath them—a show of vulnerability, but on his own terms.

→You’d taken it for the gift it was.

→Stretching forward, you crane your neck to nuzzle against the pale expanse of his inner thigh. His gloves creak as his fists ball into the sheets, and a little thrill goes through you—to be given so much for so little…from Ghost it was as near a dazzling smile or an earnest admission of love as you had ever come. It was intoxicating. You turn your head, lips grazing a hot stripe along his flesh. He twitches beneath you as you mouth along the knotted ridge of an old scar. You know them well, the stories Simon wears on his skin—the kiss of a knife from Mexico, the crater carved out by a bulled he’d caught in Verdansk, the evenly spaced tears of Russian razor-wire—each more terrible than the last, each beheld with a reverence with which he is woefully unfamiliar. Something in his guts squirms with a feeling he cannot name each time you turn it on him—not quite shame, though it takes a similar shape. It’s a battle not to squirm with it.

→Your lips ghost across a smooth patch of flesh, and you pause. The unmarred skin is cool under the heat of your mouth. Your teeth scrape against the flat, untextured skin. Ghost does not move. Your eyes flick up to meet his, eyebrows raised, questioning. In the darkness, you can’t make out the soft brown of his irises; there is nothing but the fathomless black of his pupils, swallowing everything. He stares down at you from behind that expressionless mask. There is no trace of Simon in that stare, only Ghost, his eyes flat and dead. But he understands you all the same, and he nods, the barest tilt of his head; a movement you would have missed if you hadn’t been looking for it. A smile splits your lips as you stamp a final, open-mouthed kiss against his thigh before you crack open your jaw, and sink your teeth in.

→You go slow, allowing him to feel the press of each individual tooth; the slow transition from a bearable pressure to a deep ache as each curve and point burrows deeper into his pale flesh. The hard muscle tenses and jumps beneath you as you bear down on him. His breath catches in his throat, a sharp hiss clamped tight between his teeth. You feel the skin pucker as you bite down, the pressure moulding his flesh around your teeth. It welcomes the strange new shapes as best it can, until, at last, it can take no more, and it tears. Fat droplets of blood well up and pool in the indentations you’ve made—the copper tang of it salty and warm on your tongue.

→You try to pull back, to offer reprieve from the pain that has him gritting his teeth and shuddering beneath you, but a heavy gloved hand thumps down against the back of your neck. He guides you—almost pushing you back down, urging your teeth deeper into the meat of his thigh. There is nowhere else to go, so you let yourself go limp, allowing your head to loll to the side, tucking neatly into the ‘v’ of his hip.

→The swell of his cock bumps up against your cheekbone, warm, and thick—even through a layer of black cotton—and harder than it had any right to be. Shifting your weight, you lean into him, pressing the soft meat of your cheek into the heat of him. A cooing sound chirps to life at the back of your throat, and you smile around his thigh, revelling in the knowledge that this was your doing—revelling in the smell of him, thick and heavy; in the weight of him against your cheek; in the little grunts that catch between his teeth.

→You lock your jaw, and his hold only tightens, the grip pads of his gloves scraping rough against your flesh as his fingers dig into the side of your throat. His thumb brushes against your cheek, coming to rest just beneath the corner of your jaw, pressing up hard enough you’re sure to have a bruise in the morning. He’s trembling beneath you now, almost rocking up into your mouth, even as your bicuspids threaten to do their job and widen the holes you’ve already made in him.

→“Fuck, Lovie,” His voice, little more than a gruff whisper, barely pricks at your ears, “…could cum like this.”

→A shudder rattles through you, your jaw flexing against his thigh, your teeth scraping against wounded and oversensitive flesh, drawing a strangled groan from his throat. Fluid drips warm and wet down over your chin and throat—saliva or blood—you don’t care. Your world narrows to a single point, big enough only for Ghost: the heat of his slick flesh in your mouth and the desperate throb of his cock against your cheekbone.

→Could he really?

→The thought barely registers in your mind before you’re clenching down hard enough to feel something click in your jaw. Ghost makes a wounded sound, his body jerking beneath you as a warm wetness begins to spread against your cheek.

→The hand at the back of your neck goes slack, and you pull yourself back, dizzy and shuddering. Ghost’s chest heaves, his limbs gone boneless and jittery as the aftershocks have their way with him. As he slowly drifts back to himself, his fingers trail absently through the slick mess you’ve made of his thigh. Blood and saliva dribble down to stain the sheets between his legs. When at last he feels present in his body again, he reaches out swipes a droplet of blood from your chin with a broad thumb, “Messy fuckin’ thing you are, hey?”

→You nod dumbly, the tang of his blood still sitting thick on your tongue. He pats your cheek, heavy and slow. Your head lolls against his large palm, your eyes going half lidded, fluttering with each rough stroke of his fingers. “‘S all your fault, Lovie, innit?”

→You nod and quick as a viper, he takes you by the back of the neck and presses your face down against the cum-damp fabric of his boxers, “And this too.” It isn’t a question this time, but you nod anyway. You can feel his spend already beginning to cool as his hips kick up against the softness of your cheek. “That’s right. So be fuckin’ useful and clean it up for me.”

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost smut #mw2 smut #i just want to bite him and bite him and bite him

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kitsune-pop · 10 months

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here's something for the robot fuckers

contains soft dom AI, body swapping, robot porn and the trans experience

you, like most people, are strapped for cash and the only money is in the military. but you've never been much of a fighter, so instead you join the RD department as a test dummy. you never expected to do anything worthwhile with this job, just test a new gun, or a new type of suit, get paid and go home. then, one day you're approached by the head researcher with a proposition. experimental surgery to implant a mech connector into your brain. you've known the military uses advanced robotics to fight their battles, but you thought they were just autopiloted, or maybe used like a video game. the reality is a mix of advanced AI and wireless direction, but RD wants to eliminate any lag between pilot and mech to make the first fully piloted mech in history. and due to your willingness to participate in almost any experiment (not to mention your expendability) you'd be perfect for the job. plus a hefty cash advance with ten times more waiting after the procedure is finished doesn't hurt. you could get not just yourself, but your friends and family out of the slums with that sort of cash!

so you hurriedly sign the waivers without any more thought than before and agree to the date of the surgery. scratch that, the first surgery. this… is gonna take a while. at first, you barely notice anything. just a couple of smooth plates placed just under your skin. more fun was when they put a few jacks in your temples. now you can play music directly in your brain! then they split you open, pulled out your spine and replaced it with a fully mechanical connector to your nervous system. they promise the taste of copper will leave your mouth after a few weeks. and finally, they remove the back of your skull, stuff what seems to be a glorified headphone jack into your brain, and give you a neat new panel to replace the bits of bone they tossed out. and the procedure is complete! you check yourself out in the mirror, see the various connection points along your spine and the Big One in the back of your head and wonder what the next step is

turns out you don't have to wait very long, because soon enough you're introduced to your new mech! you always knew these feats of mechanical mastery were big, but gazing up at it you were taken aback by just how big. thirty meters tall, it was surprisingly slender in build. sleek arms (four of them!) and oddly jointed legs, this thing was utterly alien to what you've known your body to be. and they expect you to pilot it? with your mind, no less! the scientists assure you it won't be alone, they've upgraded their AI to accommodate for the human interface. shrugging, you ask where the ladder is to get in

one elevator ride later and you're facing the cockpit… which happens to be an oval pod sticking out of the back of the mech. turns out you don't need to be in the head to be a brain. the more you know. you slide in, resting comfortably on your back as the gel-like cushion softly expands to envelop you. only your head is exposed as the pod slides in and you're faced with darkness. gentle white LED lights come on and you're faced with a quite horrifying contraption descending on top of your head, all hooks and needles and wires. you panic briefly, but relax as it stops just above your face, four arms topped with flat metal plate extending to connect to your head where you know similar plates are just under the skin

you hear a voice greet you, and it announces itself as your AI partner who is going to aid you in the steps required to fully integrate yourself with the mech you're currently inside

you feel relieved, and the AI announces that it's going to activate the next steps. you see the needles approaching, but as soon as anxiety mounts the AI tells you they are simply going to enter the ports on your temples to gain access to your brain. similar needles are approaching your spine as well. it feels… odd as you're probed. almost like touching a limb that's fallen asleep. your AI tells you this is normal

your AI announces a successful integration. but, something sounds different about its voice. your AI partner tells you that it is speaking to your mind directly. you try to think of a response, but the voice assures you that you don't need to worry about thinking words, that simple feelings and urges will be read appropriately and responded to quickly. the researchers want the new generation of Mecha to react almost entirely on instinct with AI guidance. amazed by the technology that has taken over half your brain, you're eager to continue

your AI tells you the next steps will be disorienting. it will be shutting down your senses so that once the final jump into the Mecha is complete your mind won't have any conflicting information. it tells you it's going to start with your taste. initially you're excited (the copper taste hasn't left yet) but then you realize just how different your mouth feels when you can't taste it. your sense of smell goes next, and all the scents are gone; the rubber smell of the gel, the faint smell of oil on all the machinery. it, combined with your lack of taste almost makes your face feel numb

