#Echo Show ads disable

[crazydiscostu]

How Disable Ads On Your Echo Show Device

It used to be when you bought a device, it was yours to do with as you pleased! This doesn’t feel like the case with certain display-based Smart devices. Amazon seem to update their devices with new advertising features every few months. These features don’t generally make life better, but it does seem like the company finds new and interesting ways to push marketing onto the user. With each ad…

[clockwayswrites]

Like Betta Fish Do Part 23

Jason had a gun in his hand before he even registered that he was awake. A window closed in the living room. Gun trained on the door, Jason pulled up the security feed on his phone. The only reason he wasn’t out the door and shooting was because even his silent alarms weren’t going off. That pointed to this being an annoying sibling.

Sure enough, the camera showed Dick crossing the room. He stopped to blow a kiss at the hidden camera, the fucker, and then went to disable the alarms at the front door. Jason shoved the gun back under the bed frame and buried his face in his pillow. If his siblings were going to invade without warning, they could wait until he was actually ready to get up.

Jason got fifteen more minutes of sleep and a shower in before he was ready to brave his family.

“Nice of you to finally join us,” Tim said with a pointed sip of his coffee.

He was sitting on the couch, Cass perched on the arm next to him. Dick had the other half of the couch, with an angry Damian tucked next to him, while Duke took the arm chair.

“If you wanted punctual, you should have texted,” Jason said. “There better still be coffee in the pot.”

This seemed like a coffee sort of day.

“There is, and we brought donuts,” Dick chirped. “I made sure the horde left a cake and a raspberry cream for you.”

“You are slightly forgiven for whatever the fuck is going on here,” Jason said. Of course someone had taken his favorite mug already. He settled for the one with the Shakespeare quote and added more than a splash of cream to the coffee before he went to face his siblings.

Tim motioned to the table.

The aforementioned box of donuts was there as well as a pile of tabloid papers. Jason raised his eyes at them. Huh.

“Well?” Tim asked.

“News moves fast?” Jason said with an unaffected shrug. At least seemingly unaffected. His heart was going a mile a minute it felt like. He hadn’t wanted them to know yet. He wanted more time.

But he was the one who had gone to pick Danny up. He had known that this could happen. Fuck, he should have thought about this more, he wasn’t ready. Jason picked up the top one. They were just a little side picture for that publication, but the one under it they were main page.

It wasn’t a half bad picture. Danny’s face was obscured, shot from the back as he leaned in to kiss Jason. Danny’s hands on the edge of his leather jacket were clear though, as was how nicely he fit in between Jason’s legs.

Maybe he’d keep that one.

Not that he’d tell Tim that, because, “You’re fucking creepy, Replacement. Why’d you buy all these?”

“I’m keeping track of the family! It’s what I do. Someone has to stay on top of it all.”

“Creepy,” Cass echoed, but soothed her word by pressing a kiss to the top of Tim’s head.

Tim pouted. “How long has this been going on?”

“Well see, I first realized that I liked boys when—”

“How long have you been dating Daniel Nightingale,” Tim interrupted, clearly having no mood for sarcasm today. “Or should I say Daniel Fenton.”

Huh.

“I’ve been dating Danny for about a month and a half now,” Jason said casually as he very purposefully picked a donut from the box.

“And you didn’t tell anyone?”

“I told Dick.” Jason motioned to his oldest sibling before taking a large bite of the donut. “He’s even met him twice.”

Tim sighed like he had the world on his shoulders. “I meant anyone who could actually hand PR, not make it worse.”

“I will take that as both an insult and a compliment,” Dick said. “And don’t talk with your mouth full, you’ll choke.”

Jason rolled his eyes. Like Dick didn’t all the time. He very purposefully swallowed. “We’ve only been on two real dates.”

“There are photos, Jason,” Tim said like that was a big deal.

Jason shrugged. “And that means you had to bring an entourage?”

“This is a family matter,” Tim said with a sniff. “…and they insisted.”

“I did not. I was just shoved in a car,” Duke said. He honest to god raised his hand to say that.

“Richard made me,” Damian grumbled (snootily, but it was still a grumble).

“Mhum,” Jason said and sipped his coffee. “I think we’re missing at least two family members and several side members.”

“Please, Alfred would just be trying to figure out the guy’s favorite food—”

“Anything that doesn’t try to bite back.”

Tim actually paused. “That’s concernedly specific.”

“That’s Danny for you.”

Dick covered a laugh. “Yeah, sorta is. That’s a weird fish you have, little wing.”

Various other siblings mouthed ‘fish’ in confusion. Cass just grinned. That was either a very good sign or a very bad sign.

“And Bruce? Why didn’t you just do this tomorrow at the manor?” Jason asked.

“Bruce needs time to be prepped,” Tim said with a wave of his hand, “Or he’d osculate between relentless questions and staring at you with big watery eyes of joy. It’s best if I give him a dossier first, ideally one that has an answer about this name change. The less he has to be concerned about the better.”

Jason exchanged a look with Dick. Well that certainly wasn’t happening in full. That coffee wasn’t sitting so well anymore. “I blame you, Dick, for the way Tim turned out. I was busy being dead and dubiously brainwashed.”

“Oh no, he came to us like this, I don’t take any of the blame,” Dick said.

Tim was pouting again. “I’m just trying to protect the family! Why is that so bad?”

“Caring creepy,” Cass said with a little nod.

“Yes! I mean no, I’m not being creepy! It’s publicly accessible information… mostly.”

“Tim,” Dick started, “have you been—”

A knock at the door cut the question off and everyone’s head turned to the noise. They were like a pack of meerkats, Jason thought, as he headed that way. Pack? Herd? Jason glanced at the video feed and lamented the timing of it all.

Which really was very Danny; the fish had the worst timing.

Jason opened the door with a sigh.

“Hey! Hold this, breakfast burritos,” Danny said, shoving a plastic bag Jason’s direction before he started working on untangling his scarf. “Picked them up from that little corner place you showed me a few weekends ago. Don’t worry, remembered the extra house hot sauce.”

The scarf seemed to have basically tied it self in a knot and Danny frowned down at at it. He shoved his coffee cup at Jason too as is words turned into an odd mix of absent minded and rushed. “But thought that would be nice. There was something I was going to… Oh! So I was reading this article, which is actually a little old, but it’s so cool! And about trilobites! Which you know, now I have to read it, right? So they actually had no idea how trilobites had sex cause, you know, ancient dead bugs, but then they found this pair that was killed and fossilized while mating. Which like, one, what a way to go, and two, what are the odds! And it turns out it’s not far off from horseshoe— ah-ha! Take that scarf!”

Danny pulled the length of red fabric off, looked up to the living room full of wide eyed siblings, and froze.

“Danny?”

“You have people over?” Danny squeaked.

“Against my will,” Jason said. “My siblings invaded.”

Dick waved.

“Siblings, right, I’m just going to…” Danny took a step to the left, effectively hiding himself behind Jason’s back.

Jason felt Danny’s head impact against him and had to hold back a laugh, but knew he had no hope of stopping the smile that spread across his face. Jason ignored whatever Tim’s soft little ‘huh’ was about. “You okay back there?”

“Am I okay— why didn’t you stop me?” Danny asked, his morose words muffled by Jason’s shirt. “I was just going on!”

“Mhum, about trilobite sex.”

Danny whacked Jason’s arm hard for that, and this time Jason couldn’t hold back a laugh.

“Adorable,” Cass cooed.

“Come on, this just means that they know that you’re a huge nerd already. It’s not like you were going to be able to hide that from anyone for long,” Jason said.

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t. Come on, stop being a prickly puffer fish,” Jason said, shifting slightly to figure out the best way to reveal Danny. “You can’t hide behind me forever.”

“No I’m just going to sink through the floor out of embarrassment.”

Jason was afraid that Danny might actually go through with that so he gentled his tone. “Come on, fish, It’s fine. Tim is a complete nerd. And Damian, for all his bite, is an art nerd.”

Damian bared his teeth. “I will stab you.”

“There’s the bark,” Jason said, unconcerned. “Duke is a dork and you’ve met Dick. Cass is actually cool, but she already said you’re adorable so you might just have to put up with being hugged a lot from her. Besides, they’ve already seen you and they’re my family, there’s no getting out of this long term.”

It had gotten so quiet in the apartment Jason swore he could hear Danny’s heart thudding, or was that his core?

Eventually, Danny loosened his death grip on Jason’s shirt, took a deep breath, and stepped out to stand beside Jason.

“There you are,” Jason said and dropped a kiss to the crown of Danny’s head. “Everyone, Danny. Danny, that is Duke, Cass, Tim, Dick you know, and Damian. He really does bite so maybe don’t sit near him.”

Damian sniffed. “He is lying. I prefer bladed weapons and I was frisked before abducted to come here.”

“Um, hi? Please don’t attack me, I’m still being trained with a xiphos, I’m not going to be a challenge for you with a sword,” Danny said. He sat dutifully in the chair that Jason has brought over from the kitchen table and set near the other living room furniture.

“You’ve trained in the blade?” Damian asked, actually looking interested.

“Training,” Danny reiterated. He accepted his coffee back from Jason with a slightly strained smile and clung to it like a lifeline. “But yeah, I’ve had some lessons. Mostly it’s been a dory though, outside of hand to hand. My teacher prefers the spear. She, ah, likes the reach it gives her, not that she really needs any help in the reach department.”

“We should spar,” Damian decided with a little nod.

“No stabbing my boyfriend, demon brat,” Jason said as he pulled over a chair for himself. He broke off part of the cake donut and handed the rest to Danny who took it with a pleased noise.

“So, you prefer Danny?” Tim asked with an all too innocent expression. At Danny’s nod he added, “And is it Nightingale or Fenton?”

Danny stiffened. “Well, considering I legally changed my name the day I turned eighteen, I think it can be pretty clear I prefer Nightingale.”

“But Fenton…”

“Is my parent’s last name, yes. Look, I’ll be blunt,” Danny started. There was that resigned note to his words that Jason had come to hate. He slipped his hand into Danny’s, rubbing his thumb along the lines of the back of Danny’s hand. “My parents love my sister and I, I know that they do. But that love isn’t enough to see us past their work. They’re… obsessive, to be polite. We were always last. So once we decided to move on, it wasn’t too hard to actually do so. My sister changed her name when she turned eighteen and I did the same when it was my turn. I moved out as soon as it went through. I don’t hate them, I don’t feel strongly enough about them to hate them anymore.”

Tim winced at the words. The neglect clearly hit one of Tim’s own sore spots, but Jason couldn’t muster up any sympathy for him. It severed Tim right for starting this whole conversation.

“Was that… a fight?” Dick asked. He always put such a weight in names.

Danny just snorted, softly. “It took them three months to even notice I’d moved. So no, not really. I still don’t know if they’ve caught on to the name change. We don’t really talk.”

“How did you end up in Gotham?” Duke asked, eager to change the conversation.

“Oh. Well, I’d been doing gen-ed through an online community college. I was getting done with them so applied to some scholarships. I’m actually here on a Wayne Inventors’ Scholarship, which is, ah, a little awkward now,” Danny said with a little wave at all of them, “all things considered.”

“It took him a really long time to put together who I was,” Jason said. “I thought he knew, but nope.”

“Look,” Danny said defensively. “I actively try to avoid the lives of the rich and famous after my Godfather.”

Jason raised a brow and made a mimicking motion to the room. “Yeah, how’s that working out for you?”

“Badly. I’m clearly cursed.”

----- AN: And then Danny proceeded to be beat soundly in Mario Kart/Party. He did hold his own in Smash though.

I am very sleepy, but have some fish! Stay delightful, darlings.

[fioredeciliego]

Chapter 12

The bank's corridors loomed ahead, dim and silent, their footsteps barely a whisper against the cool marble floor. Jimin moved with unwavering purpose at the front of the group, her eyes sharp and focused, while Y/N covered their rear, scanning every corner with careful precision. It was almost mechanical, their movements honed from years of practice—but tonight felt different, the air thicker, the silence heavier.

As they reached the final checkpoint, Jimin lifted a hand, bringing the team to a halt. She turned, her gaze settling on each of them with the kind of resolve only a leader could hold. "This is it," she whispered, keeping her voice barely audible. "Minjeong, this is your task. We've got two guards stationed by the exit door. Disarm them quickly and override the lock. We need this to go smoothly."

Minjeong met her gaze, nodding tightly, feeling the familiar weight of her pistol, its cool grip a comfort against the storm of emotions inside her. She slipped past Jimin, who squeezed her shoulder as she passed, a silent show of support that she'd once craved but now felt like chains tightening around her wrists. Jimin's steady confidence in her cut through her more sharply than any blade.

As she moved toward the checkpoint, Minjeong could sense Y/N's gaze following her—a mix of trust and vigilance. Y/N had always been her unwavering support, her ally in the darkness, but tonight it only added to the conflict burning in her mind. If Y/N knew the truth—if she knew the thoughts Minjeong had harbored, the promises Seulgi had whispered, would she still look at her like this?

With a steady breath, she ducked behind the corner, taking in the scene. The two guards were stationed lazily, their stances relaxed, unaware of the group just out of sight. Minjeong raised her weapon, fingers steady as she aimed. The rush of adrenaline pounded through her veins, sharpening her senses, but beneath it was a flicker of unease, a hesitation brought on by the weight of her own betrayal. These were her teammates, people she'd bled and fought beside, and yet Seulgi's voice was there, threading doubt and disdain through every thought.

"You're stronger than her, Minjeong," Seulgi had said that night, her voice soft but laced with something dangerous. "Jimin's blind to what you could become if you just freed yourself from her shadow. She'll never see you as her equal—just another pawn in her plans."

With one swift motion, Minjeong disabled the first guard, silencing him before he had the chance to react. She glanced back over her shoulder, catching Jimin's approving nod as she dealt with the second. The door was just beyond them now, looming, the last barrier to freedom.

But as she slipped the guard's keycard through the reader and heard the soft click of the lock releasing, she felt that familiar pull, the nagging question she'd tried so hard to ignore. Was it freedom she really wanted, or was it something else—something Seulgi had promised her but couldn't give? Her loyalty to Jimin, her connection with Y/N, every part of her was woven into this team. And yet, her thoughts kept drifting back to that night with Seulgi, to the dangerous temptation of something different.

"Clear," she whispered, her voice steady as she moved back toward Jimin and Y/N. "Door's ready."

Jimin's face softened in that brief moment of gratitude, her hand brushing Minjeong's shoulder with a warmth that was startling in its simplicity. She didn't need to say anything—her presence, her silent acknowledgment of Minjeong's role, said everything. For an instant, the doubts fell away, Seulgi's voice a mere echo in the back of her mind.

Y/N shot her a quick smile, her eyes bright with relief. "Nice work, Minjeong. Couldn't have done it without you."

The words made her heart tighten, but she forced herself to return the smile. Y/N had no idea what was truly going on beneath the surface, what dark decisions simmered in Minjeong's mind. And yet, she felt that if anyone could understand her conflict, it would be Y/N. How easy it would be to confess, to let Y/N share the burden of her thoughts—but no. She'd made her choice when she'd met Seulgi, when she'd agreed to follow a path she couldn't reveal.

Jimin gestured them forward, her focus already shifting to the escape route. "Let's keep moving," she whispered, her tone soft but unyielding. "We don't have much time."

They filed past the unlocked door, the hallways stretching out like veins leading them toward the bank's back exit. Every step was a reminder of the mission, of their unified purpose, yet Minjeong couldn't shake the weight pressing on her chest, as if she were dragging the chains of her decision with every step.

As they made their way down the final corridor, Y/N fell in step beside her, her shoulder brushing against Minjeong's. "You good?" Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible, but the concern in her tone was unmistakable.

Minjeong nodded, unable to meet Y/N's eyes. "Yeah. Just focused."

Y/N watched her for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty passing over her face, but she didn't press. Her faith in Minjeong was unwavering, untainted by doubt—and it twisted something deep inside Minjeong, a painful reminder of the choice she'd made.

Ahead of them, Jimin paused at a corner, signaling them to wait. She peered around the edge, mapping out the final stretch to the exit, her body taut with the weight of responsibility. For a moment, Minjeong saw not the strong, confident leader, but someone who'd taken on every burden for the sake of the team—someone she'd once admired without question.

But Seulgi's words resurfaced, tugging at her resolve. "This team would fall apart without Jimin. But under you? You could be so much more."

As they continued down the corridor, Minjeong clenched her fists, her thoughts a tempest of doubt and desire. In the silence of the bank's walls, Seulgi's voice was louder than ever, promising a future that felt both terrifying and tantalizing. All she had to do was reach out and take it.

And with every step closer to the exit, she felt herself leaning toward that darkness, as if her path had already been set.

--

They were almost at the exit when the sharp sound of an alarm sliced through the silence, echoing off the walls and plunging the corridors into flashing red lights. Instantly, Jimin's head snapped up, her face hardening as she assessed the situation. Minjeong's heart dropped, her pulse thudding painfully against her ribs as the reality of their predicament settled in. This wasn't supposed to happen. They'd planned everything meticulously—no alarms, no last-minute surprises.

Jimin's voice cut through the noise, calm and commanding. "Y/N, can you locate the source?"

Y/N nodded, quickly slipping her phone out, fingers flying over the screen as she tried to access the bank's security systems. "Give me a second—I'm on it," she muttered, her gaze fixed in intense concentration. The red lights cast long shadows on her face, turning her expression into something grim and determined.

Minjeong's grip tightened on her pistol, her eyes darting around the hallway as she fell into a defensive stance, ready to counter any security guards that might appear. Next to her, Jimin's jaw clenched, and for a brief moment, Minjeong could see the stress etched into every line of her face. Jimin hadn't expected this setback any more than she had, but unlike Minjeong, she seemed to absorb the pressure, turning it into something fierce and unwavering.