next is your hearing. immediately you are deafened. you expected it to be gradual, but this was instant. all of the sounds; the whirring, the clinking, the squeaking, all of it was gone. you briefly panic, but your AI quickly reassures you everything is going well, and that you're doing excellent. the praise calms you down, and you close your eyes. the adrenaline is still pumping through you though, and it's starting to affect other areas of your anatomy. you hope the AI doesn't notice. it assures you it does, and that this is normal. well then. so much for dignity

you're told your vision is next, and you open your eyes to… nothing. you expected darkness, but that's not quite right. you aren't seeing the absence of light, you aren't seeing anything. your heart starts to beat faster, realizing that anything could be approaching your face and you wouldn't be able to see it. you take some deep breaths before jolting as something comes down over your face. you AI assures you that this is simply an oxygen mask to ensure proper airflow to your body once final integration is complete. it tells you you're doing very well, and a feeling of warmth spreads through your mind. you take a deep breath, ready for the final step

you feel a prickling along your back that quickly spreads through your whole body. just as it reaches unbearable it fades to nothing. you can't feel the gel surrounding you, the mask on your face, the connections plugged into your brain. your mind tries to panic, but your AI soothes the fear with gentle praise that seems to fill the space where your senses used to be. it tells you how well you're handling the integration, how you're the best candidate so far, how proud it is to be your AI companion. your mind calms, floating in absolute nothingness, completely sensory deprivation, soaked in sweet praise and a warm sense of comfort

with a slam, everything is blinding. you can touch, see, hear, smell (taste is still gone) you know the exact temperature of your internal engine (rapidly rising) you know the chemical makeup of the concrete beneath your feet (thirty meters tall!) your coolant levels are slightly below optimal (your internal temperature is rising fast) your mind is abuzz with so many more connections, people muttering in your ear (is that a radio station?) your vision flashes from normal to infrared to ultraviolet (how do these colors even exist) at the core, just above the engine, that's you and your vitals are going nuts and-

calm. systems are prioritized and minimized, checks are made in the background, and a calm voice telling you how well you've done, no one else has made a connection this quickly, what a good pilot you are, how it can't wait to take you out for a walk… you glance at your body's sensors and some… interesting readings are going off. and your internal engine is heating up again. and there's a strange energy surge-

your vision clears and you find yourself on your knees, all four arms braced on the floor to keep you steady as enormous fans vent out excess heat from your core. mechanics and researchers are scrambling around you, but you announce that you're okay. your AI states a little embarrassed, but otherwise functional. internally you beg your AI to keep this a secret. your AI assures you that so long as you keep being a good pilot (temperature jump) it has no reason to tell. you thank it, quickly wondering its name. you're told it's MP13

you go over basic movement with the researchers and MP13 simultaneously shows you how to monitor your internals. you quickly adjust to this titanic new body, and even find the scrolling numbers and shifting charts satisfying to watch as you progress. you're amazed at how easy multitasking is with MP13's help. it assures you it's your compatibility that helps it just as much. you complete advanced movement, testing the functionality of all four of your limbs at once, and the researchers call it a day. you head back to the dock, attach and let MP13 detach you from your body. soon enough you find yourself blinking in the LED lights as the rest of your senses come back. you notice the lights have changed to your favorite color, which was nice. MP13 tells you farewell and that it looks forward to seeing you tomorrow. in short order you're pulled from the Mecha, the gel retracts from your body and you peel yourself up with the help of a few mechanics. aside from some sweat stains (you hope no one notices your crotch) you seem perfectly healthy! the researchers call faze one a complete success!

over the next few months you make headway with MP13 and the Mecha. you already can go toe to toe with the best remote pilots in the military, your reaction speeds being far superior. it doesn't hurt that MP13 knows just how to motivate you. with its praise whispered in your mind as you tackle your sparring partner to the ground, you quickly disarm them, then to show off, you even disassemble their weapon in front of them. both you and MP13 cheer at the perfect performance. as you detach from the Mecha and say goodbye to MP13 you're called to the head researcher's office. you're told your results are exemplary (with the only aberration being unusually high core temperatures. still well within functional limits) and that they've been given the go ahead to bring even more subjects to the project! and the team wants you to be in charge of the new recruits! you panic for a moment, not ever being in charge of a group of people before, but your voice tells the researcher that you'd love to. stunned, your body shakes hands with the researcher and walks out into the hallway. you quickly realize MP13 has somehow followed you out of the Mecha! as you walk you have a high speed conversation with it, all it knows is that the docking procedure went without a hitch, and that everything should have happened normally. and as far as talking for you, it knew you would be able to handle a leadership role and simply spoke up on your behalf. before you know it, you're home with your companion nestled in your brain. you shrug, and figure it'll be fine

from then on, you notice more changes. as you cook for yourself, you no longer need to set a timer since you have a perfect sense of time. your chores get done quickly and efficiently as you converse with MP13. in your new leadership role you and MP13 shift seamlessly in the conversation whenever your nerves get the better of you or it doesn't quite grasp human euphemisms. you start to spend more time in the Mecha as well. training takes longer, you start filing reports before the docking procedures, you even have casual conversations with the mechanics as they work on your body. one day, you go to detach the body from your metal frame to find it unresponsive. you panic, because this is definitely horrible, but you stop yourself. you did everything correct, you should have slipped into your body… but, you realize, this is your body now. you've felt more at home in the Mecha than you ever did in your old body, and… you can't remember the last time there was a distinction between you and MP13. you bring this up to the head researcher who posits that you may have inadvertently made the jump to the next stage of human evolution

you talk to the other subjects about what happened to you, and what could happen to them. some of them are disgusted by the idea, and quit the project immediately. but several others are intrigued, and even excited for this change. a chance to be in a body that they have complete control over, one of them even brings up how easy cosmetic changes would be! and so the project continues

several years pass. you're walking down a pathway made specifically for Mecha, talking to your friend in the next city while chatting to the human on the raised platform next to you and organizing a grocery list for your partner (six months next week!) to pick up on their way home. plenty of people still balk at the thought of integrating themselves with Mecha, but many more have no issue with it. there's plenty of information, in no small part due to your work making sure the research you were a part of made it to public eyes. most people are happy to love and accept Mecha as people, and you couldn't be happier

plus, being able to praise yourself to overload is a nice bonus, too

#silly millie speaks #trans nsft #robot #mecha #transhumanism #praise k!nk #robot girl #mtf nsft #robot nsft

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cads-the-cat · 3 months

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I finished the mask (I think??? I won't make any major changes anymore but might change tiny details but for now I'm done) @copper-sands

Did it almost cost my sanity? Yes

But I was already insane before that so it's fine

For the base I bought a plain white one at an art supply store and then cut it onto shape so it somewhat fits my face shape while also resembling ivy's mask. I coated it in paper mache, especially the mouth area so it's flat (not so great for singing purposes but since I can't sing that's not a major problem). Sketched the white runes on it and painted the base layer of the mask in black and then did the white stripes and red logo.

I used modelling clay for the big golden parts and painted the smaller ones on the top of the mask because I couldn't be bothered and the clay shapes I originally made for it looked shit. Used wire for the swirls and for the uneven surface I just kind of made scratches into the clay. Covered it in paint (it's not the exact same shade of gold which bothers me a bit and on paper the paint is a bit sparkly but so far it doesn't look sparkly on the clay - if it does end up glittering I guess I'll be some kind of Edward Cullen Version of ivy)

Anyway, I need a break for my sanity and my back and organise some black body paint so I can actually cosplay iv with the jacket that is a halfway replica of his. And maybe I need to wait until it cools down because I won't be wearing several layers of heavy black fabric in 35°C

#sleep token #sleep token iv #iv sleep token #sleep token fan art #sleep token fanart #Fan art #cosplay

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lebirbybitch · 4 months

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The first in what will hopefully be a couple of connected one-shots, and eventually compiled and made into a longer fic, because I'm genuinely obsessed with this au.

@missterious-figure

Chance Meetings

~~~~~~~|

It wasn't often that Stella got a chance to actually watch one of the brothers performing. More often than not, she was cleaning the stage and audience area in between shows, desperately trying to tidy up before the next event. She wasn't meant to be here, not truly, always having some sort of task she was meant to complete.

The Casino never slept, and neither did Stella most days. Snatches of sleep could be grabbed when she could find a place to rest, but as it was she was better off taking her far and few breaks eating if nothing else.

She could deal with being exhausted if she simply grabbed something sugary to keep her wired. Was it healthy? Absolutely not. But she didn't need to be clean and shiny for the crowd, not as maintenance. All that mattered was she avoided stains on her "uniform", and she got the jobs done she was supposed to.

But she had a break now, and a too-sweet snack bar was held limply in her hands as she watched the night time performance.

Moon was glamorous as always, perhaps not as flashy as Sun or Eclipse, but elegant. His silver tail spread and swaying with every movement, feathers shiny and full. His eyes seemed to drag over the audience, letting them know he was watching them watch him. He shone in the attention.

Stella herself was hidden behind a curtain, dull and dusty bronze and seafoam feathers catching nothing more than the dirt in the air. She knew she wasn't much to look at at all, and compared to the shining silver of Moon, she was a dirty copper penny.

It didn't stop her heart fluttering at the display, the dancing and flaunting once meant for a mate instead gathering gasps and praise. A softer part of her imagined Moon dancing for her, but she swiftly shoved that part away.

She was already breaking rules by simply watching. It wouldn't do to lose herself in a fantasy. The music began to crescendo on stage, Moon finishing up his act in his usual flourish.

Stella pulled her gaze away from the stage, carefully tucking herself into the door hidden behind the curtain, the freezing air of the backways halls causing her to shiver. She pressed her back against the door, her neglected feathers fluffed up as much as they could as she savored the image of Moon's final pose in her mind, the way the light had bounced off of him. The noise behind her settled into a dull murmur as the audience began to leave the room, discussing the show.

She sighed, rubbing the feathers on her arms to sit flat once more, wincing at the dry feel of them. A few broken ones fell to the floor, and she quickly picked them up and tossed them into a nearby trashcan.

She wasn't a performer, she reminded herself as she bit into the stale candy bar she'd grabbed from the trash, the sugar off-sweet on her tongue. Her clawed feet tapped softly against the concrete of the hall as she walked, her particular biology unable to handle being shoved into shoes. (Not that the company would give a lowly maintenance worker much more than the robes she wore already.)

She didn't have the benefit of being a star attraction's mate, not like Chica. Stella berated herself for the hot flash of jealousy that bloomed in her chest at the thought of the chicken harpy. Chica was better than Stella, pretty and graceful if nothing else.

There wasn't a being in the world who'd look at Stella's disgraceful state and call her "pretty".

Even Toby said she looked like a feather duster more than an actual bird, and if there was anyone who's opinion she'd agree with it'd be the only other employee in this damn place she actually talks to.

Even if it was only when he specifically searched her out, and could drag her away from her work.

It wasn't his fault she had to work for her stay. It's not like the company spent much money on her in the long run. And it was far easier to continue working her like a mule than trying to sell her and explain her condition, or fancy her up just to get rid of her.

So she was good at what she did. She cleaned fast, and she cleaned well, and she didn't complain when she worked a whole week without a single hour of sleep within a day. The only thing worse than the company trying to pretend she didn't exist was when they noticed her failure.

Stella shook her head, adjusting the bag on her back that held her supplies as she opened the door to the backstage, carefully looking back and forth.

Good. Nobody there.

Stella placed her bag by the hidden door, grabbing a broom that was already propped against the wall. She didn't carry one around with her everywhere like the wipes and sprays, just left a few in areas she knew she'd need them. It was simplier that way, easier to stay out of sight if she wasn't lugging around a stick that'd give her away.

The practiced motions of sweeping the stage allowed her to drift, the exhaustion that normally clung to her weighing heavier when she began a monotone task such as this.

(Later, she would attribute her lack of sleep to the lack of awareness, and how she managed to completely ignore the other person in the room.)

As she was sweeping, gaze unfocused, a shine caught her eye. Pausing in her work, Stella leaned down to pick up a button, the gold coloring shining softly in the now-dim lighting of the empty room.

"Oh good, you found it already."

Stella yelped, spinning around with the button clutched close to her chest as the broom fell with a clatter, scattering her dustpile where it collapsed.

Standing serenely across from her, face unimpressed, was the largest of the peacock brothers, Eclipse.

Stella felt a cold chill go down her back. She wasn't meant to be seen, much less by the one brother most likely to begin searching her out, or go asking questions. The last thing she needed was her meager breaks being removed entirely because she managed to completely miss Eclipse's entrance.

"I'm- I'm sorry sir, I didn't hear you enter." She managed to stammer out, forcing her feathers down and averting her gaze. "Is there something I can possibly help you with?"

Stupid stupid Stella, she muttered in her head. Don't make the very important harpy ask MORE questions.

"The button." Eclipse said simply, his smooth voice breaking Stella's internal monologue. "It fell from Moon's glove sometime during the performance, I offered to search for it. Far easier to have it simply reattached rather than waiting for a new one to be ordered."

As he spoke he walked forward, his much greater height making him tower over Stella. She herself was barely taller than the average human male, while Eclipse was easily twice her size.

With an ease that honestly impressed Stella, Eclipse leaned down and picked up her broom, holding out the cleaning impliment towards her, his other hand palm up.

"A trade, perhaps?" He crooned, gaze flicking to the hand Stella was holding the button in.

She blinked in surprise, before quickly dropping the button into Eclipse's gloved hand, pulling back and grabbing her broom as if the other harpy was on fire. Part of her felt both better and worse as she took a few steps back from the larger bird, broom clutched against her chest.

Eclipse rolled the button between his fingers, humming softly.

"I don't think I've seen you around before." He hummed, taking wide strides to circle around Stella. She stood still, trying to avoid the way her feathers wanted to rise as he shifted out of her sight.

"I'm just maintenance, sir." She replied softly, gaze locked onto the floor. "You're not supposed to."

Eclipse sighed harshly, his shadow falling over Stella.

"Do you have a name, maintenance?" He asked, seemingly biting out the last word between his teeth.

Stella shivered, closing her eyes tightly. Her name was something she kept close to her chest, not even Toby knew it. Management didn't care, it wasn't worth remembering if they weren't going to use it for advertising. She was simply a Maintenance worker, and in some occasions she'd been referred to as "the maid". But never her name.

To those in charge, she didn't have one.

"I'm just a cleaner sir." She stammered, "Just trying to do my job. Honestly, I'm nobody important."

Eclipse stepped forward, back in Stella's view. His expression seemed...dissapointed, and Stella shirked away from the barely hid anger in his gaze.

"Please sir, I'm just trying to do my job. I wouldn't want to take more of your time." Stella said softly, utterly aware of her dusty feathers and unkempt state compared to the second-most vain of the star attractions.

Heavy silence sat in the room, the dark shadows of the drawn curtains hanging over Eclipse, a thin ray of light shining on Stella. She felt like she was under a microscope, a disgusting bit of dirt being studied for her faults.

"If you must." Eclipse finally said, breaking the tension. He turned quickly, bronze tail swaying behind him. "I wish you luck with the rest of your night, Maintenance." He called, pushing through the heavy curtains to leave the room.

Stella listened to him leave, unable to pry her gaze from the floorboards of the stage as the clack of Eclipse's boots became softer and softer. The creak and shut of the door relayed his exit, and Stella collapsed, falling to her knees with the broom as her only support.

Adrenaline coursed through her, the stress of the interaction leaving her hands shaking. A few dusty feathers fell into the dust around her, her trembling body shaking them free.

Stella took a few minutes to gather herself, before standing and quickly finishing her job. Perhaps not as thorough as normal, but she didn't want to be in that room any longer. The next show was due to start within the next 10 minutes.

Stella practically ran to her next job, the scenario running through her head over and over again. She could only hope Eclipse would think her just as dull as any of the other harpies in the building, or moreso, and completely forget about her.

It wouldn't do to stress over it, she thought to herself, and then had to suppress the hysterical laughter she wanted to let out at the thought.

As if she wasn't stressed enough.

She would just have to pretend it didn't happen, and let the actual problems take priority.

Like the fact someone had apparently broken an entire wine bottle in the outside gardens, according to her hidden radio.

No rest for the weary, she supposed.

~~~~~~~~~~

#Stella #wine and feathers au #my writing

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seat-safety-switch · 1 year

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Ever since I was a child, I was hypnotized by shiny metal objects. We had this brass candlestick holder that we'd bring out at Christmas. Uncle Alive Tom would pop a bright red candle in it and put it on the kitchen table in our townhome. While the adults were getting too drunk to watch me, I'd sit next to it at the table and just stare at the reflections of the flame dancing in the shining metal.

This experience is not dissimilar to every human being in existence. We, all of us, like shiny things. That's why our coins are lustrous and pretty, inherently conveying a sense of value. Folks bought up copper for centuries, before we figured out that we could use it to make crappy house plumbing or substation wiring for the methamphetamined to steal. So it's a little strange that I, myself, drive around in a car that is mostly shoplifted flat black barbecue paint and expired Bondo.

Don't I want my car to be polished and beautiful? Sure, but then some dickhead in a parking lot will just bump into it, or I'll find a door at the junkyard that's less rusty, but a different colour. When that happens, I don't want to be agonizing over paint depth, clearcoat/tie-coat compatibility, or even sanding the panel very well before farting out a stream of Ultra-High-Temperature Burger Black that isn't surveyed very well by the arc of the security cameras at the shopping centre. Job done, and I can move on with my life, performing important tasks like repairing my other crapcan cars, or looking at Craigslist for the fourth time this hour to see if any more have emerged to buy in the interim.

And don't worry, I still get my share of looking at shiny things. After all, everyone else is very worried about keeping their cars nice. All I have to do is be inside my own car, and be very careful not to look too long at my hood while stuck in traffic. When my own car catches fire, I get to recreate those ancient childhood memories. That gives me a real warm feeling, as long as I climb out of the window in time. The door latch doesn't really work, you see. Got paint in it.