"Yizhuo," Jimin spoke into her earpiece, her voice laced with urgency, "we've got an unexpected alarm—what's the status outside?"

A crackle of static sounded before Yizhuo's voice came through, calm but laced with urgency. "Security forces are mobilizing around the building. I don't know how they picked up on you, but we're buying you some time. You need to find an alternate way out."

"Copy that," Jimin replied, her gaze sweeping over Minjeong and Y/N. "We're going to have to circle back. There's a secondary exit we might be able to reach if we move quickly."

Y/N nodded, and Minjeong took a steadying breath, casting a glance down the hallway they'd just come through. They were surrounded on all sides by darkened hallways and closed doors, any of which could conceal security forces or additional obstacles. The bank had been turned into a maze, and their way out had just gotten that much more treacherous.

They hadn't taken more than a few steps when footsteps echoed in the distance, heavy and fast. Jimin held up a hand, gesturing for them to hide in the shadows just off the main corridor. The three of them pressed back against the wall, breaths held as two security guards appeared, their flashlights sweeping the hall. The guards moved cautiously, alert to every small noise as they advanced toward the main exit where the alarm had gone off.

Minjeong felt the familiar weight of her weapon in her hand, her finger resting on the trigger. She glanced over at Jimin, awaiting her signal, but Jimin's focus was on the guards, her body tense, ready to spring into action. It would be easier to take them down here and now, but she was hesitant, and Minjeong knew why—gunshots would only draw more attention.

As the guards approached their position, Y/N's hand found Minjeong's, squeezing it gently. The contact sent a jolt through her, grounding her just enough to stave off the impulse to act recklessly. In the faint red glow of the alarm lights, Y/N's gaze was intense, a silent message of support and caution. Minjeong felt something shift inside her, a reminder of why she was here and who she was doing this for—even if her loyalties were tangled and broken.

The guards passed, their footsteps fading down the hall. Jimin released a slow breath, giving Y/N and Minjeong a nod to move forward. "Stay close, and stay quiet," she whispered.

They continued down the corridor, carefully navigating around the building's shifting security. Jimin moved with the confidence of someone who knew every inch of their path, her movements precise, her focus absolute. Minjeong watched her, feeling a pang of something almost like admiration. This was the version of Jimin she'd once looked up to without question, the leader who had saved them time and again. And yet, the shadow of Seulgi's words lingered, twisting that admiration into something jagged and conflicted.

As they reached a stairwell leading to an alternate exit, Y/N's phone buzzed softly. She glanced down, her face paling as she took in the notification. "The building's on lockdown," she whispered. "They've cut off most exits—our only way out is through the sublevel tunnels. But those are going to be heavily guarded."

Jimin's expression tightened, her mind racing as she weighed their options. Minjeong could see the wheels turning, the calculations and risks Jimin was trying to manage. And in that moment, she felt a surge of resentment bubble up, bitter and fierce. Seulgi's voice echoed in her mind again, her words curling around her thoughts like poison. "Jimin thinks she's the only one who can make these calls. But that's not leadership—it's arrogance."

"Minjeong, you're familiar with the sublevel layouts, right?" Jimin's voice broke through her thoughts, snapping her back to the present.

"Yes," Minjeong replied, forcing her voice to stay steady. "But the security there will be tight. If we're spotted, it'll be an all-out fight. Plus there is no signal"

Jimin's gaze was unwavering. "We'll have to take that risk. Irene and the others are buying us time, but it won't last. We're going through those tunnels, and we're getting out."

For a moment, Minjeong held her gaze, a flicker of defiance in her own. The weight of her secret loomed larger with every word Jimin spoke, every decision she made as if she were the only one capable of steering them to safety. One day, Jimin, she thought, you'll realize you're not the only one who can lead. But she swallowed the words, letting them fester instead, pushing them down into the space where her loyalty had once resided.

They moved toward the stairwell, Y/N close behind, her presence a silent comfort that only intensified the war waging inside Minjeong. She couldn't escape the pull between her loyalties and her desires, between Jimin's leadership and Seulgi's promises of something different, something she'd been told she deserved.

Just before they entered the stairwell, Jimin's hand found Minjeong's shoulder, her grip firm. "Stay focused," she murmured, her gaze holding Minjeong's with an intensity that felt both reassuring and binding. "We're going to get through this together."

Minjeong nodded, her expression unreadable, masking the turmoil roiling beneath the surface. But as they stepped into the shadows of the stairwell, she couldn't shake the feeling that this path, this mission, was leading her to a breaking point she might not come back from.

--

The stairwell echoed with every hurried step they took, each sound amplified in the dim, confined space. The walls seemed to close in around them as they descended deeper into the bank's underbelly, where the shadows were thicker and the air felt colder, stale with the scent of old concrete and iron. Jimin led the way, her every step calculated and silent, her eyes darting over each new corner, alert to the possibility of a security ambush.

Y/N followed closely behind, her gaze steady but brows knitted with concentration, occasionally glancing at her phone to check the building's blueprints. Behind her was Minjeong, bringing up the rear. Her fingers tightened on her pistol as the weight of the decision she knew she'd have to make pressed down on her. But she couldn't bring herself to meet Jimin's gaze again, not yet. The warmth of Y/N's presence, so close, grounded her, but it also reminded her of what she might lose.

"Almost there," Y/N murmured, turning her phone to show Jimin. "The sublevel exit is just ahead, but there's a security checkpoint stationed at the corridor junction."

Jimin studied the screen, her lips pressed into a tight line. "We'll have to take them out quietly," she whispered. "If they trigger another alarm, we're trapped."

They pressed forward, navigating around pipes and through narrow passages until the corridor opened up ahead. Just beyond the bend, two guards stood by a reinforced door, their backs turned to the corridor. Minjeong felt her muscles coil with anticipation, her fingers itching to move, but Jimin held up a hand, signaling for them to wait.

"We do this fast and clean," Jimin mouthed, glancing between Y/N and Minjeong. "I'll go left; Minjeong, take right. Y/N, cover us."

Minjeong's heart hammered in her chest, and despite her resentment, she fell into position, years of training overriding the storm in her mind. They crept forward, each step silent, closing the distance between them and the guards. As they reached striking distance, Jimin pounced, her movements swift and ruthless. Minjeong followed suit, her hands a blur as she disarmed and subdued the second guard in a matter of seconds. Y/N kept watch from the corridor, her stance poised and ready to defend if any unexpected threats emerged.

Once the guards were down, Minjeong straightened, her breathing uneven as she looked at Jimin. There was no trace of hesitation in her leader's gaze, only a silent nod of acknowledgment. For a split second, Minjeong's anger flared again. Jimin trusted her, trusted her to have her back in these moments, and that only made the churning resentment twist deeper inside her.

Jimin turned to Y/N. "Keep an eye on the surveillance feed. Let us know if there's any movement nearby."

Y/N nodded, her eyes scanning her phone's screen as she worked to keep the camera feeds disabled. Her brow furrowed as she took in their surroundings, and Minjeong could see the weight of the situation reflecting in Y/N's face. She was as invested as any of them in making it out, but Minjeong knew that every flicker of tension in Y/N's expression was another reason for her to question everything—another reason for her to hesitate in this twisted path she was on.

They stepped through the door the guards had been stationed at, entering a sprawling, dimly lit storage area lined with rows of heavy steel shelves and crates. The ceiling was low, with exposed pipes weaving like a tangled net above them. The room felt oppressive, as though it were swallowing them whole, and Minjeong felt a shiver run down her spine as they moved deeper inside.

"We're nearly there," Jimin said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just through the storage area and down the final corridor."

But as they turned a corner, they found themselves facing a dead end, blocked by a large, locked gate. A low hum of machinery indicated the heavy electronic lock that kept it secured. The air was thick with tension as Jimin assessed the situation, her hand clenched in a fist as she glared at the obstacle.

"This wasn't in the plans," Jimin muttered, frustration finally slipping through her usual calm facade. "They must've added this recently to increase security."

"Can you open it?" Y/N asked, looking at Minjeong.

Minjeong approached the gate, running her fingers over the lock's surface. She glanced back, her voice tight. "I might be able to disable it, but it'll take time. And if it triggers an alert—"

"We don't have any other option," Jimin interrupted, her tone firm. She stepped back, watching Minjeong with a steady gaze. "Do it."

Minjeong hesitated, feeling the weight of Jimin's stare on her back. She knelt by the lock, her fingers working swiftly as she tried to override the system. The faint sound of machinery whirred louder, and every second felt like an eternity as they waited in the dim, cramped space. Y/N kept her eyes on the entrance, her grip steady on her weapon, her body tense with anticipation.

Just as Minjeong felt she was close to unlocking it, a low rumble sounded from somewhere deeper in the sublevel. Y/N's head whipped around, her eyes wide with alarm. "Someone's coming."

Jimin's face hardened, her gaze shifting between Minjeong and the corridor. "How close are you?"

"Almost there," Minjeong replied through gritted teeth, her heart pounding as she redoubled her efforts.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, louder and more numerous than before. Whoever was approaching wasn't coming alone. Jimin's fingers flexed on her weapon, her posture tense and ready. She glanced at Y/N, her expression a mixture of calm and urgency. "Get ready."

Finally, with a soft click, the lock disengaged. Minjeong pulled the gate open, but the relief was short-lived as the footsteps drew nearer. They moved quickly through the gate, Jimin holding it open just long enough for Y/N and Minjeong to slip through before she quietly swung it shut behind them.

They barely made it into the next corridor when voices echoed from the other side of the gate. Guards, their flashlights illuminating the hallway they'd just left, stopped at the entrance to the storage area.

"Stay quiet," Jimin mouthed, her hand pressed to Minjeong's shoulder as they huddled against the wall, hidden from view.

The guards paused, murmuring among themselves, their voices tense as they examined the empty storage room. Jimin's hand was steady on Minjeong's shoulder, and despite everything—the resentment, the betrayal that simmered just beneath her skin—Minjeong found herself clinging to that touch, as if it could anchor her against the chaos spiraling inside.

The guards eventually moved on, their footsteps fading as they returned to their patrol. Jimin's hand slipped away, and the three of them exhaled, the tension finally releasing as they pushed forward, deeper into the shadows of the bank's sublevel. They were closer now, but Minjeong knew it was only a matter of time before their luck ran out.

They moved quickly, the darkness pressing in as they navigated the last corridor. And as they neared the final exit, Minjeong felt the familiar weight of Jimin's trust settle on her shoulders once more, tangled with the memory of Seulgi's words. The choice she knew she'd have to make loomed ever closer, shadowed by promises and lies, and she knew that when the moment came, everything would change—forever.

--

The final corridor stretched before them, narrow and silent except for the soft hum of air conditioning vents embedded in the ceiling. Harsh, sterile lights lined the floor, casting long shadows as they made their way toward the final door. Y/N's shoulders were tense, her eyes flicking over every corner, every panel, searching for any sign of remaining guards. Jimin's hand lingered near her weapon, while Minjeong kept pace behind them, her face drawn in a mixture of focus and dread.

They stopped in front of the exit, an imposing, steel-reinforced door with a keypad to the left of it. Jimin approached, examining the lock mechanism.

"Y/N, keep an eye on the hall. Minjeong, we're going to need that last access code Irene sent," Jimin ordered quietly, her voice low but calm.

Y/N nodded and turned to face the corridor, her eyes sharp, ready to intercept anyone who might come through. Behind her, Minjeong fumbled with her phone, pulling up Irene's message, her fingers trembling slightly as she typed in the code.

But as soon as she pressed the final digit, a loud, blaring alarm erupted through the corridor, slicing through the silence like a knife. Red emergency lights flared to life along the walls, casting everything in an ominous, crimson glow. They froze, eyes widening in shock.

"Damn it," Jimin hissed. She slammed a fist against the keypad. "They must've switched the system."

"Can you bypass it?" Y/N asked, her voice strained as she looked over her shoulder, catching sight of the red lights illuminating Jimin's set jaw and Minjeong's clenched fists.

"I can try," Jimin muttered, but even she didn't sound convinced. Her fingers flew over the keypad, trying combinations, overrides—anything that might silence the alarm and open the door.

Footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor, rapid and closing in fast. Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she glanced back, seeing the flashlight beams piercing the darkness as more guards approached.

"We're out of time," Minjeong whispered, her voice taut. She reached into her jacket, pulling out a small device—one of her last-resort tools that could temporarily disable security locks, but only for a few precious seconds. "I can force it open, but once we're through, it'll lock behind us. There's no turning back."

Jimin glanced at her, their eyes meeting in silent understanding. She gave a brief nod. "Do it."

Minjeong pressed the device against the keypad, her fingers clenching as it began to hum, wires sparking as it scrambled the security system. After a few seconds, there was a loud click, and the door hissed open just enough for them to slip through.

"Go, go!" Jimin urged, ushering Y/N through first. She and Minjeong followed, ducking into the narrow space and squeezing through the door just as it sealed shut behind them. They were plunged into darkness again, the echo of the alarm muffled but still audible through the heavy door.

They found themselves in an unlit utility tunnel, damp and cold. Pipes ran along the ceiling, dripping condensation onto the narrow, cracked floor. The air was stale, and the silence was thick, broken only by their rapid breaths.

Jimin pulled out her flashlight, casting a dim beam of light down the tunnel. "This should lead us to the exit."

"Are we clear?" Y/N asked, glancing nervously over her shoulder as if expecting the guards to burst through the walls.

"For now," Jimin replied, though her tone was cautious. She checked her phone, confirming their route. "We need to keep moving. If they figure out where we went, they'll send a team to block our way."

They pressed forward, their footsteps echoing in the confined space. Minjeong's mind raced, a tempest of emotions whirling within her. The mission had almost failed. They had barely escaped. And all the while, Seulgi's words rang in her mind, each one sinking deeper into her thoughts, twisting her loyalty, her doubts, her fears.

As they neared the end of the tunnel, Jimin stopped abruptly, holding out a hand to signal the others to halt. She tilted her head, listening. Faint voices echoed from somewhere above—a security team, possibly sweeping the area aboveground, searching for any sign of them.

Jimin's face was set in a grim mask, her eyes narrowed as she gestured for silence. They waited in tense stillness until the voices faded, leaving only the steady drip of water echoing in the tunnel.

"It's clear," Jimin whispered, exhaling a slow breath. She turned to Y/N, her expression softening just a fraction. "Stay close."

Y/N nodded, but a surge of frustration twisted in Minjeong's chest. She laughed. "Stay close, baby. Follow me, babe. Don't worry sweetheart, I'll keep you save" Minjeong mocked, the words bursting forth before she could rein them in. "Why is it always you, Jimin? Are you the only one that can keep Y/N safe?" She sneered.

Jimin turned, surprise flickering across her features. "Minjeong, what—"

"What?" Minjeong interrupted, anger boiling beneath her skin. "You think you're the only one who can make decisions? You think you're the only one who knows what's best? What about what I want?"

"Minjeong—" Y/N started, her brow furrowing in confusion, but Minjeong stepped forward, her hand gripping her weapon tightly.

"I'm tired of being your second-in-command, Jimin. I'm tired of following your lead like some sidekick!" Minjeong's voice echoed off the walls, sharp and defiant. "Maybe it's time I took charge."

Jimin's expression shifted from surprise to concern. "This isn't the time for—"

"Isn't it?" Minjeong retorted, lifting her weapon, aiming it directly at Jimin's heart. The air crackled with tension, a fragile silence settling between them. Y/N froze, her heart racing as she looked from Minjeong to Jimin, confusion and fear swirling in her chest.

"Minjeong, put the weapon down," Jimin said slowly, her voice steady but laced with urgency. "This isn't the answer. We need to get out of here together."

But Minjeong's grip tightened, her emotions in turmoil, the weight of Seulgi's words pressing down on her conscience. Freedom and a future with Y/N danced just beyond her reach, tantalizingly close yet still impossibly far.

"You think I'm just going to let you walk away?" Minjeong's voice trembled with raw emotion, caught between loyalty and the seductive promise of power. "Maybe I should take you out, Jimin. Then I'd finally have what I want."

"Minjeong, please," Y/N pleaded, stepping forward cautiously, her heart pounding in her chest. "This isn't you. You don't have to do this. We can figure it out together."

But Minjeong pushed her away."Shut up! What does she have that I don't? Why can't you love me?" Minjeong screamed at Y/N, who could only stare at her in surprise from the ground. Minjeong looked crazy

The sound of approaching footsteps echoed again, the guards were still out there, and time was running out. But Minjeong stood there, weapon trained on Jimin.

"Make your choice, Minjeong," Jimin said softly, her voice steady, yet laced with an underlying current of desperation and anger. "But remember who we are. We've fought too hard to let this tear us apart."

[moonsandmobilityaids-inactive]

Stupid Ideas

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: Sirius wants to ride around on your lap. Warnings: Improper use of wheelchairs? idk but check the weight limit on your before doing this Series Masterlist

When Sirius first suggests he should sit on your lap while you steer them both around the room, you're certain he's pulling your leg. But the glint in his eyes tells a different story, and you can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

You're tucked away in your usual spot by the fireplace, the warmth seeping into your bones and chasing away the chill that seems to make your joints lock up and your skin feel like paper. James is lounging on the couch opposite you, a grin playing on his lips as he watches the scene unfold. Remus, ever the voice of reason, sits next to him with an amused expression, shaking his head at Sirius' antics yet making no move to intervene.

"Think about it, love," Sirius says, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that suggests he's far more serious than his playful tone lets on. "It'll be a right laugh."

Your brow furrows, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth despite the incredulous shake of your head. "You're mad, Sirius Black."

"Perhaps," he concedes with a theatrical flourish, "but isn't that part of my charm?" He's already moving before you can protest further, his body folding easily onto your lap as though it's the most natural thing in the world. And maybe for Sirius, it is.

He lowers himself carefully, seeming mindful not to put his full weight on you at once. He's heavier than he looks, but you brace yourself, prepared for the additional pressure. It's different, certainly, but not unbearable. His body is warm against yours, a stark contrast to the chill seeping in through the windowpane. It's oddly comforting.

"The chair is going to tip over," you warn, your fingers tightening around the wheels. The balance shifts precariously as you adjust to this new weight, the chair creaking in protest. It's awkward, and your movements are jerky, but somehow you manage to keep both of you upright.

Sirius' laugh rings out, a carefree sound that echoes off the walls. His arms are slung loosely around your shoulders, his trust in you absolute. "You've got it, baby girl," he says, his voice warm with affection.

Remus lifts an eyebrow from where he's perched on the couch, a book forgotten in his lap. "I give them two minutes before they tip over."

"Five galleons says it'll be less," James counters, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He leans back against the armrest, arms crossed over his chest as if settling in for a show. There's a gleam in his eye that speaks volumes of his amusement at Sirius' theatrics.

"Such faith you have in us," you retort, shooting them a mock glare before returning your attention to the task at hand.

A deep breath fills your lungs, and with a firm push, the chair begins to move forward. It's heavier than usual, but Sirius isn't entirely dead weight—he shifts slightly to assist you, his movements awkward yet determined. A strain tugs at your muscles, but it's not unpleasant. Rather, the steady rhythm of pushing, the subtle resistance met by each small victory, is oddly soothing. And beneath it all, there's the warmth of Sirius, a constant presence that anchors you amidst the chaos.

"Are you all right?" Sirius's voice is a low murmur, close to your ear.

You give a small nod, aware of the warmth radiating from him even through the layers of your robes. "Surprisingly, yes."

A chuckle rumbles in his throat, vibrating against you. He plants a quick, playful kiss on your temple. "Told you it would be fun."

"You never mentioned fun," you retort, rolling your eyes even though he can't see. But there's laughter bubbling up inside you, and you can't quite suppress it.

With another push, you propel yourselves forward. The chair creaks under the added weight, moving slower now, but neither of you seem to mind. You navigate around the common room, skirting past tables and chairs with more grace than you expected. James and Remus have returned to their books, feigning disinterest, but you catch the hint of smiles tugging at their lips. They're used to this—the easy camaraderie, the chaos that follows wherever you and Sirius go.

The couch looms closer, and a sense of victory surges through you. But just then, Sirius shifts in your lap, not out of discomfort or accident but with deliberate motion.

"What are you doing?" you question, tensing as you feel his movements disrupt the precarious balance you've managed to maintain.

"Just getting comfortable," he replies, but the smirk you hear in his voice belies his casual words.

"You're going to tip us over," you warn, your fingers tightening around the wheels. But if anything, his movement only grows more exaggerated.

"Tip us over?" There's a note of mischief now, unmistakable even in its subtlety. "Now why would I do that?"

It happens before you can brace yourself: A sudden lean backwards, a strategic shift of weight. The wheelchair wobbles, teetering on the edge of stability, and your heart leaps into your throat. Your gasp is sharp, cut short by the abrupt lurch of your stomach as the world tilts sideways. You reach out instinctively, grasping for the armrests, but it's too late. With a quiet laugh from Sirius and a surprised yelp from you, the chair tips, spilling both of you onto the floor.

For a moment, there's silence save for the distant chatter outside the portrait hole. Then, Sirius's throaty laugh echoes off the stone walls, filling the room with an infectious energy that has your lips twitching despite yourself. It's ridiculous, really, the pair of you sprawled out on the carpet, limbs entwined like some strange modern art exhibit. But it feels right, somehow—because it's Sirius, and with him, even falling seems like an adventure.

"I believe that's five galleons, Remus," James says, a smug grin spreading across his face as he looms over the two of you, arms folded across his chest.

Remus merely sighs, though there's a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he fishes out the coins. "I should've known better than to take that bet," he concedes, casting a glance at the tangled mess that is you and Sirius. "Especially when it involves you two."

"Easy there, love," he murmurs, concern lacing his voice. He shifts beneath you, still chuckling softly as he helps you sit up against the worn leather of the couch. "Worth it, though."

He leans in then, pressing a quick, soft kiss to your lips—a taste of apology and affection that has your heart fluttering despite the ache in your back.

"Next time," you say, shaking your head but unable to keep the smile from tugging at your lips, "you're the one pushing me."

Sirius's grin is a flash of white in the dim light, his grey eyes sparkling with an impish delight that promises more mischief to come. "Deal."

[sassenashsworld]

Hancock at Goodneighbor

(his counterpart)

The List

Vic's body is swinging at the end of his rope, and Hancock's gaze is fixed on him. Then he glances down, but there isn't the same crowd there to applaud him as he remembers.

The faces turned upright to look back at him are those distorted by hatred of all the people who stood in his way.

No, not the people who got in his path.

These are the people on whose path Hancock stood. He stood up to oppressors and thugs who dared to target the weakest.

And they are now looking deep into Hancock's soul, yelling and cursing in wrath.

And one sentence slams Hancock repeatedly.

“Like us! You're like us!”

Hancock grits his teeth and tries to ignore it, but the voices infiltrate his thoughts and create a dreadful echo that repeats incessantly.

The ghoul sits up straight abruptly, short of breath, and takes a time to recover. He looks around. He isn't at Goodneighbor.

In fact, he is. He's at Goodneighbor. But he's not in the Old State House. He's in a dingy room at the Hotel Rexford.

What was he doing there?

He rubs his temples. He must have been drunk out of his ass again to forget how to go home.

This is not new.

Hancock stands up, little dazed at first but quickly regaining his bearings. He looks around the room. It is obviously one of the hotel rooms. It smells of smoke and cheap beer, and the bed looks to be kind of worn out.

He looks down at himself and realizes he didn't even bother to take off his clothes before passing out.

“Damn it,” he murmurs, attempting to recall the night before.

Trying is often pointless. Even for a ghoul, his abuse is enough to permanently disable the brain cells that could have held the information. Thus, he simply exits the room and, as usual, faces Fahrenheit waiting outside.

“All the caravans handed over their caps, KL-e-o agreed to the price hike, Irma���

Hancock lifts his hand to interrupt her.

“Hold on. We have yet to reach my office. We're still in the motel hallway, damn it.”

“The latest mandates that require your backing are currently pending your review in your office.”

“And shit, shit even more than yesterday.”

“Less than tomorrow?” his daughter jokes, not smiling.

Hancock sighs.

He scrubs his face with both hands, his head still pounding from last night's booze binge.

“Great, just what we required. More trash to approve and sign.” He gazes at Fahrenheit, his vision still hazy. “What specifically is waiting for me? Is there anyone new?”

“This infamous troublemaker, the Sole Survivor. I caught him with Bobbi-no-nose in our stash.”

The mayor gives the young woman a shocked stare.

“Well, he didn't seem like the kind of person to put his hands where they shouldn't.”

“He gave off the vibe of someone who'd go to great lengths for a few caps. That was the reason he agreed to the grim offer concerning the Pickman gallery.”

A harsh laugh spills out of Hancock. He shakes his head angrily.

“Well, ain't that just a stroke of genius? If he got himself tangled up with Bobbi, he's truly not the sharpest tool in the shed. Now that's just adding fuel to the fire.” He can't help but laugh again at the idea of the man. “The infamous Sole Survivor, huh? More like the infamous Moron. And they say we’ve got issues with drifters.”

“In truth, Bobbi deceived this Sole. When they realized where they were going, they flipped the scrips. They stuffed it down Bobbi's throat, I'd say. She likely won't get back for a time.”

Hancock makes a sour face.

“What’s the message you’re trying to send my way?”

“That's how I perceived the character. They could have thrown a wrench into our plans, making everything a lot more difficult. Yet, they chose a different path. I instructed them to come and show their respects anyway, so if I'm correct, you should be hearing from them soon.”

The ghoul lowers his head, pondering. As they've arrives at the State House, he sighs.

“Sometimes I wonder...”

The tall redhead looks at him intently.

“What?”

“Am I not turning like them?”

The gaze, deep and dark, pierces into the young woman’s eyes.

“Who are you talking about?”

“Like all those bastards whose portrait I've swept under the pretext of standing up for the weak.”

Fahrenheit seems somewhat uneasy about the topic and unsure of how to answer.

“You're not turning into one of them,” she remarks after a brief hesitation. “You continue to defend the vulnerable. All the folks in Goodneighbor look up to you, Hancock. You are the beacon that lights our way.”

Hancock grumbles, not quite convinced. He's been having these types of doubts since a while, and they're becoming more intense with each passing day.

“Seems more to me that not everyone holds your truly in high regard.”

Following that, they begin their nasty ritual. He signs paperwork, questions some people thoroughly, gives a speech to uplift his town, and just as he is about to head for the Third Rail, someone walks into his office.

He almost forgot about the newbie. It's tough to forget someone who strolled like a target while wearing a blue and yellow jacket over his back, though.

He leans back into his chemistry workbench, where he was gathering his entertainment for the evening, and greets them.

“Well, if it ain't Bobbi's little patsy.” He tosses the other a good purse of caps. “Here, for protecting my stash. Wise decision to put Bobbi down like that.”

His interlocutor seizes the purse in the air. Good reflexes.

“I'm sorry. For everything.”

Hancock takes a brief peek at his opposite. They own something. It's not false humility. They seems to be in genuine sorrow. Would Fahrenheit be right? It hurts him to accept it, but it gives him an idea. And this person is perhaps exactly what he needs.

Hancock takes another close look at that other, examining them from head to toe. They certainly know how to make an impression, with that iconic jacket and all. But Hancock senses that there's more to that facade than just a dumb merc.

“Don't worry about it,” he replies, taking a drag of jet. “You did the right thing. If anything, I’m the one who should be thanking you. You got me rid of an annoying problem.” He takes a deep breathe. “Lemme tell ya. This classy little tricorner hat of mine is getting heavy. Am I turning into the man? Some kind of tyrant? I spend all my time putting down the people I would've been proud to scheme with just a few years ago. I need to take a walk again. Get a grip on what really matters: Living free.”

Taking a seat on the couch, the Sole Survivor in turn studies him from head to toe.

“If you're heading out, why not come with me?”

Hancock raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

“You want me to tag along, huh? Now there’s an offer I wasn’t expecting.”

He takes another shot of jet and contemplates the proposition for a few moments, his gaze still fixated on the young person.

“Yes, I like it. You might just be the right kind of trouble.”

It doesn't take long to organize everything. The paperwork puts in order, his instructions to his people given, and another brief speech for the gallery. Though Fahrenheit appears less at ease, he is confident that she will manage quite fine.

“And for how long, precisely?” She questions him bluntly.

“Precisely? So, you think you can bend the breeze to your whims?”

And that is how he ends up on the road with that odd individual. It doesn't take long to learn to appreciate them. He was right. Just the good kind of trouble he needed.

Time is passing rapidly. The new companion is not exactly lazy. This unexpected detail caught Hancock completely off guard.

He is a ghoul, thus he doesn't need as much sleep as a human, but what about the other? The others, when they depart on the road, leave without measuring a day.

They journey across the Commonwealth from top to bottom, east to west, one settlement to the next, assisting those in need while punishing those who merited it.

It was refreshing and exhilarating.

The trip of a lifetime.

He hadn't felt so alive in years. His travels with the Sole Survivor was unlike anything he'd done since leaving Diamond City. Hancock felt liberated, as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. For once, he could simply be himself.

When Sole eventually chooses to call it a night, Hancock jumps in to do the same. Even him is starting to feel fatigued.

However, while in the sleeping area, he examines the bed with mistrust.

He knows what's going to happen.

He knows that as soon as he closes his eyes, he will be assaulted by his usual nightmares.

With a sigh, he sits down on the bed. His friend stares up at him from the other cot.

“What's going on?”

Hancock hesitates for a long time, although he has been shockingly open to this individual on multiple occasions.

“My conscience tends to visit me at night when I close my eyes.”

“Yeah, not good. Hey, know that I'm here. If it's that bad, remember that I don't sleep that deeply.”

The ghoul, taken aback by the offer, cocks his head, chuckles, and declines it with a jest.

“Nah, I'm a grow-up, I don't need to be bunked.”

Sole rolls his eyes.

“Oh, shut up, you stubborn old fool,” he replies with a playful tone. “I wasn't offering to hold your hand through the night, but waking up for a small talk is far better than waking up to your constant screaming and kicking in the middle of the night.”

Hancock gives a resigned sigh, knowing that the other is most likely right.

“Alright, you got me. But don’t go thinking that makes me weak. And don’t go thinkin’ I’m gonna spill my guts and get all mushy about it. I ain't some helpless soul waiting for a knight in gleaming armor, you catch my drift?”

Sole rolls his eyes again.

“Yes, I heard it loud and clear. You are the toughest ghoul in all of Boston. We're all terrified of your power and colossal ego.”

Hancock huffs and pretends to be offended.

“You oughta trust it, my friend. I'm on the brink of becoming a legend. Even the fiercest Deathclaws shudder at the sound of my name.”

Sole chuckles.

“Right, right. I will make sure to let everyone know. 'Here lies the mighty Hancock, terror of the wasteland'.”

Hancock smiles, enjoying the small quip.

“That's the spirit,” he states, falling into the bed. “Just keep those lips sealed and avoid any loud snoozing, alright? If you dare, I'll send you crashing to the ground.”

A smile remains etched on Hancock's lips as Sole spreads in turn.

“With the holes in your face,” they reply, “I'm sure you're the snorer of the place.”

Hancock pretends to be offended again.

“Mind your words, pal. A face like mine tells tales of survival and the lessons learned in the wasteland. And let me tell ya, the ladies can't get enough of it.”

He winks jokingly at Sole.

“Yeah, they all want a piece of you,” answers back Sole. “It looks like a literal problem.”

This time, the mayor can't stop laughing, and his companion joins in. When they finally calm down, Sole turns off the light, leaving them in full darkness.

The moment of truth.

But the moment of truth comes and goes. Surprisingly, Hancock wakes up with the sun, looking as fresh as a daisy.

No dreadful dream has ever come to haunt his mind throughout the night.

Hancock sits up and blinks in amazement. He cannot believe it. No nightmares, cold sweats, or waking up in the middle of the night screaming like a stuck pig.

He looks across at his friend and gives a quiet giggle.

“Well, look at that. Seems like I've got myself a shiny new good luck charm, huh?”

[agentnico]

Suncoast (2024) review

Can we all just agree that Woody Harrelson is an absolutely wonderful human being! Honestly, whether he’s giving life lessons in coming of age stories or killing zombies in endlessly creative ways, he’s an absolute delight.

Plot: A teen living with her strong-willed mother must take her brother to a specialized facility. She strikes up an unlikely friendship with an eccentric activist at protests surrounding a landmark medical case.

I went into this weekend expecting to love the new Bob Marley movie, yet came out disliking that mess of a biopic and instead found charm in this little Sundance indie flick from Searchlight that has absolutely warmed my heart. You may be mistaken by the trailers to think this is a throwaway YA comedy, but it is in fact a coming of age drama that is grounded in realism and tackles some raw and emotional themes of grief and growing up. It is very much in vain of films like Edge of Seventeen, Little Miss Sunshine and Me and Earl and the Dying Girl, where it uses lighthearted humour to connect you with the characters, only to then still throw you in the deep end by tackling a depressing subject. With how the lead girl has to still try and live a normal life, go to school, try to make friends all the while still needing to look after her disabled brother and overbearing mother, it’s a difficult and dysfunctional situation, but one that is made very digestible for the casual viewer.

Nico Parker already showed off her potential dramatic chops in her limited appearance in The Last of Us series last year, however here she really manages to skilfully tackle the emotional challenges of her complex character. Exploring teenage escapades, she expresses a realistic sense of wonder, while balancing it with the emotional toll she faces from her brother's illness. Echoing that heavy toll, Laura Linney adds dramatic layers to her intense performance as a mother, grieving her son before he passes. Adding levity to the emotional tale, Woody Harrelson acts as a friendly face, coping with his own underlying trauma. Through delightful and relatable performances, the cast elevates each other, as they bring the director's experiences to the cinema.

Again, what really works in Suncoast’s favour is how real it feels. Yes, a few lines of dialogue here and there come off a bit too cheesy and tacky, but overall this is a very earnest depiction of teenage angst. You can really tell that director/writer Laura Chinn used experiences from her own childhood to respectfully honour the memory of her brother’s battle with cancer, hence why the result is so powerful. Honestly. Suncoast doesn’t break any new ground in the coming of age genre, but it is nevertheless a delightful surprise and a film that managed to really move me by the time the credits rolled. It’s one of those films you might miss, but you really shouldn’t.

Overall score: 7/10

[silverwings22]

Caught in the Crosshairs: Chapter 47: All Around Me- Flyleaf

Series warnings: Smut, mind control, canon typical violence, childhood trauma, language, chronic illness

Chapter Warnings: Near death experiences, talk of death, talk of assisted suicide, shadow work, mentions of torture

Translations: ad'ika: little one di'kut: idiot osik: shit su runi: your soul ram'ser: sniper Jai'galaar: shriek-hawk har'chaak: Damn it buir: mother/father vor entye, ner ba'vodu: thank you, my aunt/uncle ner kar'ta: My heart shebs: ass ner ad: my child luubid: enough

Previous Chapter:

Next Chapter:

Naboo stretched warm and comforting to cradle the Havoc Marauder when they landed. Irene and Argais were already waiting for them as Tech maneuvered the ship into the large drying barn. 