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inkformyblood · 1 year

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i lose all (but not him) #1 CWW2023

Kamino, First Meetings, Slow Burn. Cody x Obi-Wan @codywanweek Day 1 prompt: Cody with a lightsaber. Ao3 link here.

It’s raining. Again.

CC-2224 jams his thumb into the door controls, forcing them open once more with a rush of frigid air that sends the hair on his arms prickling, the sensation crawling over his scalp in a bygone evolutionary tick that does nothing but irritate him. It had been several rotations since the pipes on the lower levels had broken and sent a tidal wave of coral and tiny lost insects into the corridors but the feeling of something crawling over his skin had yet to entirely fade from his immediate memory. It possibly never would. CC-2226 still woke screaming on occasions about the crash from sixteen rotations ago.

The treated canvas hood would do nothing against the rain but CC-2224 still pulls it over the thin fabric of his blacks, double knotting the trailing cords beneath his chin and tucking them away. His boots are soaked through already, but he still leans down and secures his laces. He can no more stop himself than he could pluck the moon from the sky and rearrange the constellations on a whim. He has been trained, sculpted, made for this.

Query: is it going to stop raining soon?

Answer: no.

The thought isn’t his and yet it is, wired into his thoughts like an additional comm line. CC-2224 nods regardless, swallowing against the copper tinge that spreads over his tongue, and presses the door control once more. Water flicks against his face and he blinks, pulling in a deep breath through gritted teeth, and steps outside.

He regrets it immediately. Well, not regret it. The word doesn’t quite fit and CC-2224 turns it over and over in his thoughts to try and smooth over the ragged edges, to make it flat and smooth and as routine as everything else. He’d seen a piece of equipment fall from one of the higher platforms and become wedged between a barrier and the window it was attached to, too unimportant to warrant the slight inconvenience of lowering a magnet to retrieve it and so it had been left. He’d stopped by the window during his patrols, not for long and not with enough regularity for it to be a pattern and noticed, but enough times to track the decay of plastoid components to expose the fragile wiring beneath. That had only lasted a cycle before it had been torn free and lost, the outer casing following soon after. CC-2224 doesn’t regret having to perform maintenance on the filtration unit. It is a necessary task to prevent costly breakdowns in the future. It is a necessary task to keep the nutrients in their ration blocks from becoming altered due to their negligence. It is a necessary task to keep CC-2226 from being decommissioned.

There is no room for deviations, no room for error, but CC-2224 will try for as long as he can.

He is made for this task, just as he had been made for every task before. His genetic sequence had been meticulously hand-crafted, every base chosen and lined up where it was needed. He isn’t as much of a person as he is a tool, a weapon, whatever is needed for the situation at hand. He had been made for the Jedi.

ERROR.

He had been made for one Jedi.

ERROR.

CC-2224 raises his hand to his face, smudges at the sudden spike of pain in his nose. He’s already dripping, every step squelching through the scattered puddles that are only disrupting the rain in that they’re stopping the rain from immediately drenching CC-2224 to his skin, but he can see the dark stain of blood by the distant gleam of the landing pad lights from the platform above him. There’s no sky visible amongst the heavy press of the stormclouds, and the air is heavy with salt amongst the copper gleam of blood with every breath.

He needs to move quickly. He has wasted enough time already and the unit needs to be fixed.

The panel is clearly marked, the edges outlined in a mixture of scavanged armour paint by a previous batch and CC-2224 crouches next to it. He shivers, steadying himself on the slick metal and bares his teeth at the unforgiving sky. It doesn’t stop raining, but it makes him feel a little better. Stringing together a collection of scavenged curses at the panel as it refuses to budge also helps. CC-2224 stands, tugging at the tied cords of his hood. The outside is drenched through and there isn’t enough fabric for him to use it as leverage while he is still wearing it. Rainwater cascades over him as he pulls it free, his jaw clenched tight to try and keep his teeth from chattering. He is shaking and he will never be warm or dry again. He will rust and decay and the tiny nonexistent things that are crawling over him will eat his bones.

The panel moves.

Somewhere, a door hisses open.

Query: where?

Answer: Landing bay 4

CC-2224 stares up at the distorted lights above him. He can’t keep his eyes open long enough to pick out details, rain impacting against his cheeks and necessary instincts force him to blink. That landing bay is off limits for a reason. Jango had laid it out in his contract amendments when it had been decided for him to stay on Kamino. CC-2224 had heard whispers about how that had been decided, rumours passed between batches like treated water, only gaining speed with every retelling. The version he had heard first was the least fanciful and so the most likely to be true. There had been another man at the meeting, someone tall and dressed in a dark cloak with white hair, his hand heavy on Prime’s shoulder like he was steering him.

ERROR. NO. REDIRECTING.

There are two, no, three people clustered on the landing bay. Their shadows bounce off of the walls, distorted as the rain floods over the bay lights, and CC-2224 frowns, cupping his hands over his brow as he tries to make out their size. He had done this training, passed it in record time, but the chill the rain brought with it is entirely new. He won’t mention that to the trainers, however, in case they decide to implement it to the extreme. Two are fully-grown trooper size, one standard and one possibly from an alpha batch, head and shoulders taller but not as broad as he would expect. Slight variations are expected so it must be factored in, but the final figure is cadet-sized, scurrying across the landing bay, and CC-2224 tracks his movement closely, mindful of the dual facts of a restricted area as well as the lack of barriers around the edge of the platform. Cadets think they know too much and could do everything, their confidence matched only by the shinies until they trip on their still-too-large boots.

They’re one plan, one blueprint. Deviations are not tolerated for long.

CC-2224 turns his head just enough to check the positions of the cameras, one above the door on his level and one above the door on the upper level. They wouldn’t be active, not at this hour, but he still swallows against the burn of acid in his mouth. It must be what one of the scuttling creatures that swarm over the lower levels feels like when a larger fish comes swimming past, infinitely too small with a blade hanging over his head, preparing to drop. The sounds of the ocean shift into something hungry, something focused on him with the salt tang of intention, and CC-2224 stands to the sound of a blaster.

Single shot. Deflected. (Deflected how? Something itches at the back of his mind, right next to wired-in thoughts.)

Second shot. Third.

What the fuck is going on?

CC-2224 steps forward, cupping his hands over his eyes as he stares up at the platform. All three of them will be decommissioned, possibly himself as well just for being nearby in case he is involved somehow. So, he’ll get himself involved.

The control panel for the camera is locked just inside the door controls, a neat little bypass loop to let CC-2224 take a peek and try and find spot any markings, maybe a batch symbol if he’s lucky.

(What’s that sound?)

He doesn’t manage to make it back to the door before the ground trembles beneath his feet. Not a quake nor a wave. Not a test either. It is rhythmic, building, the slow roar of a ship beginning to take off. There is only one ship on Kamino that sounds like that, loud and insistent and demanding to be noticed because fear and notoriety are half the job, as Jango said during a training session. He had left recently, circling back a few cycles ago and now he was leaving again? The cadet should be Boba if the standard trooper is Jango.

He hopes it’s Jango. If there is a trooper stealing his ship, they’ll all be culled, just to be safe.

(There it is again. What is it? It sounds so familiar, like something he heard once in a dream.)

CC-2224 breaks into a run, heading for the railings between this platform and the next. The surface is old, pitted, with heavy data cords that run up the inside along with the structural supports. It’ll be difficult, but he should be able to climb up that way if he braces himself correctly so that he doesn’t immediately fall into the starving sea beneath him. It is a stupid plan. It is one of the worst plans that CC-2224 has ever come up with. It is the only plan that has a chance of working.

He hopes CT-7567 will be okay, whichever outcome befalls him.

(Catch it.)

CC-2224 obeys. He is a good soldier, afterall. He’s created to follow orders.

The weapon is still warm, holding onto the touch of an unknown person. CC-2224 looks up, one boot resting on the decaying railing, his hand still outstretched over the scant gap between the landing bays. There is someone looking down at him, backlit as the ship roars into the atmosphere.

“Hello there!” The stranger calls. Their accent is new, clipped at the vowels and made to carry. Even so, CC-2224 has to focus to hear them, blinking against the rain.A new trainer? Someone else?

He knows who they are. He knows the weapon he’s holding. (He knows how to kill with the weapon he’s holding, knows how to fight the wielder.) ERROR.

CC-2224 raises his hand in greeting, holding the tube between thumb and forefinger as he splays his fingers. He points towards the door, knowing that there is little use in calling back and forth and trying to make themselves heard over the storm.

The stranger mimics CC-2224’s wave, their skin paler in the brief pulses of light from the emergency lighting than CC-2224’s. They are already beginning to shiver, their hand wavering before they drop out of sight. Blankets are stashed in a reclaimed supply cupboard, two corridors over with a right and a short left and CC-2224 pins the location in his mind as he turns his attention back to the open panel. A quick patch would keep it functional until the next cycle, nowhere near the full repair he was hoping to perform but it’ll do.

The lower levels are quiet this time of night, but they aren’t deserted. CC-2224 slips into one of the supply room and knocks on the top of a crate. There is a moment before he hears the sleep-slow shift of fabric and a similar face appears in the slight gap between lid and side.