"Did you tell them we were coming, Hunter?" Miria stood up from her seat, pausing to hack into her elbow. "Pardon me. The smoke on Kashyyyk didn't do me any favors."

"Easy." Hunter steadied her. "And no, I didn't tell anybody."

"I did." Echo admitted quietly. "I've been… in contact with your aunt and uncle for a couple months."

"Tattling on me. It's rude to make fun of the disabled." She didn't look too upset, smiling faintly as she cleaned the blood off her arm with a bacta wipe. Echo was immediately relieved. 

"Not if it's your sister. Then it's love." He teased.

The ramp opened and Omega trotted headlong into Argais' knees. "I missed you guys!"

"We missed you too, young one. Annalise has been baking up a storm since sunrise for your visit. And I have some new flowers to show you." He pleasantly scooped Omega onto his hip. 

Irene gave Miria a critical glance. "You look like shit, ad'ika."

"Thank you, Aunt Irene." Miria shook her head with a grimace. "I rather feel like it too, but that is why we're here."

"Well come inside. Let's get you cleaned up and we'll talk. You smell like smoke and wookiee." The Mandalorian woman sighed. 

"We did just leave Kashyyyk." 

They got into the house and Hunter sighed, a grin on his face. "Your mom's cooking smells amazing."

Miria nodded. "Mother? It's me, I'm…" Saying she was home didn't quite feel right, but it was close. This place wouldn't be home without the missing piece. "I'm back."

"Miria!" Annalise darted from the kitchen, covered liberally in flour, and wrapped her daughter in a hug. "Oh sweetheart, you're so pale! Let me get you some tea. You don't like caf, but I can make some for the boys. I sent your father to the store to get juice for Omega, but I wasn't sure what she liked so I told him to get-"

"Mother, relax. It's alright." Miria put her hands over her mother's fluttery ones. "Don't stress yourself. We're easy to please."

"That's right. You're like your uncle. Sorry, sorry…" Annalise rubbed her thumbs lightly over Miria's braces. "I just… keep hoping maybe if I can make everything perfect, you won't want to leave again."

"You know why I can't stay, Mother. Not yet." Miria shook her head. 

"Cause she's in love with a di'kut." Aram walked in, dressed in a spectacularly flowy turquoise and gold pair of haram pants and tunic. "Am I allowed to eat the cookies now? She hit me with a spoon earlier, Miri." He started to lean in for a hug and paused. "... go take a shower. All of you. I have clean clothes for you too."

"You didn't have to go to all the trouble-" Miria started.

"Yes I did. Shower. You're not getting the smell of ash and fur into my clothes. Shoo." He scolded. 

Hunter laughed. "Alright, alright. Kashyyyk had its charms, though." 

Miria walked to her room to get her new clothes. The holo-projector on the dresser had new images that rolled through now, flickering from her infancy to her last visit. Currently it was her sitting alone by the pond, the dying sunlight turning her into a silhouette. There was space in the frame for more, for the Batch and her family. For Crosshair and Mayrin. 

She picked up the dress Aram had laid out for her and went to scrub her misadventures off her skin. Plo Koon's voice followed her, an echo of when she'd been a padawan struggling to find her way. 

"If this is the path you wish, padawan mine, then pick yourself up and begin again. Are you ready?"

"Yes Master. I can do it."

A pink sundress didn't seem like an act of rebellion, even with her freshly washed and dried tac vest over it. Still Miria sat on the porch with a cup of tea, watching the sunrise over the flower fields like a soldier surveying her terrain.

"You smell better. Still look like osik, but it's an improvement." Irene chuckled, sitting down next to her. "You been up all night?"

"Yes. I wanted to… reflect." Miria said quietly. "I'm sure you think I've been stupid and stubborn, to wait until I'm on death's door to consider this."

"A little. But I'm guessing you had a reason."

"I'm afraid." Miria admitted. "All my life I've been told a Jedi doesn't fear, and I've tried to live it."

"They had their good points, and their dumb ones. The Sith are the same." Irene shrugged. "But what scares you?"

"Failure. If I take this step, there's no return. If I accept the… the darkness within me, as you say. If it's not an intruder to fight, but a part of me, then there's only three outcomes. If I succeed, I'll be whole. That's wonderful… more than I ever dared hope for. If I fall, I'll die. I don't fear death, though. The third outcome… It terrifies me."

"And what's that?" Irene knew the answer, she was pretty sure. But Miria needed to say it.

"When I was tortured on Kamino, Darth Vader showed me a vision. The outcome he wanted. In it, I was an Inquisitor. I was cold, hard as durasteel. A machine in which no parts complained, but empty. I… killed Crosshair."

"That's cruel, even for a Sith." Irene shook her head. "But do you really think you're weak enough to fall? You've proven otherwise."

"Have I?" Miria snorted. "I was the weak padawan, who struggled to master anything in the Force. I only kept to the code as long as I did because I knew nothing better. Until the Batch, I was alone. It's easy not to have attachments when nobody wants you."

"The code isn't a testament to strength. Don't look at the body that fails you. Look at su runi, your soul. Why did you join the war?" Irene was unusually gentle now, making her point in a way the younger woman would understand. 

"To protect my students…" Miria frowned. It was hardly as noble in her mind as those who fought for freedom and democracy, but it had been her reason. 

"And why did you stay when it got hard? You'd have been within your rights to return to the Temple, considering your health."

"The Batch. I couldn't abandon them when they wouldn't abandon me."

"And why you haven't come back to the farm to stay? Even if you don't do this, it'd be a more comfortable place to die." Irene's native bluntness returned. "You want something so badly that you'd rather fight to the death than give up on it."

Miria looked dead ahead, brow furrowed. "Yes… Crosshair. I thought I'd… be content with a last goodbye. But I'm not. I want a hello. A beginning, something that can't be snatched away. I want a future. I want Mayrin."

"Mayrin?" Irene raised an eyebrow. 

"Our daughter.” Miria whispered. “I've… seen her in the Force. She said I needed hope. She was right…" 

Irene nodded. "If you die, there won't be a Mayrin. And the rest of the Batch will follow you to your grave shortly. Including your ram'ser."

Miria looked at Irene. "If I don't try, she'll never live. I've been paralyzed by the fear of failure, but… I have to try."

"I've been waiting for you to say that." Irene stood up, offering Miria a hand. "Come on. Your pain ends as it began."

Miria took the Mandalorian’s hand and was hauled to her feet, leaving her still-steaming teacup on the porch. "Where are we going?" She asked as Irene led her to a smaller barn in the back of the property. 

"My ship. The Jai'galaar."

"Shreik-hawk…" Miria whispered. 

"Yup. And you’ve been practicing your Mando’a. The shriek-hawk was the Symbol of Clan Vizla, before a bunch of deranged cultists made us look bad." Irene opened the barn door. There was a forge smelter in the corner and she grabbed something off it before opening the hatch of a sleek black ship. "It was mine when I was Darth Imperia."

Miria stepped aboard, leaning on the wall to catch her breath at the steep ramp. Irene patted her back as she got her bearings. The inside of the ship definitely matched her idea of what a Sith would fly; dark metal studded with glowing red buttons and inscriptions in a language she coldn’t read but gave her a weird feeling. It was a small gunship, designed to be maneuverable. The cargo hold was essentially a closet in the back of the cockpit, with a claustrophobic fresher and bunkroom barely bigger than a closet. The ramp had opened directly into the cockpit, so Miria eased into the co-pilot’s seat beside Irene as the older woman guided the ship out of the barn before the wings unfolded. It was a rapid and surprisingly silent ascent. “I expected the engines to be louder for such an old ship, Aunt Irene.”

“It’s a stealth ship, and I’ve taken care of it and upgraded it over the years. The Jai’galaar will outfly that Omicron of yours, no matter how many modifications Tech and Echo slap on. And it can cloak.” Irene bragged. “That’s been pretty useful getting around the galaxy under the Empire’s nose collecting beskar. I’ve been busy.” 

Miria nodded, rubbing her chest. “Perhaps I should have worn my armor, instead of a dress?” 

“You won’t need it where we’re going.” Irene assured her as they broke the atmosphere of Naboo and hit hyperspace. 

“And where is that?” Miria rubbed the leather of her thigh bag thoughtfully. 

“Thule. There’s more than one Sith Temple there, but the one in the City of Hurom should do just fine.” 

Before Miria could express her misgivings about going to a Sith Temple, there was a squawk and startle from the hold behind them. “A Sith Temple!?”

Irene froze, looking at her niece with faint horror in her eyes. “Is that…”

“Aram?” Miria blinked back at her. “I think so.”

Irene groaned and walked over, opening the hold door. Aram’s lanky figure was crouched inside, where he’d been clearly trying to keep himself from falling over when they started moving. “Har’chaak, Aram! What are you doing on my ship?!”

“Well, I was looking for that holocron I heard you mention the other day. Now I’m apparently going on an adventure.” He shrugged. 

Miria raised an eyebrow at her aunt. “You have a Sith holocron?”

“I have a lot of old relics.” Irene sighed. “Dammit, Aram. I was not planning on taking you for this.” 

“But I’ve always wanted to go on an adventure with you. You won’t let me come on the beskar roundup.” The young man smiled, scooting past her to sit on the floor between the pilot and co-pilot’s seats. 

“You’d better listen to every word I say.” Irene growled. 

“Of course, Buir.” He gave her a cheeky smile. "So why are we taking Miri to Thule? She's kind of…" 

"Dying?" Miria chuckled. "This would be a last ditch effort to save my life. It's why I returned to Naboo."

"Oh good. I'd miss you." He leaned against her leg. Her skin was mottled with bruises and she had to carefully pat his hair to avoid getting her braces tangled in it. 

"I'd miss you too, Aram. I'm not ready to die yet." She paused to cough into her elbow before looking at Irene with watery eyes. "Will you make me a promise? Both of you?"

"Of course." Aram said immediately. Irene nodded. 

"If I fail…" Miria said slowly. "If I am consumed by the Dark Side, you must kill me. I can stand the thought of dying as long as I tried my best. But I can't let myself become something that hurts others. So if it comes to that, I need you to protect them. From me, if you must."

Aram looked horrified. Irene reached over and put a hand on his arm. "You have my word as a Mandalorian."

"How do I thank you in Mando’a? I haven't learned as much as I'd like… Crosshair and I never had the time."

"Vor entye, ner ba'vodu." Aram looked at his mother. "It's 'thank you, my aunt or uncle'."

"Vor entye, ner ba'vodu." Miria repeated. "If I succeed, will you teach me more? I'd like to surprise Crosshair… I think he'd like that."

"When, not if. I'll have you so fluent you blow your troopers mind." Her cousin promised.

"You haven't even met him and you want to play a prank on him?" Miria smiled. 

"He did make you cry. But you love him, so the policy is to confuse instead of abuse." 

"You'll love him too. I'm sure of it." She flexed her hands, looking at the braces. She ached to put her ring back on…

"You look sad again." Aram nudged her. 

"It's alright, Aram." She breathed. 

They sat in silence, Miria watching the lights in hyperspace for a long time. Slowly she smiled and fumbled into a small bag she'd been carrying on her hip, one he saw her with everywhere. It was sturdy leather, decorated with stars and moons. He couldn't resist eying it appreciatively, his love for fashion and accessories shining through. "Where'd you get that?"

Miria chuckled. "It was just a sachel from the Temple… but Crosshair took one of my doodles and traced it into the leather." She rubbed the design gently with her numb fingers. "When I joined the council. We'd just celebrated our first anniversary together… I had to be in meetings for hours, and I guess he got bored. Boredom was dangerous for that man… but sometimes he could use it constructively." She opened it and pulled out a sheet of flims

 "I keep my favorite of his letters and my lightsaber in it when I'm off the Marauder. "

"Letters. That's almost romantic." Irene smirked. 

"He was never good at talking about his feelings. But he could write them." Miria smiled. "Could I share this one with you? I think… I'd like to remember what I'm fighting for. Sometimes it's hard to recall, after Kamino…"

Irene nodded. Aram looked starry-eyed as she pulled the flimsi out and read it aloud.

"Ner kar'ta

We just left your Temple, and you're down in the hold with the others while I'm on watch. Usually you come sit with me, but today you're all fired up over getting to see your creche kids. You took us to meet them, and teach the younglings about the GAR. I never figured I'd be in a kid's classroom again after I graduated basic, but I think I like teaching more than I did being a student. Maybe it's the way you Jedi treat the kids… it's a lot different than how we were treated. 

You looked so good with those kids. You look good anywhere, but with them you looked more in your element than any battlefield. And they loved you. Toddlers crawling in your lap, older kids wanting to hug you and show you everything they were doing… I've never seen you so naturally do anything. You're not just good with kids. You're great. 

I keep thinking about what you said right after the mission on Tattooine. Before I gave you that ring, the first time you mentioned us getting married. I always knew you'd want kids, ever since we met Cut and Suu. But now that it's really official, I run it over in my head constantly. That you're really mine. That you'll be my wife. That we might have our own kids… I know how I am. I know what war made me, and I wonder if I'm kidding myself that it's possible more than one person could ever see more than that in me the way you do. I look at you and see a kid in your arms, and wonder if they'll hate me. 

Then I hear your voice, just like on Tattooine. 'What if they love you?'

Before I met you I thought I liked being alone. I was used to it, because I stayed in trouble as a cadet. I ended up in solitary a lot. 99 tried to bail me out way more often than I deserved. And the guys always waited for me, but I never wanted them to know just how much I hated it in there. I don't like admitting stuff bothers me. You've heard it before, weakness was used against you. But you see through me. You knew I was lonely long before you were mine. And now that you are, and we've got all these plans, I think I get it. I didn't like being alone like I thought. It was just easier. 

I'm not taking the easy way out now. If you think they'll love me, and if they're half of you, then I believe it. Maybe some of what 99 was teaching me sank in. I hope so… and I hope our kid has your eyes. 

Crosshair"

As Miria read the letter, something shimmered behind Aram and she glanced up. 

A silver haired toddler with her little thumb in her mouth was smiling at Miria, too-long sleeves pushed up her arms. She was wavery, struggling to hold her form with how weak Miria was, but Mayrin was there and listening. 

He gets his wish, if this works. She has my eyes… Miria thought, looking at the face of her future. Crosshair’s tanned skin and wider nose, her eyes, his hair, her petite figure, his smile…

"What are you staring at?" Aram turned his head, seeing nothing in the spot his cousin was watching so intently. 

"Tomorrow." Miria smiled. 

Mayrin giggled quietly, and Miria knew they couldn't see her. She wished they could, just so she could proudly tell them that this little spirit in the Force was her daughter. That her love for Crosshair made something so beautiful it could transcend birth to bring her hope when she was fading. She wondered if Mayrin would remember these moments when she came into the world, like some dream of the time before her existence. When. Not if. 

Irene watched her face thoughtfully. Whatever her niece was seeing, she loved it. It echoed bright through the Force like a full moon over placid water, reflecting and soft but clear. Miria once told her that the clone she was missing said her Force signature felt like moonlight…. He had a point. 

"Coming up on Thule." She murmured. "Ready, Miri?"

"As I will ever be." Miria straightened her back. "If this works, I will finally have the strength to rescue Crosshair from the Empire."

"What if it doesn't work…?" Aram frowned. 

"Then I don't suppose the Empire will be my problem anymore." Miria murmured. "Either I succeed, I fail and die, or I fall and you two kill me. A 33 percent chance of sucess." Her lips twitched into a slow smile. "As the Bad Batch like to say… I like those odds.

Irene set them down carefully just outside a ghostly empty city, more than half of it consumed by the massive black Temple of Hurom. "Spooky…" Aram frowned. 

"Sith seers used to gather here. They foretold the Clone Wars here, and studied dark side prophecy, before the Rule of Two." Irene explained. "The holocron I've got came from here." She led them out, leaving the blaster on her hip and instead gripping the black hilts of her twin sabers. "Stay close."

Miria left her sachel but took her own saber, clutching the recurved hilt tightly. She'd always chuckled to herself about her design, inspired by the archaic paintings of Nabooian archers she'd seen when she was a youngling. How fitting, she supposed, that she'd fallen in love with a sniper. He'd make a fine archer too, if he ever took an interest. 

She stayed close to Irene's back, Aram right behind her. She wondered if he had any combat experience… he was half Mandalorian, surely Irene had taught him something. The hallways twisted and turned, dark stone and dimly lit and ominous braisers all the light they had to see by. But Irene knew the way, huge as this place was. 

She guided them straight into a massive hall, with a raised dais in the middle of the room. The kind of place to expected to find a helpless virgin tied up as a sacrifice. "Go up the steps, Miria. You'll know what to do. We got your back." Irene murmured. 

Miria nodded, hooking her saber back to her hip. She took a shaking breath, willing every ounce of her fading strength not to fail her now. For Crosshair. For Mayrin. My team, and my family. She mounted the steps. 

It went pitch black. 

Miria went still as a slow light rose behind her, turning slowly. A tiny figure appeared, facing away from her. A child, sobbing bitterly into her hands, was crouched and helpless. The misery, abject despair and loneliness rolling off the tiny figure was suffocating within the Force. "Mayrin?" Miria frowned. 

"No!" The girl's voice was raw, as if she'd been screaming. "You love her but you don't love me! Nobody loves me!"

Miria froze when the child whipped around, tearful eyes lost and terrified. She had black hair with a tuft of white in the cut of a Jedi youngling, dressed in a fur-lined coat and mittens. Those were soaked in blood, fingers poking through and torn open. The child's eyes were lavender. 

She's… me. On Illum…

"Nobody wants me because I'm broken now." Baby Miria sobbed. "Not Aayla. Not my best friend! Nobody! You don't even want me! You forced me away. Pretended I'm not here so you can be a perfect Jedi! That's why you got sick!"

Miria stared at her child self before slowly easing onto her knees. "You… are my fear and sorrow… aren't you, little one?" She murmured. Her fears that she'd shoved down, desperate to prove herself worthy of the Temple. The pain of being left, the fear that no one would ever again value her. It stared back at her with her own eyes, demanding to be recognized. She had been so afraid of being abandoned again that she'd abandoned this part of herself into the darkness she tried to lock away. 

"You didn't want me. Nobody wants me. You tried to kill me so nobody would know." The child whispered. "Are you going to kill me now so you can be a perfect Jedi?"

Miria shook her head. "I was never perfect, little one." She held a hand out, shaking fingers gentle. "But it's not true that nobody wants you."

"W- what?" The girl wiped her tears on her bloody mittens. 

"We meet wonderful people." Miria smiled. "The best friends in the galaxy. And they know we're broken, but they love us anyway. We find a man who sees all of the imperfections, and he still wants us. Come here, please." 

"Why?" The youngling looked suspicious. 

"When we’re together, I can show you all the love I didn't give you before. I'm sorry I hurt you." Miria whispered. "I hurt us both." She held her arms open wide. 

Her fear ran into them and Miria embraced her tightly, squeezing her little body. She saw the path she could have trod, where she could have failed. How many Jedi would have struck down the child inside them if they knew it was their darkness? Before Kashyyyk, she might have. 

The child faded into her chest, and Miria started to stand when she heard a hiss. "How touching."

She looked up, again into her own eyes. This time it wasn't a child, but a grown woman in a solid black Imperial uniform. This version of her looked furious and disgusted instead of afraid. Her anger, the carefully controlled rage she'd always leashed, was snarling at her. Miria stood. "Inquisitor." She murmured politely as she understood the magnitude of the task at hand. 

"Master." The vision huffed sarcastically. "Pathetic. You're weak, you should have died out on Illum and let me lead the way. Instead, you ruined everything! You couldn't even kill Trench yourself. At least Anakin had the guts."

"Anakin became a Sith." Miria said firmly. 

"Anakin was fighting for the power to save the woman he loved. What did you do? You had Crosshair right there on Kamino. And you left him!" Her fury sneered. "He was right, in that training room. You left him. You weren't loyal to him, because your precious morals mattered too much. The jedi that left us for twenty years! You deserve your fate, and I hope it hurts. You sat around thinking you were so great, forgiving everyone. Ventress was the reason 99 died. Aayla abandoned us. And what did you do? Nothing! Because you're pathetic!" She took a looming step towards Miria, eyes burning. "Now the Empire will kill Crosshair, the only good thing we ever really had!"

Miria stood her ground. It would be so easy to attack, to reject her anger and force it to yield. To scream back that she'd had no choice, that she'd had to leave him. But she locked eyes with her mirror image. "We can save him."

"How? By forgiving Vader for maiming us when you rejected his offer?" The vision hissed. "That power could have protected him!"

"We already have the power, if we're whole." Miria murmured. "You're not just my anger. You're doubt as well. But together, we're strong enough to bring him home."

"If you'd had the guts to fight Vader on Kamino, he'd be home."

"We can't change the past. But we can direct the future. Don't you want to see Mayrin?" Miria coaxed. Even this, her darkest impulses, still loved Crosshair. She could feel the desperate desire in the Force, the rage that so much had been snatched away. The second guessing of every decision since Kaller and beyond, her self loathing blaming her for the agony. 

"Of course I do…" For a moment, the Inquisitor's clenched fists relaxed. "I'm selfish. I want them both. I'd burn the galaxy to the ground for them… more than you'd do. You don't care."

"You know I care. Remember Raxus?" Miria smiled softly. 

"... we were angry." Her rage whispered. 

"We snapped at Omega. And regretted it. But… if we worked together, wouldn't it be enough? Couldn't we save him?"

The Inquisitor looked askance. "... will I stop existing?" She whispered. "Will you?"

"We've always been a part of each other. We've just never worked together before. If we've nearly killed ourselves fighting each other, imagine what we could accomplish together?" Miria held her hand out. 

The Inquisitor slowly reached out. "I want to destroy the empire for taking him away…"

"I think destroying them is the right thing to do. For more than one reason." She grasped the gloved hand and yanked her rage into her arms, hugging her tightly. "Come home, so he can too."

The vision hugged her back. "Bitch…"

"Crosshair’s right. It does sound wrong when we swear."

They both laughed, fading into each other until Miria was hugging her arms around herself, giggling helplessly. 

"Miri! Miria!" 

She opened her eyes, startled. She wasn't standing like she thought she was, but laying on her back still hugging herself, on the Sith dais. The voice calling her was high and worried, and a humming sound she didn't immediately recognize filled the air. 

A lightsaber. Aram and Irene! 

She sat bolt upright, spotting her aunt and cousin back to back and surrounded by a thick smoke full of peering eyes. "What the hell is this, Buir?!" Aram sounded both terrified and furious, holding a handful of slender needles he'd pulled from Force knows where. 

Irene had her sabers up, the white light from the purified crystals holding the smoke at bay for now. "Sith spirits." She gritted her teeth. If Miria had fallen, they'd be hard pressed to keep their promise. If her niece was a Sith now, these tormented souls bound to the Force and temple would do her bidding and try to kill them. Irene didn't particularly want to test her meddle against a duelist like Miria with the power of the Dark Side at her command.

Miria stood, walking towards them purposefully and with something unreadable in her eyes too far away for Irene to see the color. Aram swallowed hard. "Miria." 

The little woman looked at her hands a moment, furrowed her brow, before extending her arms. The gathered darkness rumbled with momentary excitement before Miria's voice, stronger than her kin had ever heard and woven with power, thundered out. 

"They are mine!"

A brilliant purple light flashed up, forcing the inky darkness back a step. When Miria descended the steps, her eyes met Irene's. Bright eyes, alive and forceful and lavender as the setting sun.

Miria flexed her hands and snatched, the support columns around the room coming loose under her control. They broke and fell, Miria marching through the screaming shadows as the braisers tipped and the tapestries on the wall caught fire. When she reached Irene and Aram, Miria smiled. "I think it's time for us to go."

Irene nodded, grinning. "Follow me."

They took off at a breakneck pace, Miria keeping pace even with Aram's long legs. When they reached the ship, the temple was burning behind them to the sound of the screams of the damned. Irene slid into the pilots seat and hurriedly yanked them into orbit. "Did you have to set it on fire, Miri?"

The jedi laughed softly. "I'm terribly sorry, Aunt Irene. But it was a dreadful place that had outlived its use."

"Spoken like a Mandalorian." Smiled the woman, punching the coordinates into the navi-computer before turning to face Miria. Her warm, dark eyes softened on the younger woman beside her, who was smiling contentedly. "You did it…"

"Can somebody explain to me what you did?" Aram squawked indignantly. "From where I was standing you flopped over and started twitching, then giggled, and we got attacked by shadow monsters that felt like noxious gas in the Force itself!"

Miria patted his arm. "Sorry, dear. It's…. Rather difficult to describe. I saw myself, first as a frightened child and then as an angry adult. And I made peace with both of them."

"Your dark emotions." Irene mused. "I'd wondered how it would play out. How'd you get through to them?"

"The creche and Omega taught me all about how to tend to frightened younglings." Miria chuckled. "And everything I know about diffusing angry adults, I learned from Crosshair."

"He's good at handling pissed off people?" Aram raised an eyebrow. 

"Oh, Force no. He's good at being, and causing pissed off people." Miria laughed. "My darling is nothing if not intentionally antagonistic when he wants to be… like a tooka, not getting enough attention so it pushes your glass off the table while looking you dead in the eyes. "

Irene laughed so hard she snorted, holding her ribs. "I thought you loved this guy!"

Miria smiled. "I do. Love is the willingness to pick the broken glass off the floor and still pet the tooka afterwards."

Aram smiled. "I'm gonna tell him you said that."

"After all he's put me through since Kaller, he's going to have to deal with that. And I just might keep his Firepuncher." Miria chuckled. She looked at Irene. "Aunt Irene… you spoke earlier like you… knew what was happening."

Irene smiled sheepishly. "Kind of did. That holocron I mentioned… it was about you."

"Me?" Miria’s brows scraped her hairline. "I'm the subject of a Sith holocron?"

Irene nodded and looked at Aram. "Go grab it, since you were so curious earlier that you ended up on this crazy mission. Honestly, Aram. You thought you could fight Sith spirits with your hairpins?"

"They're sebon needles, Mom. And what were your lightsabers going to do? They were glorified glowsticks."

"I'm about to glorify something on your shebs, ner ad." She huffed. 

Miria sighed. "Luubid." 

That startled them enough to look at her. "You sure you need me to teach you Mando’a?"

She smirked. "I will not tell you how I learned that word. Now, that holocron please?"

Aram grumbled and got up to go get it. Irene looked at Miria. "Did you have pants on when you learned that word?"

Miria smirked. "Briefly."

Irene howled with laughter until Aram came back with the Bleecker pyramid shaped holocron and his mother took it. "Alright. Here goes nothing." She pulled a small knife from her thigh and pricked her thumb with it, offering the device a drop of blood. It opened, slow and ominous, and a hissing voice poured out that set everyone's teeth on edge. 

"Upon the dawning of our Era, a broken light will come to the temple seeking to be whole. Never were they truly belonging to the hearts that raised them, but to the blood of an ancient enemy of the Jedi. Love will be the death of duty, and lead the Broken Light to the darkness. They will face a trial, with only three outcomes. If they strike down their inner darkness, death will take them and they trouble us no more. If the darkness wins, a Sith more powerful than any before will be unleashed and create an Empire that will never end. But brethren, if balance should prevail, the temple that has stood for over a thousand years will fall before the end of the Broken Light's lifetime!"

Irene snapped the holocron closed "I've been pondering over that for over thirty years. My master had me steal it when I was young… he was obsessed with prophecy. I didn't realize it was about you until months after you came to Naboo the first time. And I knew if I tried to push it before you were ready, or influence how you took the trial, it could cause you to fail." 

Miria stared at the black pyramid in her hands. "That's why you didn't want anyone to know we were leaving, and why you agreed to kill me so readily. You already knew you might have to."

Irene nodded. "I knew your squad couldn't do it. They love you too much to pull the trigger. Argais too. Annalise and Jet might be physically capable of it, don't let the little farm wife and perfumery aesthetic fool you. She can throw knives and needles, and he's a mechanic with a working battle mech in the shed. But you're their daughter… it had to be me."

  Miria looked consideringly at the top of Irene's bowed head. She'd taken on the burden of Miria’s fate, right alongside her. Even if it meant breaking her own heart or damaging her relationship with the rest of the family… Miria put her hand on her aunt's shoulder. "Thank you." She murmured. 

Aram cocked his head. "Ba'vodu has a mech in the shed? I want to touch it."

"For the love of Manda, stop touching everything!" Irene groaned. "You're worse than your father!"

Aram grinned, happy to needle his mother now that the danger was past. Miria vacated the co-pilots seat for him, going to the hold and sitting quietly on the floor with her legs crossed. She flexed her fingers, rubbing the fabric of her dress. 

I wonder…

Force healing was a rare gift, and one she'd never had the strength to learn. But she always watched Master Che when she was in the halls of healing, the kindly twi'lek patching her up from her most recent misadventure. 

"You can, Mama." A sweet voice cooed, and she turned to look at Mayrin with a smile. 

The girl was a little older now, more than a toddler and dressed in a miniature set of blacks. Miria chuckled at the way she stood, hips cocked and sassy. Just like her father. "Well then. Let's give it a try." She murmured. 

She put her hands together, as if praying, and called out to the Force as respectfully as she knew how. If it would grant her the strength, let her ruined hands feel again so that one day they could reach out and touch her beloved's face once more… 

Please. Let my hands be his to hold. 

It was a faint purplish light, though Miria didn't see it with her eyes squeezed closed. But she felt the cool touch like running water in the desert, blessed and sustaining. And the first thing her hands had truly felt since the agony of Vader's saber had subsided. She opened her eyes and blinked. 

The angry scars persisted, but when she pressed her palms to the floor the texture of the grit there greeted her. She rubbed the tracked-in dirt between her fingers, delighted and overwhelmed tears pricking her eyes. 

"Mayrin…" She whispered. "I'll hold your hand one day, I swear. And your father's…"

"Good, Mama." The girl giggled. "He wants to come home… he's just real stubborn."

"Oh…. I'm certain." Miria smiled, tugging her braces off. They skittered in the metal floor where she'd dropped them, but she ignored the sound in favor of pulling the cord from her neck and bringing her ring out of the pouch. The silver was cool against her skin when she slipped the ring back on. It belonged there, it would warm again. "But I'm stubborn too."

"Good." Mayrin grinned. "You gonna need it."

[momojedi]

✎ Rules: Requesting

Last updated: 07/15/23

This is a Star Wars blog. I write for everything surrounding the Star Wars franchise (except for the sequel trilogy, sorry ˙◠˙) only, but if you're interested in other fandoms, check out my writing blog, @momowritesstuff!

I don't do the cliché Y/N stuff, it makes me think of my middle school self and that's something I'd love to forget about.

My readers are always gender-neutral. I want people to feel included so I prefer not to gender the reader (and I don't want to offend anyone). That being said, I'm open to address different body types or disabilities in my writing, I want everyone to feel loved! (however, I will not write about skin colours, it's simply a topic that's too controversial for me)

I'm always open for suggestions or ideas! Whether it's a prompt, constructive criticism or simply the intent to discuss the story and/or characters, I love hearing what people have to say! Same goes for gifs, pictures or even mood boards to my stories, reactions simply warm my heart! ♡

Characters

The Clone Wars → all clones → Anakin Skywalker → Obi-Wan Kenobi → Padmé Amidala → Ahsoka Tano → Darth Maul → Aayla Secura → more to be added The Bad Batch → Hunter → Tech → Wrecker → Echo → Crosshair → Omega (platonical/familial only) → more to be added The Skywalker Saga → Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader → Luke Skywalker → Princess Leia Organa → Han Solo → more to be added Jedi: Fallen Order → Cal Kestis → Nightsister Merrin → Trilla

Note: I still have some shows to watch/finish or rewatch, so things like The Mandalorian, Star Wars: Rebels, etc. are still on my list.

I will write:

→ Fluff → Angst → Semi-NSFW/Spice → Hurt/Comfort → Headcanons, One-Shots, full fics, etc. → Prompts → Death & other mental health subjects

I will NOT write:

→ Ageplay → NSFW → Polyamory → AUs → Fetish content → abusive relationships → basic criteria

Other than that, my requests are open!

[tyrab87]

Here's a detailed character chart for M, based on what you've provided:

---

Character Chart

Character’s full name:

Unknown (referred to as M).

Reason or meaning of name:

M is intentionally vague, adding to their mysterious nature and complex relationship with Bill Cipher.

Character’s nickname:

"Thoughts are odds."

Reason for nickname:

This catchphrase reflects M's unique view of reality and thought patterns, which are heavily influenced by their enigmatic nature and conflict with Bill Cipher.

Birth date:

October 15th.

---

Physical Appearance

Age:

17.

How old does he/she appear:

Around 16–18.

Weight:

125 lbs.

Height:

5'6".

Body build:

Lean and agile.

Shape of face:

Oval with sharp features.

Eye color:

Black.

Glasses or contacts:

None.

Skin tone:

Light brown.

Distinguishing marks:

A faint mark on their left wrist resembling a distorted triangle, an eerie remnant of encounters with Bill Cipher.

Predominant features:

Their black, emotionless eyes and serious expression make them stand out.

Hair color:

Brown.

Type of hair:

Straight and slightly messy.

Hairstyle:

Shoulder-length, often unkempt.

Voice:

Monotone with a slight echo, occasionally soft but laced with sharp inflection when provoked.

Overall attractiveness:

M has an intriguing, mysterious charm.

Physical disabilities:

None.

Usual fashion of dress:

School uniform paired with slippers, an odd but deliberate choice for comfort.

Favorite outfit:

The school uniform combined with a long dark jacket during colder days.

Jewelry or accessories:

A small notebook always tucked in their pocket, used to jot down cryptic observations.

---

Personality

Good personality traits:

Observant

Calm under pressure

Independent thinker

Resilient

Bad personality traits:

Emotionally distant

Overly cryptic, even to friends

Stubborn

Mood character is most often in:

Neutral and contemplative.

Sense of humor:

Dry and often dark.

Character’s greatest joy in life:

Solving puzzles or unraveling mysteries.

Character’s greatest fear:

Becoming trapped in Bill Cipher's mindscape.

Why?

The mental entrapment represents a loss of self and control, which M values above all.

What single event would most throw this character’s life into complete turmoil?

If Bill Cipher regained full power and targeted their loved ones.

Character is most at ease when:

They’re observing others or solving intellectual challenges.

Most ill at ease when:

They’re forced into emotional situations or when others pry into their past.

Enraged when:

Someone tries to manipulate their thoughts or take advantage of their loved ones.

Depressed or sad when:

They feel powerless against Bill Cipher.

Priorities:

Protecting their cousins P and O, understanding their place in Bill Cipher's web, and safeguarding the Pines family.

Life philosophy:

"Thoughts are odds—choose wisely."

If granted one wish, it would be:

To erase Bill Cipher's existence completely.

Why?

Bill Cipher's influence has disrupted their life, and they fear the devastation he could bring to others.

Character’s soft spot:

Their cousins, P and O.

Is this soft spot obvious to others?

Only to those who know M deeply.

Greatest strength:

Intellectual problem-solving and unwavering focus.

Greatest vulnerability or weakness:

Struggles to trust others and show emotions.

Biggest regret:

Letting Bill Cipher manipulate their thoughts during their first encounter.