“We have a Jedi on Kamino. Have you still got your comm patch links to update everyone?”

CC-2224 barely waits to receive a nod and the fledging beginning of a question before he is moving away. There isn’t time for the endless supply of questions he would have to wade through once they start and there is already a headache pulsing on the left side of his head at the thought of all the curiosity to come. He taps the lightsaber — because what else could it be, documented in a thousand training sims and another thousand more forms and techniques they had learnt (but why, why did they need them ERROR) — against his thigh. The metal gleams beneath the pale internal lights of a sleep cycle, heavier than he would have expected for something so innocuous, and CC-2224 brushes his thumb over the switch just beneath the port. It is a slight stretch for him to reach, suggesting the Jedi is taller than himself or, at least, has a slightly wider grip.

He’ll need to be mindful of the extra reach this could mean.

The thought is forgotten as quickly as it arrives, tucked away amongst the nest of wired-in instincts that haven’t been taught or bound into him but were somehow there.

The blanket he collects from the supply closet in one amongst thousands of the same grey material, the same durable weave, and he slings it over one shoulder as he walks, barely breaking stride as he leaves a trail of damp and squelching footprints behind him. They all knew of the Jedi (they had been made for them) but soaked to the bone and shivering is not how he thought he would ever meet one. In his half-constructed dreams, the ones that were usually filled with a nebulous future of things he had never experienced but they could be out there, somewhere, maybe, CC-2224 doesn’t dream of battle. He thinks about a street, about a blue sky above his head and walls that are stone instead of metal. He thinks about a chance encounter, about hands fumbling on a stack of forms or an accidental encounter with a mug of caf. He thinks about his Jedi and what they will look like. He wonders who this Jedi is.

Rounding another corner, CC-2224 hears a matching set of wet footsteps, an unfamiliar voice grumbling in a cascade of syllables that seem to be bundled together in a roll for easy transport only to be unfurled at what sounds like the weather outside, the ocean below, the walls for looking too similar and somebody named Quigon for somehow being responsible, ultimately, for all of this.

“Sir?”

The Jedi begins to look over his shoulder before he catches himself and turns to face CC-2224. He is pretty in a soaked to the skin kind of way, the water shining beneath the flare of lights as they hum into life at CC-2224’s approach. His hair is dark, made darker by the storm, but it is the shade that captures CC-2224’s attention first, red like the distant glimpses of sunset he can make out from the higher levels of the facility whenever the speciality training overran.

“Hello again,” the Jedi says, his grin immediate and a little rueful. He bows, one shivering hand pressed into his chest. The leather bracelets around his wrist shift with the movement and CC-2224 flexes his free fingers with the urge to unfasten them. They could move and catch, irritating the skin beneath, and no other reason. None at all.

CC-2224 holds out the lightsaber, flipping it easily so the handle is extended towards the Jedi. He is aware of the potential blade within in the same way he would be aware of the possible humming energy field of a vibroblade, the prospect of danger and death. “I believe you dropped this, sir.”

“Yes. I did, didn’t I?” The Jedi steps forward, tapping his boot behind himself as he reclaims his lightsaber and snaps it back onto his belt. “Thank you for catching it for me.”

CC-2224 flexes his fingers, chasing after the scant memory of the handle still warm from another’s touch, and settles back into the correct stance before holding the blanket out. “For you as well, sir.”

“Thank you. And call me Obi-Wan, please. I don’t believe I’ve caught your name?”

CC-2224 twitches at the question, a momentary break in composure and his fingers bump against Obi-Wan’s. It is the barest instance of contact, gone in the same heartbeat, but he focuses on it regardless, something new to distract his racing thoughts with. He can’t answer. He has to answer. He—

“Jedi Master. I have been looking for you.”

Ice shears down CC-2224’s spine, stopping his heart and kickstarting it at the same time. His breath remains steady, his hands still as he drops into a waiting position at the Kaminoan’s approach. They didn’t venture down this far, preferring the drier floors high above, and she ducks her head beneath the sag of a broken strut before moving next to Obi-Wan. She doesn’t look at CC-2224.

“I see you have encountered one of our units.”

“I have.” Obi-Wan glances at CC-2224, his expression unreadable. All warmth that CC-2224 had been basking in has been carefully hidden, akin to shoving everything that could be considered contraband into an air duct and pulling the paneling back into place leaving it sheer and blank once more. “He showed great initiative, I’m very impressed.”

The target slowly lifts from between CC-2224’s shoulderblades, a box in a system he’ll never be allowed to access remaining unchecked. He doesn’t move, keeps his face blank. He hasn’t been dismissed yet; one of the little games the long-necks like to play and some of the trainers too, the wait-there-because-I’ve-told-you, the pick-this-up-put-it-down, the go-stop-go-stop.

He hopes the Jedi will be different.

He is prepared if they aren’t.

“Do you require him for anything further?”

“No.” Obi-Wan turns away from the scientist, his mouth still pressed into a thin line that speaks a rage brewing behind it, tightly leashed and called to heel, but his eyes soften as he looks at CC-2224. “You’re dismissed. I hope our paths cross again.”

“Sir.” CC-2224 salutes, regimentally perfect like he has been pre-programmed with the gesture, and turns on his heel. He’s been a drowning man often enough to recognise an escape when one is offered.

Query: Who is Jedi Master Obi-Wan?

Answer: He is a Jedi. He is a target. (He has been made for you just as you have been made for him.)

Too many thoughts.

ERROR.

Just one.

Their fingers brushed. CC-2224 would like it to happen again.

#codywan week 2023 #codywan #codywanweek 2023 #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #obi wan x cody #fanfic #my writing

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zoeykallus · 2 years

Note

I love the headcanon that most clones are very artistic! Maybe a reaction of Reader finding or catching one of the Bad Batchers sketching them?

Hm, interesting idea. Let me try something :)) Let me tell you, I really had some fun with Crosshair's part XD

The Bad Batch Being Artistic x Fem!Reader - Love And Art

Warnings: Little cat and mouse game in Crosshair's part. “Explicit threats of violence”

Hunter

Hunter has a knack for carving. He is very skilled with a knife and pretty much any other sharp object. It all started when he picked up a piece of wood on a mission in a forest and carved away at it with his knife. He quickly found he had an aptitude for it and did this sort of thing more and more often. Eventually, he added other tools and carved in his spare time as well.

When you first see his collection, you are amazed and look at all the figures. On a shelf there is a cloth with a figure obviously hidden under it. When you ask him about it, he explains, "I actually made this for you."

"For me?" you ask, surprised.

Hunter nods, grabs the figure with the cloth, and finally pulls the cloth away. An orchid emerges from underneath. Beautiful, finely carved. He hands you the wooden flower. He smiles when he sees your eyes light up.

"An orchid, it's beautiful," you say enthusiastically, turning the figure in your hands to look at it from all sides.

"Just like you," he says softly.

Echo

He discovered his love for art after a mission when he discovered a small store on Ord Mantell that sold art and supplies for artists. Actually, he had not explicitly looked for it, but curiosity drew him to the small store. He discovered paintings that had been made with colored sand, beautiful very lifelike looking paintings.

Fascinated, he had dealt with it for quite a while, collected information and started his own first attempts. Echo was thrilled when he realized how good he actually was at creating real pictures from the different colored grains of sand. It does him good, calms him down, helps him to organize his thoughts, especially when everything went haywire again during a mission.

For a while, he withdraws more often, not really telling you what he's doing or where he's going. Until the evening of your birthday comes. Somewhat nervously, he hands you a rectangular, flat, wrapped gift.

"What's this?"

"Open it, and you'll find out," he says with a soft laugh.

You open the paper and one of his pictures emerges from underneath. He has drawn you with the sang, it is an incredibly good picture and securely sealed so that it cannot be damaged.

"Oh, Echo, so that's what you've been doing secretly for the last few days".

He nods with a shy smile.

"Do you like it?"

"Yes, very much, it's a very great, very personal gift. Unbelievable how you manage to do such a thing"

Echo kisses your cheek and says softly, "Happy Birthday, Meshla"

Wrecker

Honestly, for quite a while, you don't really know that Wrecker has an artistic streak until you accidentally come across a collection of strange figurines that he collects in a box.

"What's this?" you ask in wonder as he rummages around in it.

He shrugs his broad shoulders sheepishly.

"Uh, a little hobby of mine. Wait, I made one for you too"

You see that they are figures made of very fine cable wires, silver and copper. They are incredibly well crafted figures, animals, trees, and a few other things.

He finally hands you one of the figurines. A beautiful tree, it looks like it has many fine branches, they are so perfectly arranged that it almost looks real. On the branches hang many small objects, which you think at first moment are fruits, but you look closer and recognize, very small, very finely crafted hearts.

It's incredibly sweet and beautiful.

"Is this really for me?"

Wrecker nods with a wide smile as he sees your enthusiastic expression.

"It's incredibly beautiful"

"I put in extra effort for that one," he admits with a small, shy chuckle.

You kiss his cheek and say, "I can tell, it's a really great gift, I'll always treasure it"

Tech

He actually has several artistic hobbies. However, he rarely takes time for them. He has too many other things on his mind, repairs, solving technical problems, his work on better prostheses for Echo, modifications to the ship and much more. Tech rarely gets to let go and do something artistic.

If he has time to spare, he'd rather spend it with you, which happens far too rarely anyway. When you ask him about his artistic interests, he smiles cheekily at you.

"Am I not interesting enough for you?" he asks jokingly.

You nudge him and say, "You know I find you more than interesting".

Tech says with a smile, "There are several arts that interest me. I can draw pretty well, but I also find poetry fascinating and some music. However, I don't really have the time for that sort of thing."

"Too bad. I think you would be a great artist"

He wraps an arm around your waist and gently pulls you closer to him.

"You really think so?"

"I'm sure of it actually"

A few days later, you meet outside the Marauder, sit on a bench nearby, and he hands you a folder.

"What's this?"

"Sketches"

"Oh? Of what"

"Open it"

You open the folder and see excellent, realistic sketches of the Marauder, but it doesn't really look like the Marauder, seems much bigger.

"These are pretty darn good! Wow! Is that a different model of the Marauder?"

Tech smiles with satisfaction and says, "Not quite, well, depending on how you look at it. I've been thinking about how little privacy we have, and I'd like to change that. All these sketches are plans for conversions and attachments to the Marauder, so we can have a private area just for the two of us. Hunter has already agreed, and Echo has promised to help."

That is indeed a wonderful idea. You can't wait to see the finished piece and, of course, use it with him.

You kiss him deeply and say, "My brilliant darling".

Crosshair

(Excuse me, I had a stupid idea, and yes, I think I'm funny)

Pre relationship

You've seen him sitting off and drawing before, but he won't let anyone look at his papers. Whenever someone approaches him, he closes the folder and retreats. Even if you approach him.

But you are so bold and wait for a moment when the folder is on a rock where he was just sitting and drawing before he was called and distracted by Tech.

You open the folder and are amazed to see indescribably good black and white drawings. The biggest surprise, however, is the subject, on almost every drawing you are the focus. You among trees in full bloom, you in a meadow, you sleeping in your bunk, you sitting cross-legged by the campfire, you from pretty much every perspective, every angle, and with every facial expression imaginable, but most often he captured your smile.

"Wow," you murmur softly to yourself.

Your heart beats really fast, the grumpy sniper you secretly have a crush on must have a thing for you too. Your stomach tingles and you feel warm. In his thick portfolio are really almost only pictures of you and a few of his rifle.

-----

Crosshair is annoyed when he comes into the engine room.

"What's going on? Why are you calling me?" he asks Tech.

Tech turns to him unperturbed and says dryly, "Y/N asked me to do that"

Crosshair frowns, that doesn't make sense.

"Don't kid me. Why would she do that?"

Tech shrugs and says, "I have no idea, didn't ask why. She just asked me for a simple favor."

Then it dawns on him. His eyes grow wide as he murmurs half in shock, "My portfolio."

Crosshair runs back outside, and there he sees you, portfolio in hand.

He rumbles, "You lousy little…"

You look up, startled, and see the angry Sniper stomping towards you. Hastily you put down the folder, mutter a curse and want to run away, but behind you rises a steep cliff wall, in front of you is the rock and on the other side Crosshair.

"Come here! I'll whip your ass so hard you won't be able to sit down for days!"

"Oh dear…", you mutter.

Echo asks from the background, "What did she do this time?"

"I just looked in the folder," you say indignantly.

Hunter draws in air sharply between his teeth and says, "Oooh, bad move, Ad'ika."

You blink and say, "You're not going to let him beat me up, are you?"

Echo laughs.

"Well, you can take a few swats on the butt."

"Hey! You are not funny, Echo!"

"Come here!"

You squeak in fright and just barely dodge Crosshair, who has jumped over the rock.

You can dodge him for quite a while and actually trick him a few times, but eventually he has you pinned in a corner.

"Don't hurt me," you say with narrowed eyes and raised hands, as if expecting him to lash out.

Crosshair sighs, then asks with a snort, "You looked through the drawings?"

"…yes, they're really very g-"

"Don't jump to conclusions, it doesn't mean anything," he growls at you, "You're just a good subject."

"Oh…okay" you say and even though you know he's lying right now, you feel a little twinge that he's still closing himself off to you.

He stares down at you, his gaze literally burning on you.

"I'm not going to paint you today" he grumbles, "Your hair looks stupid today".

He turns and walks away as you say, "You look stupid".

He stops and you hold your breath.

Crosshair is not even turning around as he speaks, "What was that, Kitten?"

"Nothing…"

He growls, "I thought so," and finally keeps walking.

It takes him a while to admit his feelings.

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@puppetswithteeth

@palliateclaws

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@starwarsnerd111

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kraviolis · 1 year

Text

debris becoming whole again (The Owl House)

Rating: Teen Relationships: Amity & Hunter, Belos & Hunter Words: 4.4k Additional Tags: Birthday Trauma, Pre-Canon Flashback, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Reference Child Abuse, Angst & Fluff, Banter, Grief/Mourning, Complicated Feelings, Post-Canon (W&D Timeskip) Summary:

Hunter blinks at her in pure disbelief. “There’s no way you forgot my last birthday.”

“I’m sorry.” Amity does look genuinely sorry about it, which is nice but not what he was getting at.

“No, I mean, it’s actually impossible that you could forget it. You were there.”

“I’m gonna be honest… I don’t think I even know when your birthday is.” She admits, looking sheepish as if that’s her fault, somehow.

AO3 LINK

__________________

Hunter is smiling as he makes his way down the castle halls.

No one sees it, of course. All the coven scouts see as they’re passing by is the Golden Guard power walking with purpose down the hall. They step out of the way and avert their gaze, avoiding any kind of eye contact, which is just fine to Hunter. He doesn’t want to be delayed for a second longer than necessary.

It’s not every day that Emperor Belos wakes him thirty minutes early with a coven courier giving him a letter requesting his presence in his Uncle’s workshop. Hunter had barely been able to contain his excitement long enough to close the door before he was smiling ear-to-ear and rushing through his morning routine. His hair was still slightly damp, but he couldn’t be late– not today.

When he reaches the door, he straightens himself out and clears his throat before knocking.

“Come in,” Belos calls through the wood, and Hunter obeys.

The workshop is one of Hunter’s favorite places in the whole imperial palace. It’s always a cluttered tangle, with half-cooked blueprints and random tubes and bolts and pieces of scrap metal scattered across any flat surface. He’s always careful to step over the various items littering the floor, knowing that it may look like a huge mess but isn’t actually. His Uncle prefers an organized chaos just like Hunter does, and he’ll do his best to respect the space as a guest in it.

“Good morning,” Belos greets him from his seat at one of the benches, his own mask and cloak nowhere to be seen and his long hair pulled back out of his face. He’s bent over, charcoal pencil in his hand scratching away with quick strokes, but pauses his ministrations to turn to Hunter as he approaches. “I see you received my invitation.”

Hunter moves to kneel, bowing his head. “Good morning, Emperor B–”

His Uncle cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “No, none of that, if you please. I do prefer my mornings outside of court and with as little bureaucracy as possible.” He turns back to the bench, pencil in hand as he continues his sketching.

Blushing under his mask, Hunter stands and nods. “Uh. Right. Sorry.”

Belos swipes a hand over the paper he’s working on, brushing away any particles. Then with the same hand, he beckons Hunter closer without looking up. “Come, nephew. Tell me what you think of this– and take that mask off while you’re at it.”

With a practiced hand, he removes his mask and hood in a single swift motion, leaving the golden vizard on the first clear surface he sees. Belos leans back so that Hunter may look over his shoulder at the sketchbook laid on the table.

“It’s… a new artificial staff?” Hunter leans closer, putting a hand on the table to get a better look. His eyes widen as he takes it in. “No, wait, is that my staff? Are you planning another alteration to the mechanisms?”

“It is, and I am.” His Uncle confirms, pointing with the pencil at the fresh blueprint. “There’s actually quite a bit I’d like to implement, but for now– do you see this modification here? With the internal wiring? What do you make of it?”

He absorbs the page, soaking in the looping cockatrice-scratch of his Uncle’s handwriting. “Mixing metals in the wires– tonguesten, copper, and Titan’ium?” He murmurs to himself, trying to connect the dots in his head. “Using copper as the conductor instead of gold would increase power, even if the charge becomes unstable… but putting those two metals together like this wouldn’t work, right?”

Hunter looks to his Uncle, who tilts his head to one side wordlessly with a neutral expression. Seeing that he won’t be getting any hints, he hums and goes back to squinting at the page in front of him.

“This configuration would brick the staff at best, or at worst, cause it explode in your hand the second you try to use it.” He crooks a finger against his chin, running through all his knowledge of magical engineering. “Copper is leaky and Titan’ium reflects magic, which is why normally you should make an effort to avoid using them together, but… not unless… the tonguesten! ”

He straightens his back, holding back a smile as he finally makes the connection. “Using tonguesten as the barrier because of its density will prevent the leaking and keep the refractions of magic within the wire itself, which lets it flow faster and at higher concentration!”