Minor regret:

Not standing up for themselves sooner in social situations.

Biggest accomplishment:

Resisting Bill Cipher's mental influence and maintaining their independence.

Minor accomplishment:

Earning the trust of the Pines family.

Past failures he/she would be embarrassed to have people know about:

Accidentally revealing a secret to Bill Cipher in exchange for false "help."

Why?

It showed a moment of weakness and naivety.

Character’s darkest secret:

M sometimes hears whispers of Bill Cipher’s voice even when he isn’t present.

Does anyone else know?

No.

---

Goals

Drives and motivations:

To defeat Bill Cipher and protect their family.

Immediate goals:

Prevent Bill Cipher from returning to full strength.

Long-term goals:

Find peace of mind and break free from Bill's lingering influence.

How the character plans to accomplish these goals:

By gathering knowledge, uncovering hidden truths, and enlisting help from the Pines family.

How other characters will be affected:

The Pines family grows closer to M but becomes more aware of the lurking danger surrounding them.

---

Past

Hometown:

A small town near Gravity Falls.

Type of childhood:

Relatively normal until their first encounter with Bill Cipher at age 12.

Pets:

None.

First memory:

Playing hide-and-seek with their cousins P and O.

Most important childhood memory:

The day they saved P and O from Bill Cipher's illusions.

Why:

It shaped their role as a protector and fueled their conflict with Bill Cipher.

Childhood hero:

Their father, Sam.

Dream job:

A philosopher or puzzle designer.

Education:

High school student.

Religion:

None; leans toward skeptical agnosticism.

Finances:

Middle-class upbringing.

---

Present

Current location:

Gravity Falls.

Currently living with:

Alison (mother) and their cousins P and O.

Pets:

None.

Religion:

None.

Occupation:

Student.

Finances:

Stable.

---

Family

Mother:

Alison.

Relationship with her:

Close but strained due to M’s secrecy.

Father:

Sam (deceased).

Relationship with him:

Admired and missed deeply.

Siblings:

None.

Relationship with them:

N/A.

Cousins:

P and O.

Relationship with them:

Protective and caring.

---

Favorites

Color:

Black.

Least favorite color:

Yellow (Bill Cipher's color).

Music:

Instrumental, ambient sounds.

Food:

Plain rice and curry.

Literature:

Mystery novels.

Form of entertainment:

Solving riddles.

Expressions:

“Thoughts are odds.”

Mode of transportation:

Walking.

Most prized possession:

Their notebook.

---

Habits

Hobbies:

Puzzles, reading, and observing people.

Plays a musical instrument?

No.

Plays a sport?

Occasionally runs.

How he/she would spend a rainy day:

Journaling indoors.

Spending habits:

Minimalist.

What does he/she do too much of?

Overthinking.

What does he/she do too little of?

Expressing emotions.

Extremely skilled at:

Critical thinking.

Extremely unskilled at:

Social small talk.

Nervous tics:

Taps their pen rhythmically.

---

Traits

Optimist or pessimist?

Pessimist.

Introvert or extrovert?

Introvert.

Daredevil or cautious?

Cautious.

Logical or emotional?

Logical.

Confident or unsure of themselves?

Confident intellectually, unsure emotionally.

Animal lover?

Neutral.

---

Self-Perception

How they feel about themselves:

They see themselves as capable but incomplete.

One word to describe self:

Observer.

---

Relationships with Others

Opinion of other people in general:

They’re unpredictable and sometimes frustrating.

Person character most hates:

Bill Cipher.

Best friend(s):

Dipper Pines.

Love interest(s):

None yet.

Person character goes to for advice:

Stanford Pines.

Most important person before story:

Their father.

After story starts:

P and O, the Pines family.

---

Let me know if you'd like to adjust or expand on any of these details!

[deosilplanarglitches]

There is too much erasure and intersectionality in the queer and trans community to safely talk about parallel experiences without being accused of silencing someone.

The second you speak on a post of someone from a different gender background it's automatically seen as an attack, even if all you say is "I have had similar experiences even though I come from a different background, can we talk about that?"

A lot of y'all are a hairsbreadth away from turning a proverbial gun on a sibling being oppressed just as much as you and it shows.

The same can be said for the disabled community.

Creating strawman arguments against groups of people you make up in your head based on societal generalization and fear mongering just ensures anyone maybe wanting to relate and open a conversation about shared experiences, can't.

You're also subscribing to the same harmful stereotypes that are used to erase you, you're just pointing that shit elsewhere. Repackaging it so that only your marginalized identity has room to discuss issues.

This is why you don't have many, if any, amab enbies in your queer spaces.

This is why you don't have many, if any, transmascs in your queer spaces.

This is why you don't have many, if any ND and MH disabled people in your disabled spaces.

And this is why I see so much actual hatred directed at these groups. For speaking about their experiences. Or daring to have a less marginalized identity (which is somehow conflated as a moral failing) than you.

Do y'all not want community outside of a homogenized echo chamber or what?

This is not the suffrage olympics, we're supposed to be helping each other overcome the systemic bullshit, not adding additional layers to it and make it harder for everyone else.

We're all suffering.

[lightsounds]

JBL PRX ONE All-In-One Powered Column PA W/ 7-Ch Mixer, DSP & Onboard FX

Product Information:-

The JBL PRX ONE all-in-one powered PA features an acoustically optimised column array featuring a 7-channel digital mixer, a full suite of professional DSP, class-leading audio connectivity, Bluetooth functionality and JBL Pro Connect universal app control.

Enjoy unmatched power and performance in a sleek, compact package: PRX ONE delivers a stunning 130 dB of wide, full-bandwidth coverage with consistent front-to-back throw, thanks to its custom-engineered 12-tweeter column array featuring JBL AIM acoustic technology, 12-inch bass-reflex woofer and built-in 2,000-watt (peak) amplifier.

Dial in great sound fast, with fewer pieces of gear, using PRX ONE’s full suite of professional Lexicon and dbx effects including reverb, delay, compression and dbx DriveRack Inside featuring AFS Pro Automatic Feedback Suppression. Connect microphones, instruments, mobile devices and wireless rigs using PRX ONE’s versatile I/Os (featuring dedicated phantom power and Hi-Z inputs and pro-grade Neutrik connectors) and sophisticated Bluetooth 5.0 features. Work faster and easier with an intuitive Soundcraft-designed dual-mode digital mixer that can be set to general mix functions or channel-strip control, all controllable via app or a built-in colour LCD.

PRX ONE is ideal for DJs, musicians, entertainment venues, corporate presenters, rental companies and houses of worship. It’s the perfect solution for anyone who demands best-in-class power, acoustic performance, creative control and connectivity in a stylish, full-featured column PA that’s ideal for both installed and portable applications.

Firmware Update: JBL Pro Connect V1.8 is now available as a free update on Android and ISO. The latest firmware update improved metering (LEDs indicating limit too early), pass-through LPF/HPF (added LPF/HPF to the pass-through DSP), presets following the logic of EON ONE MK2 (system presets will now mirror EON ONE MK2), Gain Staging improvement on line level (line level showing clip too early), match EON ONE MK2 Effects (EON ONE Compact will now mirror EON ONE MK2 effects), improved connectivity, sleep enable/disable (Long pressing the channel button will disable sleep mode), BT Tone disabled (BT Connection tone will no longer be present), plus more!

Features:- - Vertical array of 12 2.5-inch drivers delivers consistent, even HF response from the front of the room to the back - Custom-designed high-frequency drivers feature copper-capped pole pieces to minimise distortion and smooth, natural high-frequency response - JBL A.I.M. (Array Inumbration Mechanics) geometrically optimised array-shading technology ensures consistent front-to-back coverage - Wide, 130° (H) x 30° (V) dispersion pattern delivers consistent coverage across the audience area - Sophisticated crossover management and HF/LF coupling allow for more natural low-end response and smooth, uniform response across the entire frequency range - 12-inch bass-reflex woofer extends low-end response to 35 Hz - 2,000-watt (peak), fully bridged Class D amplifier with power factor correction and high-linearity inductors provides clean, efficient system power, superior headroom, low THD and protection from voltage spikes - Four high-efficiency, low-noise microphone preamps maintain constant bandwidth at any gain level - 130 dB max SPL - Integrated 7-channel digital mixer with dual-operating mode gives users full control of their input faders or individual channel controls like bass, mid, treble and effects sends - Powerful Lexicon effects engine with delay, reverb chorus, echo and sub synth, with presets for easy setup - Triple Tier DSP control offers multi-level user experiences based on knowledge level - dbx DriveRack Inside technology features AFS (AutomaFc Feedback Suppression), 8-band master EQ, system limiter, plus gates and compressors on each channel for unrivalled dynamic control - One-touch ducking by Soundcraft ensures speech is always heard - Simple, intuitive full-colour LCD screen provides easy access to all PRX ONE functions - 8 user presets instantly optimise system sound - Robust audio connectivity: I/Os include 4 XLR Combo, 2 Hi-Z, 1 1/8-inch/BT audio and 1 XLR Pass Thru - 2 USB 2.0 ports charge devices and power AKG wireless systems (with optional JBL adapter cable) - Two channels of true +48V phantom power expand microphone support - Bluetooth 5.0 connectivity allows remote system control of up to 10 units using the JBL Pro Connect app - Full app control using JBL Pro Connect - Rugged enclosures withstand the rigours of the road - subwoofer for permanent installations - Included nylon carrying bag for array - Weight: 55.65 lbs (25.7 kg)

Buy Now : https://lightsounds.com.au/shop/index.php?route=product/product&product_id=3244&search=JBL+PRX+ONE+All-In-One

[webiatorstechnologies]

Neeva AI - The Ad Free Google Search Alternative, Once Again In News

In June 2018, the Mountain View, California-based firm debuted a subscription-only search engine in the U.S., eventually adding a free "basic" tier with limits. Neeva AI today has over 600,000 customers, most of whom are on a free plan, and is eager to expand into new regions.

Neeva Search Engine has launched its services in the U.K., France, and Germany tomorrow. Due to Google's antitrust issues in e-commerce (Google Shopping), Android, and online advertising, Europe was a good place to start Neeva's expansion.

The EU has pushed Google to relax its grip by offering Android users other default search engines during setup. Search is the doorway to the internet for billions of people worldwide. This has mostly failed, but it does make Europe a fertile ground for search startups.

TechCrunch interviewed Neeva AI co-founder and CEO Sridhar Ramaswamy in London to discuss his three-year-old company's current state and future market ambitions. Over 15 years, Ramaswamy rose from engineer to senior vice president.

He drove Google's $100 billion ads and commerce division. In 2018, he joined Greylock Partners, a prestigious venture capital (VC) firm. Greylock, Sequoia Capital, and other top investors have invested in Neeva twice. Neeva has raised over $80 million since its founding.

Important Features Of Neeva Search Engine

Neeva AI has a native mobile app and a browser plugin for Chrome, Edge, Firefox, and Safari that disables trackers and provides organic search. A news or information website you visit cannot share your data with third parties for profiling or tailored ads.

Neeva promotes its ad-free atmosphere. Neeva displays the most relevant results at the top, saving users from scrolling through six or more sponsored results. While few will notice sponsored "inorganic" results, any search tool that preaches privacy has additional trade-offs.

Privacy search engines frequently sacrifice utility, which Google provides. Google Search has many value-added capabilities, such as telling you how crowded a pub will be at a certain hour, where the nearest pub is near your present location, and how to get there. 

Before we discuss current opening times, addresses, phone numbers, and more for nearly every public place in a city. Apple Maps and interfaces with third-party data providers like Yelp and Tripadvisor help Neeva search engine and others close this gap. 

But, the information isn't always current, and navigating isn't possible without giving your location. Neeva AI uses a user's IP address to "infer" their location, although tests showed it was several hundred miles off. It provides more accurate results for current location.

Filtering information sources is another benefit. If you don't wish to buy from Amazon, Neeva can deprioritize it in future results. You can also tell Neeva AI to show fewer or more stories from a publisher. It emphasizes Neeva's business model's main benefit. 

More Effective Attributes Of Neeva AI

Neeva search engine is targeting consumer spending. Thus Google allows consumers to demote specific corporations in search results. It could contribute to the much-maligned echo chamber effect that has plagued Big Tech in recent years. 

It consists of algorithms feeding consumers the same content from the same sources rather than exposing them to "fresh ideas" or content they might not otherwise see. Someone who hates a bunch of political news outlets can minimize their search results. 

Ramaswamy emphasizes that its search indexing methods prioritize quality. How Neeva generates findings is another tricky topic. Neeva, like other "alternative" search engines, uses Bing for some web searches, but it planned to switch to its tech stack soon

“We built all the personal indexing tech from scratch,” Ramaswamy said. Our tech and Bing split web searches around 50-50. Our huge indexing and search system is serving more results.” Ramaswamy stated that Neeva AI does not send Bing personal data.

Neeva search engine also lets signed-in users connect their Google, Office 365, and Dropbox accounts, converting web search into a personalized tool for email, documents, calendars, and more. Premium users can link Slack, GitHub, Confluence, Jira, Box, Notion, and Figma.

A Delicate Balance - Neeva vs Google

If someone joined Neeva because of privacy concerns with rival goods, they may not want to use any of the connectors. Neeva AI requests read and write permissions when a user links GitHub to their Neeva account, as required by GitHub's API for downloading data.

Google stopped personalizing search results for these reasons. Google used Gmail data to show planned airline and hotel reservations and serve customized adverts. But, the privacy palaver this caused was too much, and Google eventually disconnected these products.

It is done to convey the idea that "it doesn't care about your data" and reassure enterprise customers' worry that Google could be reading their emails. It involves balancing privacy, utility, and user control—not everyone wants the same search engine. 

Some consumers may be fine with Google scanning their inboxes to find out when their flight leaves, while others may be fine with targeted, ad-supported search results if it means they can use Google's goods for free.

Neeva faces the same challenge: "How to create a truly valuable product that people would use and eventually pay for?" and "How to achieve this without advertising or corporate intervention?". As a result, Neeva AI makes a basic product, as un-Google-like as possible.

It then lets consumers manually adjust things to their privacy standards. Neeva search engine allows easy web searches without advertising or registration. If users are willing to sacrifice some privacy, they can open a free account to search across third-party personal accounts.

The user must manually disable Neeva's 90-day search history. Neeva search engine has this on by default since search history provides real value to users, such as homepage recommendations and auto-filling search phrases. 

Search history will be deactivated by default because a product that emphasizes privacy may not need this feature. “Because search is so personal, we're modifying this,” Ramaswamy said. “We thought an explicit opt-in feature was better.”

Yet, someone used to Google Search's immediacy and slickness will likely struggle to switch to Neeva or another search engine without seeing the drawbacks. Google succeeds because it builds sticky goods that entice users to stay.

Maps are one of the best illustrations of how Google has prospered by taking money from one product, investing it in another, and eliminating competitors. Google uses search ad revenue to fund Maps and eliminate the category.

Recognizing Neeva's problem is different from solving it. It all boils down to solving one problem at a time, starting with removing advertisements from the search for people who value it and adding some value-added delights.

Neeva AI Pro-Privacy Search Engine

There are many "privacy" search engines, including well-funded incumbents like DuckDuckGo, You.com, and Brave, which recently launched its search engine. These companies all emphasize "privacy." 

But they're also trying to establish a search business that doesn't require a lot of adverts and can be based on less intrusive keyword searches. Brave, like Neeva, will soon provide a subscription-based premium service that removes advertisements from search results. 

It means advertisements for free plan users. DuckDuckGo relies on keyword-based ads, whereas You.com currently uses affiliate links. Neeva emphasizes that its business model is now focused on getting people to sign up for a premium plan.

Neeva Search Engine will not provide any ads or affiliate links. It is also investigating bundling collaborations with like-minded companies like encrypted email service Proton or licensing deals to fuel enterprise application search. 

Ramaswamy claimed that localization ensures search quality. Neeva's basic ad-free service is available in Europe at launch, but the premium version will launch in the following weeks at $5 per month. Daily Google searches are estimated at 5.6 billion. 

No alternative comes close to that traffic. Google Adwords generates 60% of Google's revenue and provides many businesses with free, organic traffic. It also spawned an industry of Google Adwords optimizers.

Conclusion

We can't decide who will win this Neeva vs Google debate. But we can say that Neeva AI will highly impact the usage of Google and other search engines. Although, it needs a lot of improvements to come into the list of the most popularly used search engines. 

Visit Website.

Original Source : https://bit.ly/42jHUwM

[saltwukong]

You'll never hear me argue about a lack of media literacy amongst the RWBY fandom, but the sheer arrogance in your dialogue here is as basic RWBY stan as anyone else we've seen, just with more words. You don't seem to realize how late to the party you are--a lot of the excuses you're using fell out of favor years ago.

"You're just pissy your hc wasn't canon" is not a big enough band-aid. It does not cover Qrow attacking a man with a freshly destroyed arm. It does not cover Adam, a racial stand-in for a person of color, espousing "white genocide" nonsense about faunus supremacy. It does not cover Jaune melting down the only remaining effects of his love interest and adding them to his armor. It does not cover Penny being tortured and stripped of her free will for an entire volume before dressing up despair-driven assisted suicide to keep her power from being cannibalized as "respecting her choice". It does not cover a traumatized woman being blamed for the end of the world because two gods blew humanity off the planet out of incredibly disproportionate retribution for a pathetically ineffective rebellion. It does not cover a traumatized war veteran being twisted into a monster who tries to kill anyone in his way and blow up a city if he doesn't get what he wants. It does not cover its central character being brutally battered and tortured into suicide and then dressing up this act as "accepting herself".

Nonsense like this comes from echo chambers, and I'm thrilled you've decided to step out of yours, but I hope the first thing you learn about all of this is exactly how many people RWBY pissed off: it pissed off black and other nonwhite people, it pissed off gay people, it pissed off disabled people, and it pissed off--this part is important--its fans.

Because guess what? RWBY isn't indie. It hasn't been indie for quite some time. Rooster Teeth was acquired by Fullscreen as early as 2014, and Fullscreen through Otter Media was acquired by Warner Media in 2019. They have always had the resources to make what they want, provided what they were making was good enough to retain interest. RWBY, a wildly successful phenomenon that at one point held hundreds of thousands, if not millions of fans, now has a few thousand left. Is it a nostalgia filter to acknowledge that this show was, at one point, genuinely popular? I mean, I'm sorry if Hbomberguy or whoever the hell pissed you off with his video essay, but those video essays exist because RWBY was big at one point.

Because it was good at one point. And then fell off. It took sharp declines, alienated most of its fanbase, and met an inglorious end. Sometimes it's that simple and I'm sorry if that leaves you hurt.

Your generalizations are an easy way for you to blame the people upset with the product rather than examine the product itself. That comes from a place determined to protect that product, and as well-meaning as that part of you is, you can let go of it now.

Since recently everything here has been taken over by dipshits who lack media literacy, i will come back here to say - RWBY is a good show. It is good. It has good story and good writing and good characters. Does it have stumbles and limitations? Of course, like everything else ever created. Is it the real reason yall are dedicating your lives to religiously following and picking apart every detail to find something, anything, to hate on and make it your whole personality? Nah.

Yall are just pissy your hc wasn't canon. And i'm only half-joking.

Yall are just stuck in the expectation of "cute girls in school fighting monsters and baddies", which it hasn't been for almost a decade. Let Beacon fucking die already, it was the most boring part of the story anyway. If you like it so much, watch.. idk, high guardian spice. Or maybe my hero academia, it has godawful writing too with your favorite Adam-like and Ironwood-like archetypes you adore so much.

And if you didn't click off already in hissy rage, and want to challenge me on the writing point:

Yall are complaining about pacing, characterization lacking, skipped development, insert some other reason, how "show went to shit after volume 3". Well, newsflash, look back at volume 1. REALLY look at it, without your nostalgia boner.

How, in what actually can fit into 3.5 full-length episodes, it skips a whole semester with only a few moments shown in like 3-8 minutes. Notice how Ruby and Pyrrha interacted like 2 times in 3 volumes total. Ruby and Penny? Yeah, they barely interacted too. Ren hasn't talked to rwby girls at all aside from ensemble scenes.

Too many characters in later volumes? Honey, 1-3 had SO many pointless grunts and you ate them up. The whole Vytal festival was filled with them.

Can you tell me the plot of volume 2 from the top of your head? Yeah, me neither. If i think maybe i can remember there was a mecha fight, a dance and a train, but beyond that what was the point of that entire volume again?

Your favorite, pedestalled, volume 3, most of which is fighty-fighty filler and the only stuff you actually remember when jizzing your pants about it is last 3 episodes.

Most character interactions and development happened after Beacon arc. Most actual plot and bigger story happened after it too. Yall are stuck circlejerking to *filler*, setup, which only purpose was to show the status quo to later destroy it and start to show the real picture.

Do you know why v4 and 5 feel so empty and missing something? Sure, juggling multiple plots gave it's pacing issues too, but it felt empty because there were no side characters to fill out the world and make it feel alive. V5 cast was so tiny it felt like nobody interacted at all. Because there were none of those "extras" yall hate on so much. The extras make the world feel real. Which is why Atlas feels alive when Mistral wasn't.

The most complaints about later volumes are chucked down to lack of media literacy and nuanced reading of situations and characters. Translated for your easier understanding: the writing was too nuanced for your "cute girls go fighty fighty brrr" brain to comprehend. Sometimes things require you to put the situation into character perspectives. Sometimes their decisions are made under stress + personality + influence of events and interactions. But i guess yall don't want to think, yall just want to watch "girl go brrr killy killy monster"

I can continue writing down all these other points, but i'm hungry and should get up so i won't. Bottom text: RWBY is a good show with good story and good writing and good characters. It has struggles and fumbles like every other piece of media. But for some reason, because it's indie, it's held to a much higher standard and everyone feels entitled to pick apart every detail of it to make themselves feel justified for feeling sad over their dead headcanons, even though they'd never do the same picking for big production popular series with much *much* worse writing than even the worst of RWBY's fumbles.

If you made it this far and are a member of rwde, congratulations, you still have a reasonable bone or few. Most others i guess clicked off at first point and blocked me after sending me some kinda death threat, idk, i haven't posted this yet after all.

So yeah, feel free to leave your takes and death threats below, i'll happily discuss further later

[engagemythrusters]

Okay. Watching The Bad Batch for the first time and I’ve only gotten 2/3rds of the way thru the first season thus far, but I feel I now understand the characters well enough to start making conjectures.

So here’s what I’ve got so far:

Due to the inherent Muchness of heightened senses, I wouldn’t doubt a sensory processing disorder for Hunter. It’s clear that he’s gotten a handle on it (aka learned to adapt to, compensate for, and understand it) by the time TBB appears in The Clone Wars, but I bet it was hard to deal with when he was younger.

Wrecker appears to have a developmental/learning/intellectual disability of some sort, compounded by a TBI. He struggles with bigger words and is impulsive, along with other notable markers. This could have stemmed from the accident that left the facial scar and blinded his eye, but it seems that, based on how the other three original bad batch clones act around him, that this has always been a thing. A TBI likely added to this, because he seriously just keeps getting smacked in the head, the poor guy. He’s just a walking headache.

That being said, he likely gets lots of migraines. Seriously, that much head-smacking can’t result in a fun, happy time up in his head, pain-wise. I suspect the other four get them, too. Hunter has to process a lot of information from all senses, and Crosshair from his sight. That’s a lot to deal with, and I know I get headaches from a lot less. Tech… he’s staring at screens all day. Blue-light headaches much? And Echo… he’s literally got so much going on up there, technology wise, that it’s undoubtedly the cause of many a migraine. He’s one bad interface connection from a seizure, practically.

Crosshair has some attachment issues, I think. Like I believe all the clones would, had they not been programmed otherwise. They never got held by a caring individual, for gods sake. Maybe later generations had older brothers to hold them every so often, but that’s not enough. They never got one-on-one care. And, since his programming never kicked in correctly, Crosshair has all of that just shoved into his twig body. So, RAD, due to his obviously avoidant nature.

Tech is autistic and I don’t think that’s debatable, really. Like that textbook autism (which leads to a discussion about his savant nature being paired with a highly autistic-coded character and the harmful impact that could create for us autistic people in real life. The same harm of Wrecker’s disability vs how he’s treated as an ‘it’ in the show (said explicitly by Cid) and how Crosshair, with evident attachment issues, is demonised as the villain. BUT THATS ITS OWN ESSAY TO WRITE.)

Omega has ADHD and that one’s not heavily coded like the rest, but I think it fits!

None of them have true favourite siblings, but each are easier to go to for different things. Hunter, for leadership and emotional advice. Crosshair, for silent understanding (pre-chip activation). Wrecker, for emotional understanding and grounding. Tech, for intellectual advice and rationality. Echo, for interpersonal advice. Omega, for intrapersonal advice and a fresh, new perspective on everything.

I truly believe, in my heart of hearts, that Hunter would have the highest, shrillest scream. It doesn’t make sense, but it just seems right (to me personally).

Tech and Echo spend a lot of time on Echo’s implants and prostheses. Echo clearly isn’t using them for their original intent—some not even used at all—so they have to be updated, modified, or taken out. (As evidenced by the—I’m assuming what is a—neural interface he now wears and the lack of other implants he used to have in TCW.)

Echo has chronic pain, due to phantom limbs. That, and it must take a lot out of him for those prostheses. They're melded to him in a way that seems... not user-friendly. Techno Union wasn't doing it because they wanted him to live a fulfilling life. They did it because they needed him. They wouldn't care about his pain. It's unlikely that he doesn't feel constant pain. I'm guessing his everyday average pain level it's equivalent to what normal people (i.e.: people who aren't me or other chronic pain-havers) would consider a 4 out of 10.

I have a feeling that most of them know the basics of swimming, but likely aren’t good at it—Wrecker especially. And, with all that armour, it probably wouldn’t matter if they could swim or not. That shit will absolutely sink them. Omega, once taught, would LOVE IT, though.

Crosshair would let a tooka adopt him. As in, he would let the cat follow him around. Whether or not he’d do anything for or about the tooka… I don’t know. But he’d allow it. (Wrecker would dote on the thing if it followed him. Lula and said tooka would be his best buds. He may like explosions, but he’s a sweet guy at heart!)

Echo and Crosshair have absolutely held staring contests. Asserting dominance. (Somehow, despite not having been involved in the first place, Wrecker has won at least two of them.)

Hunter has a taste for meilooruns. Tech does not.

All of them snore. Echo’s even has an electronic buzzing to it. Tech is absolutely the loudest. Omega has wished to smother them all in their sleep.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙮 𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐) || sub!bucky barnes x dominatrix!reader

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || every client is different, with different needs; but this client is, in every way, exceptional.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 || 5k

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || smut (cnc), dom/sub relationship, ‘mistress’ title, pain kink, cockwarming, orgasm denial/control, use of a cockring, slapping, objectification/degradation, some angst and hurt/comfort, crying after sex, touchstarved!bucky

new parts posted on thursdays!  join the taglist here

"And you can promise complete and total discretion?” the deep and husky voice on the other end of the line repeated, low enough that it was almost a whisper.

You laughed a little. “Of course,” you answered. Most clients were serious about privacy, but this guy was next level. He must be famous, you thought to yourself, or married. Or both.

But just as much as your clients wanted to keep you separate from their personal life, you would rather they know nothing about who you are. Of course it was always a risk, since nobody could hide their face and you had to work out of your apartment, but you did what you could to keep your job just that— a job.

You told your friends you were a consultant, because people didn’t question that. Sure, it was hard to keep up the lie sometimes when you got last-minute bookings and had to cancel plans, but it was worth it for the money these men were willing to pay.

And this new guy? He was shelling out all kinds of cash, on a long set of conditions. Including an NDA. You wouldn’t have given him up either way, but if the contract made him feel better (and made him pay more) then you were happy to sign it.

“So it’s all anonymous, then? No ID, no credit card…?” he pressed.

“I mean, if cash is easier for you—”

“It is.”

You were starting to worry that this was a major red flag, as if he didn’t want to be traceable back to you at all. It was almost a dealbreaker, until you glanced down at the legal pad you’d written his offer on and remembered that you couldn’t afford to turn him down. “Then cash is fine,” you decided, making a note to yourself to have 911 already dialed when he came by in case his aversion to ID was really about a desire to get away with something.

“When can we start?”

“Um, well the soonest I can do is tomorrow at seven” you explained.

"Great, I'll be there," he answered firmly, apparently about to hand up.

“Hey, hey, slow down!” you chuckled. “Can I at least get a name?”

“I didn’t think we needed to do names.”

“We don’t… but if you’re willing, I’d like to know something to call you.”

“James,” he answered after a tense pause. “James is fine.”

“Alright, James, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Upon opening the door, you instantly noticed three things about him: he was tall, he was big, and he was sexy.

You had sort of been hoping that his appearance wouldn’t match his voice, but it did, and it was going to make this so much harder.  Maybe easier in a few ways, but overall worse.  It was important that you didn’t get too emotionally invested with your clients.

His eyes were dragging over you like he was just as taken aback.  Which was odd, because he must have seen your picture online before he called you.  

“James,” you greeted. “Glad you made it.”

You stepped aside to let him enter, guiding him to take a seat in your living room.  Before clients came by, you hid any signs of life and kept the space as neutral as possible, which was why the only furniture was the white couch he sat on, the black chair across from it, and a glass table in between.

You sat in the black chair and crossed your legs, noticing with pride the way his eyes studied your every move.

“It’s important that we have a discussion about boundaries and limits before this goes any further," you explained sternly, and he nodded slightly.  "Tell me what you do and don't want."

“Uh, well, I guess I was just looking for… somebody who can administer, um, discipline… you know, someone who sets rules and enforces them.  But could also be kind of, uh, sweet I guess, to.  Not too sweet, just… not too mean either."

You smiled a little; he sounded right up your alley.  "I can do that."

"You should know I… I have a… disability.  My left arm it's, um, it's a prosthetic."

"How would you like me to accommodate that?"

"Just don't say anything about it, please.  Treat it like a normal arm.  And, uh, if you could ignore my scars, too…" he added awkwardly.

"Of course,” you nodded, “I would never want to make you feel insecure."

"Well, I mean, I'm not against degradation," he admitted sheepishly, making you smile a little.

"Right: that's different.  Anything else you're distinctly not against?"

“I can take a lot of pain,” he explained matter-of-factly.  “However much you think I can handle, double it.  I wanna feel it.”

You could almost hear the words he wasn’t saying: I wanna feel something.

“Okay, we can do that.  You’ve probably heard of the color system," you posited.

“I haven’t.”

"Oh."  That threw you off slightly… how new was he to this scene?  “Well, it’s traditionally green, yellow, red; like a stoplight.  Red means stop.  Yellow means proceed with caution.  Green means continue.”

“Sounds simple enough.”

“Too simple for me, in fact.  I have my own version: ‘red’ will make me stop what I’m doing, but only ‘black’ ends the scene entirely.  And then there’s ‘blue.’  That means you want more.”

He smirked a little; a strong show of emotion compared to his stoicism so far.  “I think I’ll use that one most.”

“Just don’t be afraid to use anything else, alright?  I’d never be disappointed in you for safewording, or even just needing a break.”

He nodded.  “Can we get to it then?”

“You’re rushing as always,” you laughed.  “I’m not charging you for this part.  We have plenty of time— don’t we?”

“Yes, but—” he sighed.  “You look really… I walked in and, I guess I’m just really looking forward to this.”

You almost would’ve smiled at the compliment but you thankfully suppressed it.  “And what is it that you’re looking forward to?  What do you want me to do to you?”

His jaw tightened as he looked away from you.  “Um, there’s a lot.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Ropes.  Strongest you have.  I can buy you stronger ones if you need them, for next time…”

He’s already thinking about next time?  He’s already thinking about buying me things?

“Alright, I can do ropes: wrists and ankles?  Or more than that?”

He seemed a bit confused by that question.  “Is there anywhere else?”

“Torso,” you enumerated, “neck—” you stopped because you saw his reaction to that, and it made you smile a bit.  “Okay, so maybe the neck is something to try.  Do you like being choked?”

“I… I don’t know…” he sighed.

“Have you ever been choked before?”

“Not… sexually...”

You felt your eyebrows rise, but didn’t want to press; a story for another time, perhaps.

“We’ll have to discuss silent safewords and signals so you can tap out, but if you’d be willing to try it—”

“Yes.”

You laughed.  “Eager, are we?”

He swallowed, and you wondered if you shouldn’t have let your ‘dom voice’ slip out in that moment… but he looked so good flustered like that.  He adjusted himself slightly in his chair and you hoped he was already hard.  And with that thought in mind, you couldn’t stop yourself from teasing him further.

“Do you like being called certain things?” you asked, voice lower as you leaned forward.  “How do you feel about ‘pet’?” 

He almost kept up his poker face, but his gaze faltered at the same time he moved in his chair again.  “Um, ‘pet’ is okay.”

“Baby boy?”

“Not really my speed,” he shrugged.

You slipped out of your chair and stood up, approaching him slowly as the click of your heels echoed across the tile.  He watched you with wide eyes and quickening breaths.

“What do you like?  Tell me,” you demanded, though you kept your tone light.

“Uh,” he paused, watching your hand as it rested on his leg, “I like… I like being called a good boy.”

You grinned as you pulled your hand away, watching him tense up with disappointment.  “I can do that,” you agreed, lifting his chin with a finger until he looked at you with those beautiful, desperate eyes, “if you actually are being a good boy for me.” “I will,” he promised quickly, “I’ll be so good.”

“Mmm, I bet you will,” you purred.  “So willing to please…”

“Tell me how,” he sighed as your hand trailed from his chin down to his chest, slipping under the loose collar of his henley and rubbing his chest.  “Tell me how to please you.”

“Well, for starters, I have a name, too: Mistress.”

He sighed like the wind had been knocked out of him, but nodded.

“And if I ask you a question, I expect you to answer ‘Yes, Mistress’ or ‘No, Mistress’.  Is that clear?”

“Uh-huh,” he agreed before suddenly correcting himself, “um, yes, Mistress.”

“I’ll let you have that one,” you frowned, “but further infractions will be punished.”

“Yes, Mistress; I’m sorry, Mistress,” he moaned, melting under your touch as your hand moved down to rub his thigh through his jeans.

“Now, just for fun,” you smiled, leaning down until your lips were nearly brushing his ear, “tell me what you want.”

“Please touch me, Mistress,” he sighed.

“But I am touching you.”

“Touch my… touch my cock," he clarified, adorably embarrassed. "It’s so hard for you…”

“We’ll get to that eventually.  Let’s go to the bedroom first, okay?”

However good he looked standing in your doorway half an hour ago, it was nothing compared to how he looked naked and hard and tied to your bed.

Yes, the prosthetic and the scars that attached it to his body were hard to ignore.  He had failed to warn you that it was metal, so you couldn’t hide the slight shift of your face when it caught the light; you hoped he didn’t think it was a look of judgment or disgust, because you truly didn’t think it was anything upsetting.  Maybe the scars were a little worrying… but they didn’t seem to bother him now, at least physically.