“Very good, Hunter.” Belos nods his approval, making Hunter swell with pride. “These new wire compositions should prevent both that pesky half-second delay and make this mechanism here unnecessary. Once we can remove that eyesore, the head will become lighter and render the staff more balanced than ever. In fact, all these changes I’ve noted down should make it all feel a bit more… natural, so to speak.”

Hunter can’t stop the grin this time. “That’s so– Uncle, you’re a genius! This is incredible!” He says, turning to the elder in excitement.

Belos smiles back, but it’s tense in a way that gives Hunter pause. When he raises a single brow, Hunter suddenly realizes he’s grabbed the Emperor of the Boiling Isles by the shoulders. He pulls his hands back quickly, cheeks and ears burning like he’s just slathered firebee honey on them as he takes a step back.

“I– uh. Um.” Keeping his eyes to the ground, he clears his throat and tries to regain his sense of professionalism. He bends at the waist, arms planted to his sides. “I apologize for my overenthusiasm, sir.”

“That’s quite alright, Hunter. I’m glad to know you’re appreciative of my work.” Belos puts a hand on his head, patting gently. “Just don’t make such reactions into a habit, hm?” Hunter’s breath catches, something warm blossoming in his chest at the gesture even when his Uncle quickly pulls his hand away.

It’s not every day that he receives so much casual affection, as his Uncle has never been very open with his touch– which Hunter understands, of course! The curse is dangerous to those around him, and Belos doesn’t like Hunter getting too close just in case he accidentally injures him. But today must be a good day, one where his curse isn’t bothering him too badly.

“Are you ready to get started?” His Uncle asks, drawing him from his mind.

Hunter blinks and tilts his head. “Started on what?”

“On your staff modifications, of course.”

“Today?” Hunter breathes, lighting up at the nod he gets. “Really? And I get to help?”

Belos chuckles, regal and dignified. “It is your staff, Hunter. You know it nearly as well as I do.” He glances to the door of the workshop, his brow raising again. “Though, I don’t imagine we can begin right this second.”

“Oh.” Something deflates in Hunter but he does his best not to frown or whine like a petulant child not getting his way. “Do you need me to gather the materials first?”

“No, I should have everything we need already.” His Uncle gestures towards his storage containers in the corner, half the lids off of the containers and several labels misplaced or illegible from age. Hunter glances from the materials back to Belos, still not understanding. “It’s just that… well, it would be rather difficult to begin when your staff isn’t here.”

Hunter gasps. “I forgot it in my room! Agh, stupid!” He hits his forehead with his fist a couple times, then turns to run out the door. “Sorry, Uncle! I’ll go and–”

“Hold a tick,” Belos grabs his own staff from where it leans against the wall to his right, using it to levitate Hunter’s mask over to him. “You don’t want to forget this as well, do you?”

“Right– Thank you!” He slips it over his face and pulls his hood up swiftly. “I’ll be right back!”

Before he can rush out of the door, his Uncle calls him back again. “Oh, and one more thing.”

He freezes and wrenches his head back into the room, buzzing with enough energy to power his staff a hundred times over. He forces his tone to stay polite and respectful, no matter how badly he wants to just take off running down the hall towards his bedroom. “Yes, Uncle?”

Belos smiles kindly at him. “Happy sixteenth birthday, Hunter.”

Hunter is so, so glad his Uncle can’t see his face anymore. The second he processes the words, he smiles so wide it makes his cheeks hurt and has to blink the sudden blur in his vision away. It feels like his chest is about to burst from nothing but pure joy.

He has an urge to run back across the room and throw his arms around his Uncle, or even just tell him for once how much he means to him, but he fights it back. No matter how much he cares for him, he can’t cross those boundaries.

His Uncle is a complicated man and has been through a lot of pain in his life– he wouldn’t be appreciative of gestures like that. It’s not in his nature, and Hunter refuses to make his Uncle uncomfortable or, Titan forbid, start putting up his walls when it’s just the two of them again like he did when Hunter was small.

(Back when his Uncle was so distant he often would go weeks without seeing him at all. When he couldn’t find a single chance to show his Uncle how helpful he could actually be to him. No, he won’t go back to that.)

(He’ll show the Emperor every single day just how much he can rely on Hunter, how useful he can be. He’s not going to become more dead weight, and he’s not going to let anyone else take his place.)

(Plus, it’s best for Hunter to remain as professional as possible in the castle. After all, he can only take so much muttering behind his back about nepotism and daycares.)

Instead, Hunter just nods quickly to show his appreciation. “Thank you, Uncle!”

He waits a second for his Uncle to wave his hand, officially dismissing him, before he closes the door to the workshop politely and takes off in a dead sprint down the hall.

Hunter grins under his mask the entire way there and back.

_________________

Hunter sniffles, drawing his knees to his chest tighter.

It’s getting colder out here by the second as the sky darkens, the sun already gone below the horizon. His back is pressed against the wall of the Owl House as he hides away in the backyard. The sounds of the birthday party still going on inside does nothing but make his heart sink even lower.

There’s a sudden raucous of muffled laughter and Hunter squeezes his eyes closed. Everyone is having such a good time. Why can’t he? Why does everything have to be ruined by his dumb brain? Why does he have to be ruined?

It’s not fair of him. It’s supposed to be Gus’s special day. Hunter is supposed to be inside playing games with him and teasing him for turning fourteen and still being a pipsqueak, not sitting outside in the cold and having his own little pity party.

Gus is gonna notice he’s gone soon, and then he’s gonna have to deal with Hunter’s stupid problems instead of getting sick from eating so much of the human cake Luz and Camila brought. But even though Hunter wants more than anything to just suck it up and let himself have a good time with his friends, he just… can’t .

“Stupid,” He mutters to himself, sniffling again.

“Hey.”

Hunter whips his head around, startled. Amity is standing to his right, hands folded in front of her awkwardly. He hadn’t even heard the backdoor open.

She frowns at him and Hunter quickly turns away again to wipe at his face. “Hu–” He cuts himself off and clears his throat before trying again. “Hey.”

Amity approaches carefully and sits down right next to him, not touching but still close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating off of her. Ghost is conspicuously absent from the palisman’s constant post of circling her ankles, and Hunter knows it was on purpose.

His friends can’t even just hang out with their palismen near him without needing to walk on eggshells because of how stupidly sensitive he is. Like, it happened months ago, and Hunter still can’t even think about Flapjack without–

Hunter sniffles harder and scrubs at his eyes. Stupid. He’s so stupid . What’s wrong with him?

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” Amity tells him, and he realizes he was talking out loud. “You’re just having a hard time.”

“I’ve been having a hard time for seventeen years,” He says bitterly and continues to fight his own tear ducts. “I should be used to it by now. I never had these kinds of problems before– before I…”

“Before you left the Emperor’s Coven ?” She gives him a look, flat and unimpressed. “The same coven where showing an ounce of real emotion like this was– how did Luz word it? Like bleeding in shark infested waters?”

Hunter looks away without answering, frustrated over hearing such a logical comment in the face of his very illogical emotions. It makes too much sense for him right now, which makes everything about what he’s doing feel even more stupid.

Amity sighs. “Do you… wanna talk about it?”

Hunter stares ahead, eyes fixed on the edge of the forest around the Owl House. The crowd inside laughs together at something again, muffled and barely-heard through the stone walls and thick glass window next to them.

“I’m just being stupid.” He repeats, turning his head to look at her.

“I mean, when are you not?” She elbows him, smiling. He glares at her in mock-offense and elbows her back, causing a mini elbow war that ends in seconds after a mutual surrender. “Seriously, though. Spill it already.”

Hunter moves a hand down from his knees, picking at the red grass underneath him. “Swear you won’t make fun of me for it?” He asks.

“Swear. Look,” Amity makes a gesture across her chest. “Cross my heart.”

Hunter raises a brow at her. “...What does that even mean?”

“Luz did it once. It’s a human way of pledging a serious promise.”

Hunter sighs. “If Luz used it then good enough, I guess. Fine.”

There’s a long stretch of silence between them. Amity twiddles her thumbs together and Hunter tries to fit the words together in his head in a way where it possibly, just maybe, won’t actually be the stupidest thing he’s said and ever will say to another living soul.

“So…” Amity says. “Are you gonna–”

“My birthdays have always been my favorite memories.” Hunter blurts out, digging one hand into the grass and the other into his hair. Amity goes silent instantly, fixing her attention on him. “Except for– well. You know what happened during the last one.”

“...Do I?” She asks, squinting.

Hunter blinks at her in pure disbelief. “There’s no way you forgot my last birthday.”

“I’m sorry.” She does look genuinely sorry about it, which is nice but not what he was getting at.

“No, I mean, it’s actually impossible that you could forget it. You were there.”

“I’m gonna be honest… I don’t think I even know when your birthday is.” She admits, looking sheepish as if that’s her fault, somehow. “I didn’t realize you already turned seventeen until you said so just now.”

“I… Oh, Titan.” He laughs, but it’s not actually funny. He stops quickly. “I– I just remembered I never actually told anyone. I was so focused on everything else, I never…”

"When is your birthday?"

“My birthday is– Amity, it’s on Samhain." He swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. "Or, well, technically last year it was on Halloween.”

Amity blanches. She’s frozen in shock for a second, staring at him with wide eyes, before she nearly scrambles to take his hand in hers. The pressure is grounding, and he squeezes back just as tight. “Hunter,” She breathes in that same old tone– the one that everyone uses whenever Hunter shares anything about his life that’s less than perfectly happy. Horror, concern, and pity mixed into one single specific tone of voice.

“Don’t.” Hunter shakes his head. His free hand twists itself in the front of his shirt. “I already know. It’s– That isn’t what I wanted to talk about.”

Amity purses her lips and nods, but that doesn’t stop her from looking like she won’t be forgetting it. He just hopes she doesn’t let it slip to Luz before he can get the chance to tell her on his own– that will only end in a grievous amount of tears and yelling. Again.

“Anyways,” He clears his throat. Amity gives his hand another squeeze, encouraging him. “Um. Where was I again?”

“You said your birthdays were always your happiest memories.” She tells him, and he nods.

“Yeah. They were. Are? It’s– complicated.” His shoulders fall, and he leans his head against his knees again. “I didn’t get my birthdays off, in the Coven. No one did, really, but even when I was a kid I never had any birthday parties. Not like this one.”

“Are you upset because you… want one?” She guesses.

He shakes his head. “I– I don’t think that’s it. I think…” He hesitates, rolling the next words on his tongue before deciding to just spit them out. “I think I miss him.”

Amity doesn’t ask who ‘him’ is. She doesn’t have to. Hunter avoids looking at her face, not wanting to take the risk of seeing disgust or hate in reaction to his admission. She doesn’t stop holding his hand, which he takes as a good sign.

“He always made time in his day to spend my birthdays with me.” He keeps going, not sure if he can stop now that he’s started. “Even if it was only for fifteen minutes, even if we spent it going over budget reports, he always made an effort. For me .

“It’s stupid, right? How idiotic does someone have to be to miss him ?” Hunter growls, clenching his hands. “He was nothing but a liar and a murderer. He wasn’t even my uncle! I was only a tool to him, one that he had no problem with throwing away the second I–”

Amity quietly lets out a pained squeak, and Hunter rips his hand away from hers quick as lightning. “Sorry!”

“It’s fine,” She can’t hide the wince in her face as she rubs her palm with her thumb. She shakes her head, her purple bangs falling out of place. “Don’t worry about it, keep going.”

Hunter hesitates but with a threatening brow raise from Amity, he deflates and curls back in on himself. It takes him a second to regather his thoughts from where he’d left them.

“You know what the worst part is?” He says. “When he wasn’t actively making my life into a living nightmare, he was actually really nice to me. For example, he used to sneak me hard candies during meetings that went long. Oh, and he’d let me sit in his workshop with him and rant about my day, or ramble about magical theory while he tinkered. That’s the version of him I miss more than any other. The version who felt like… like an actual, real person.

“And I know it wasn’t ever real to him, I know that everything nice he did was just another way for him to manipulate me, but… but it was real to me.” A lump begins to form in his throat, and it doesn’t fade when Hunter tries to swallow it down.

“Belos,” He spits the name like it’s poison. “Never cared about me, but I cared about him. I– Damn it.” He scrubs at his traitorous eyes again, his breath hitching. “I- I loved him.”

His voice breaks, and so does Hunter. Unable to hold it back anymore, he wraps his arms around himself as his body begins to tremble and jolt with every sob that rips from his throat. Amity pulls him in, leaning him on her shoulder as he cries.

It’s stupid. It’s so, so stupid . He should know better. Yet here Hunter is, grieving a genocidal tyrant who wouldn’t have given his own death a second thought. Grieving the man Hunter had thought he was. Grieving a family he never even had when his new family was right inside. They’re going to smile at Hunter when he goes back in later and look at him like he’s made their lives better just by being there, but right now he’s sobbing over someone who made Hunter feel like he had to earn the right to be his nephew.

“Stupid,” Hunter chokes out through his tears. “‘m so stupid.”

“It’s okay. I- I get it.” Amity tells him quietly, one of her hands rubbing up and down his back. “I miss my mom, sometimes.”

Hunter leans against her with more of his weight. “Your mom s-sucks .”

“I know,” Amity laughs wetly, ducking her head down. “How awful is that? I still love the woman who tried to kill Luz like, twice. I’m a horrible girlfriend.”

“Shut up.” He sobs, serious despite his sniffling.

“It’s true.” She argues back, something weird in her voice. “I have dreams about my mom waltzing into my life again, completely changed and telling me how sorry she is. I always end up crying when I wake up and remember it’s not real. I’m such an idiot .”

“Shut up.” Hunter repeats, shifting his neck to look her in the face. He barely blinks at seeing Amity with tears streaking down her face, too. “Don’t– don’t say that. You aren’t an idiot for missing the person who– who raised you.”

“I know I’m not,” Amity agrees breezily, tears all but forgotten in the blink of an eye. “And neither are you.” She pokes him in the forehead, and Hunter stops crying out of pure shock.

“You…” He trails off, pulling back from her even more.

“Now, if you say you’re stupid for missing your Uncle, you’re calling me stupid, too.” Amity flutters her still-wet lashes, as if she’s one of those innocent little angel baby statues that sit on the shelves in the Noceda living room, and not what Camila calls el diablo .

Hunter stares at her, mouth gaping like a fish. She giggles and the sound makes him scowl. He crosses his arms, glaring at her. “I’m– I’m changing my mind; you also suck.”

“Gotcha.” She grins wickedly, taking a second to wipe her face. Her eyeliner had run when she was crying, painting black streaks down her pale cheeks before her hands smeared it all into an even bigger mess.

He groans and pushes her away, rubbing at his own eyes and nose. “I can’t believe you. You can’t just– trick someone into not calling themselves stupid over something that is objectively stupid!”

“I just did, though.” Amity leans her chin on her hand.

“That’s not how it works!” Hunter argues, throwing his hands up. “I’m not gonna stop doing it just because you– you think you trapped me!”

“What if I blackmail you?” She says it so sweetly, like she’s asking to give him a hug and not attempting to threaten him into being nice to himself. Honestly, Hunter is ninety percent sure she doesn’t actually have anything to blackmail him with, but that ten percent is making him nervous.

“I know for a fact that you don’t have anything on me.” He calls her bluff.

“Do Camila and Mr. Deamonne know when your birthday is?” Amity asks, checking her nails casually.

Hunter reels back, eyes widening. “You wouldn’t. I told you in confidence!”

“Hmmm,” She rolls her eyes up to look at the stars in the fully darkened sky, tapping a single finger to her cheek. “I really wonder what they'd say if they found out.”

“This is low, Blight.” He shakes his head. “Even for you.”

“All you have to do to guarantee my silence is agree to my terms.” She smiles at him, waiting for what she knows is inevitable.

Hunter plants his face into his hands and groans into them. “FINE!” He bursts, throwing his hands up. “ Fine! I won’t call myself stupid. You happy now?”

“Very.” She nods primly, a smug little smirk on her face. “Though, I would be happier if you went back inside, hugged Camila, and had some cake.”

“You’re so bossy.” He rolls his eyes, using the wall as leverage to lift himself up. His legs take a second to solidify under him, but he manages.

“Hunter, you’re the only one who lets me boss them around like this.” She tells him bluntly as she holds out her arm in a wordless command. He sighs and pulls her to her feet in a single smooth motion. “I have to capitalize on that. Where else am I gonna get the same rush of power and superiority now that I’m not a total bitch?”

“You’re just taking advantage of my brainwashing from being a child soldier.” Hunter sniffs.

“You can’t keep pulling the child soldier card.” Amity argues. “It’s so unfair!”

He doesn’t actually care that he was a child soldier or whatever– it was quite honestly the least of his worries. He’s just echoing the words that Darius or Raine or Eda have said to him after witnessing one of his more unnerving habits. Like the compulsive kneeling.

“Whatever. I know when I’m not wanted.” Hunter raises his nose at her as he says it, brushing past towards the door leading into the kitchen. “And, for the record, you still are a total–”

He yelps in a very dignified manner as something trips him and he falls face first towards the ground. Before he can hit the ground in a way that definitely could have broken his nose, he’s caught in a levitation spell.

“You wanna finish that sentence?” Amity asks from behind him.

“...no.” Hunter grunts, struggling in the grip of the magic.

“I thought so.” She says happily, helping him to his feet.

“That’s cheating.” He huffs, brushing himself off. “I can’t do magic like that.”

Amity breezes right past him and to the door. “And I can’t use my childhood trauma as a trump card to win every argument. We all have our strengths.”

He grumbles under his breath but follows her. Before she opens the door to rejoin the party, she pauses, as if realizing something.

“Did my makeup get smeared?” Amity asks, looking up at him.

Hunter blinks. “No. Not at all.”