But truly, if anything was distracting about his body, it wasn’t the arm.  It was his muscles— no wait, it had to be his cock, right?  It’s tough to call: on one hand, his entire body was toned and hardened beyond the peak of human conditioning, his thick thighs making your mouth water already, his chiseled abs almost making you jealous; but on the other hand, between those lovely thighs and curving up against those perfect abs was a cock that rivalled anything you'd ever seen before, with a blue vein running up one side and a drip of precum rolling down the other.

You finally sauntered up to the bed and ran your fingers over the taught ropes, pretending to ignore him watching you impatiently.  It was almost hotter knowing that he could pull out of the ropes if he really wanted to.  More than most, he was choosing to submit to them and to you.

“How’s this knot feel?  Too tight?” you hummed, tugging the rope just beside his wrist and watching his hand move limply with it.

“No, it’s good.”

You stepped back to the foot of the bed and stripped slowly, peeling off your black dress to reveal a matching lace set underneath.  You left your heels on as you stepped out of the dress and kicked it aside.

Turning back to face him, James looked like he was all but drooling.  You could see in his eyes how much he wished the ropes weren’t holding him back so he could run his hands all over your body.

But you could tell he craved being denied what he wanted, by the way his cock flexed of its own volition.

You let yourself smile as you crawled your way up the bed and over his body, like a panther stalking its prey, and boy did he look ready to be devoured.

"Are you scared?" you asked quietly.  He shook his head.  "Are you ready?"

He nodded.  You sat up as you straddled him, positioned just right such that no part of you was really touching him, and watched with delight as he tugged against the ropes slightly to try to get closer.

"So needy," you grinned, somewhere between praising and scolding him.  Your fingers ghosted over his chest and he shivered; he asked you to treat his prosthetic like a normal arm, so you dragged your nails down the metal and watched his eyes flutter shut.  When you pulled your hand back and left him untouched again, he whined slightly.

“Aw, poor thing,” you pouted as you examined him, desperation emanating off of him in an invisible aura.  “Your cock is all red and leaking… it must hurt, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he groaned.

“What if I touch it a little?” you offered.

“Please…”

You traced your fingers lightly up and down his length, tickling the skin and giving him the least pressure that you could.  He whimpered and you chuckled mockingly.  “I said I’d touch it a little, sweet boy, are you not satisfied?”

He bucked up into your touch as best he could, causing you to pull your hand away.  “Baby, please—” 

You cut him off with a slap to the face, as hard as you could muster.

“Mistress!” he corrected with a whine.  “Mistress, please… please wrap your hand around it.”

“Around what?” 

“Around… my cock.  Stroke me, please…”

“All you had to do was ask,” you grinned, finally tightening your hand around him and moving slowly up and down the shaft.  His head fell back with a soft moan, just from that.  Your teasing had certainly helped get him this worked up, but you knew it wasn't just that… he was plenty sensitive all on his own, apparently.

It made your mouth water.

"Does this feel good, James?" you asked huskily.

"S-so good," he whimpered, "please can you… stroke it a little faster, please, Mistress…"

"Hmm, not yet," you decided, feeling him tense up beneath you.  "Relax," you instructed with a free hand rubbing his thigh gently.  

You continued to teasingly stroke his length, never quite giving him the pressure or speed he needed to get closer to his release, savoring every whimper and whine and sigh from him along with the satisfying weight of his cock against your palm.

It felt like you'd never get tired of wielding so much power in your hand.

"Please," he sighed, "I need more…"

"You want me to stroke you faster?" you pressed, already knowing that wasn't what he meant.  He shook his head and you grinned, leaning in closer but letting go of his cock. 

Slowly, you let the lace covering your core rub up against his shaft, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head.  "Ohhhhh," he moaned, "oh fuck, Mistress…"

You grinned and kept rocking against him, easily feeling the warmth of him through your panties— meaning he, in turn, could feel the warmth of you.  "How does it feel, baby?" 

"Good," he choked out, "really, really good… fuck, I want more, I need more, please…"

"Are you my good boy, James?" you asked in a low purr.  He nodded eagerly, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed nothing.  "Do you want to be inside me?" you finally whispered against his ear, letting a finger run lazily up his spine and feeling him shiver so hard it was more like he was convulsing.

"Please, Mistress, I'll do anything…"

You didn't touch all of your clients sexually, due in part to the fact that they usually wanted a lot more pain than pleasure.  You'd only had sex with one or two of them, and it wasn't a routine thing.  Before today you never would've imagined doing this with a first-time client, but to be completely honest… he was fucking hot.  The kind of guy you'd be spreading your legs for instantly if you weren't at work and he wanted to buy you a drink or grab lunch.  And he was here, at your disposal, begging you for more.  How could you say no?  

You pulled your panties aside and gripped his cock tightly to guide it to your entrance, studying his face twisted in anticipation before sinking down and watching him gasp and sigh all at once, somehow.

It took a lot of effort to hide your own pleasure when he was stretching you out so perfectly, but you managed to suppress the desire to moan and just smile at his fucked-out expression instead.

Finally, your hips met with his and you got to sit there and enjoy the look of dawning agony as he realized you were staying completely still.

“Move, please,” he sobbed, “oh god, Mistress, please move…”

“But I thought you wanted to be inside me?  Isn’t this what you asked for?”

He whined and tried to wiggle his hips; all that got him was two hard slaps to the face.  

“No whining,” you instructed through your teeth.  “Good boys don’t whine.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whimpered, “‘m your good boy, I promise.”

“I know you are,” you grinned, “or at least, I know you can be.  Show me how good and patient you are.”

Reaching to the side a bit without getting off of him, you pulled a vibrator from your drawer.  His eyes went a little wide when he saw it, and you laughed.

"Don't worry, this isn't for you.  It's for me," you explained as you turned it on, inserting it between your body and his to touch the toy against your clit.  He winced as you sighed contentedly.  "Fuck, it feels good.  Can you feel it on your cock?"

"A… a little…" he hissed.

"I bet it feels good for you too," you posited, "but not good enough to make you come."

After a little pause, he nodded breathlessly.

"Good," you smiled.  "I just wanna come with your cock inside me.  I wanna know how it feels to get off with my favorite toy while being full of my newest toy."

"Fuck," he groaned.

"Do you like that, pretty boy?  Do you like me using your cock, being your Mistress' dumb little fucktoy?"

"Yes," he sobbed, hips shifting ever so slightly beneath you as he sought more stimulation from your flexing walls.  Shifting the vibe to hit right on your clit, you cried out— and he did too, at the feeling of you tightening around him.

"God, you love being Mistress' dildo, don't you?"

He nodded, biting hard on his lip until you worried he'd hurt himself.  He moaned again as another jolt of pleasure forced your channel to clench on his cock.

"You're making too much noise for a fucktoy, you need to be quiet."

He opened his mouth for a second, but closed it again and nodded instead.  

"You can do it yourself right?" you pressed, seeing him nod.  "You don't need me to gag that pretty mouth?" 

He whined but shook his head, keeping his lips pressed together.

That went on for a few more moments as you teased yourself with the vibe, hoping to draw this out for the sake of his struggle.  Wanting to up the ante, you took the vibe off your clit and turned it off for a moment.  "I think this would feel better with a little lube… will you get it wet for me, James?"

You brought the toy to his lips and he eagerly wrapped them around it, sucking lightly on the silicone with those pretty lashes resting on his cheeks.

"There you go, that's a good boy," you praised, pulling the toy from his mouth, "that's my good boy…"

"Yours…" he repeated weakly, "wanna be good for you, just for you…"

This time when you turned it on and pressed it to your clit again, you instantly gasped and felt your walls bare down on him; turning up the vibration, you actually moaned aloud and saw him wince.  "Oh, can you feel it now?" you asked tauntingly.  He bit his lip and nodded.

It really wasn't even intentional but you felt your hips start to rock, making him gasp as his eyes shot open.  For a guy who had been begging you to move not too long ago, he looked pretty overwhelmed by it now.

"Fuck, I'm gonna make myself come on your cock… do you wanna feel me come, baby?"

He seemed conflicted, which was exactly what you were going for.  You wanted him to struggle, just enough, between his need to satisfy himself and his desire to please you.  "I… I want to make you come, Mistress," he finally choked out, notably answering a slightly different question than the one you'd asked.  

You smiled and leaned in to whisper in his ear: "Are you afraid that if you feel me come around you, you won't be able to hold back?  That you might accidentally come inside me?"

He made a needy little groan and nodded.

"Don't worry, baby, I'm gonna help you," you promised sweetly, but of course as soon as he saw you grab a cockring from your drawer he changed his tune.

"N-no, Mistress, please," he begged with wide eyes, "I'll be good, just not that— don't put that on me."

You smirked and sat up, pulling off of him and slowly slipping the ring on his throbbing length as he quietly pleaded for mercy.  He winced when you pushed it down to the base of him, his cheeks burning hot red now.

"Is it a little too tight, baby?" you cooed, grinning when he nodded.  "Good."

You sank back down into him and let your hips grind on his, working your clit with the vibe and even kicking it up to the next highest setting.  He jolted beneath you, clearly feeling the vibrations strongly now, and you let the view of his beautifully broken facial expression egg on your own climax.

"Mm, I'm close, baby," you whispered, "just stay still and let Mistress use you like a good little boy."

He made a small noise through his teeth but seemed to manage okay, even when your walls began to pulse rhythmically around him and your head fell back, your free hand palming at your breast through the lace bra just to add that last little edge of sensation.

"Oh fuck, fuck," you moaned, "that's my good boy…"

You shakily pulled the vibe away and turned it off, still a little numb on your clit but feeling your channel still rippling slightly with aftershocks; he seemed to feel them in spite of their subtlety, if the panting breaths that filled his muscular chest rapidly were any indication.

As slow as you could manage, you pulled your body off of him and sat back on his legs to stare at his cock.  The remnants of your orgasm left plenty of lubrication to stroke it, focusing on the head which had turned almost purple now.

"M-Mistress," he groaned, writhing under your touch.

Amazingly, his cock was already flexing in your hand, and a growl of pride and hunger echoed in your chest.

“Oh fuck, can you come for me, James?” you moaned, pumping him so fast your hand was a blur.  “Can you be my good boy and come right through the cockring?”

“Yes,” he sobbed, “gonna come, Mistress, please—”

“Come right now,” you demanded, watching his face instantly fall slack as he spurted out onto his own chest and stomach, cock flexing and pulsing in your hands as his legs quivered and his hips thrusted wildly.

And the tears were flowing soon after.  You weren’t sure if it was sub drop or just the power of his release, but between weak sobs he whispered broken apologies.

“You did so good,” you cooed as you slipped off the ring and wrapped your arms around him, subtly trying to reach over to untie the ropes.  But you didn’t need to; he flexed his arms and the restraints popped like floss.  He embraced you in return as you let his head fall onto your chest.  “You’re so good, it’s okay,” you continued, stroking his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated again, breathing quickly and wetting you with his tears.

This, you realized, is what he had made you sign the contract to protect.  It wasn’t that he was excessively embarrassed about his sexual proclivities, but that this was his space to be soft, and weak, and broken.  Apparently he wasn’t ready for anyone else to know that he wasn’t steel all the way down.

“Shh, it’s okay… you’re okay…” you breathed, indulging him in this moment even though it was more intimate than you preferred to get with customers.  Aftercare was an important part of your job, certainly, but so was enforcing boundaries.

He began to soothe as you kissed his forehead gently, whispering well-deserved affirmations and praise.  As his breathing slowed and moved back to normal, he pulled back and looked up at you.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated one more time, but not as wavering as before, “I didn’t think I would… that was unexpected.”

“No, it’s somewhat normal,” you exaggerated slightly, “this kind of thing… it’s taxing, I pushed you to your limits.  You were really tough, and it’s all very vulnerable.”

“Thanks,” he sighed, sniffling and wiping his eyes.  “And sorry about your ropes,” he smiled as he noticed the frayed ends coming off of where his wrists were still tied.

“Let me help you get those off,” you smiled, loosening the knots and sliding the binds off of him, quickly massaging the places that the rope had constricted.  “Blood flow’s okay?”

“Yep,” he nodded.

“You numb anywhere?” you pressed.

“Uh, just my dick.  And my brain is all fuzzy…” 

You smiled.  “Can’t help the first one.  Let me get you some water for the second.”

“No!” he yelped suddenly.  “Um, don’t go yet, please…”

“Of course,” you smiled.  “I’ll untie your ankles, then.”

He still seemed disappointed, as if he expected you to hug him for hours and never move.  He let you go this time, though, and loosened his grip so you could slide down to the foot of the bed.  

"Was that sort of what you were hoping for when you called me?" you asked as you untied the ropes slowly and took a moment to massage the skin underneath, hoping to restore any lost blood flow.

"So much better than what I was hoping for," he admitted with a breathless chuckle.  "You're… really good."

"Well, thank you," you shrugged, "it comes with practice and experience.  You held your own, too."

"I wish I could say that was from practice and experience.  I didn't want to say anything before but I've, uh, never actually… been to a domme before."

You smiled slightly, coming back up and being pulled into another embrace.  "Um, I'll admit I can kind of tell…" you mumbled.

"I'm not supposed to touch you like this," he realized quietly, relaxing his grip on you and pulling back.  "I'm sorry."

"No, it's alright, just don't get too comfortable because we only have—" you glanced at the clock— "eight more minutes until you need to leave."

"I'll get up and get dressed soon," he offered with a sigh as you got up and quickly slipped on a robe, grabbing him a damp washcloth for the drying come on his torso.

You tilted your head as you watched him clean up, and you wanted to offer some touch that was a bit less intimate than a hug, so you found yourself blurting out: "do you like having your hair played with?"

"Um, I don't… I don't know," he admitted as he reached up to card his fingers through the hair in question.  "No one else has ever really touched my hair before."

"Really?" you laughed, getting back on the bed to sit beside him.  "It looks pretty luscious.  I figured any girlfriend of yours would want to get her hands on it."

"Oh, well, the last time I had a girlfriend… it wasn't long then," he explained, and you kept on your best poker face.  His hair looked like he'd been growing it out for at least two years, unless it grew crazy fast or something.  How long had he been single?  With a body like that you could barely believe that he was single now.

"Do you mind if I touch it?" you offered quietly, and once he gave you a nod you reached forward and combed your fingers through it, reaching deeper to scratch at his scalp, occasionally pulling the strands lightly into loose braid-like patterns that fell away almost immediately afterwards.  He sank into your touch until you found yourself supporting his head against your chest, mindlessly playing with his hair until you noticed his eyes were shut, his breathing was slowed, and his body was limp on top of yours.

He fell asleep.

You laughed silently to yourself, realizing that you couldn't get him off of you without his cooperation since he was so heavy and you had no shot at lifting him.  And, of course, his cooperation required his consciousness… which required waking him up.

And, for some reason, you couldn't bring yourself to do it.  He just looked too peaceful, for a guy who had never seemed truly relaxed around you.

Was there any other way he could relax?  Cause it kinda seemed like he really, really needed this.  And you were in the business of meeting needs, to say the least.

So, with an apologetic text to your last client of the night that you needed to reschedule, you let James sleep on you as you closed your eyes and drifted off as well.

[mischiefmanaged71]

Bad Romance - Joaquin Torres X Reader

Song: Bad Romance - (961) lady gaga - bad romance ( s l o w e d ) - YouTube

Summary: The reader is an enhanced individual with the ability to replicate other people’s abilities. A member of the Avengers, she has been working alongside Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes to investigate the Flag Smashers but the man calling himself the next Captain America poses an obstacle when he takes interest in her abilities. 

Author’s Note: Hello! So this is my first time posting a fic I've written. I’ve been writing since 2018 but never had the courage to post anything so I hope you all enjoy my story. Torres has only been in ‘The Falcon and The Winter Soldier’ for like five minutes but I’m in love with him. There obviously isn’t enough fiction out there about him so I took it upon myself to write one. This is an idea I came up with in my head, aside from the plot of the show. Listen to the song for added effect. I’ve inserted timings as well :)

Pairing: Joaquin Torres X Fem!Reader

Warnings: TFATWS SPOILERS, Canon-level Violence, blood, romance

Word count: 2.5K

Darkness is all you’ve known these past hours.

It’s been almost twenty-four hours since you’ve last had contact with anyone. Sam would usually check in with you about now, but that didn’t seem a likely possibility. 

Your right eye is almost swollen shut and you’re pretty confident that you have a few broken ribs from how difficult breathing is. The sound of metal creaking echoes in the empty room as you rattle your restraints. 

You’ve been quite literally chained to the wall. 

They weren’t taking any precautions.

Especially after witnessing the dozen agents you could take down all by yourself. 

Leaning against the wall, you try to reach some semblance of comfort, laying some of your weight against the hard-rock. Your neck burns from the collar they attached when you caught you off-guard. 

It was during a recon mission, you were chasing a lead about the Flag Smashers’ next meet up when they showed. Half a dozen armed men in tactical gear. 

They snagged a collar on you, disabling your powers.

You didn’t anticipate this.

All you heard was a piercing noise and then you blacked out.

You couldn’t access your powers as soon as that light buzzed. Trying to summon fire warranted a little electric shock to your system. Little, meaning severe enough to take down an elephant. 

Yeah, so getting out of here would be tricky.

Isn’t it always?

Five guards have remained in the room for the past two days, monitoring, watching. 

For what? 

You have only the slightest idea why.

The double doors which have remained close for the past two days creak open. The blue uniform is familiar to you but the face donning the outfit is not. He’s an imposter wearing a costume, a mock of the real thing. John Walker, along with his so-called ‘American squadron’, had grabbed you as a statement. Sam and Bucky certainly weren’t going to stay out of it because someone told them to. You all followed a code, to protect those who couldn’t fight for themselves.

“Hello, Y/N, it's been a while since we met last...I’m sorry for the way you were handled on the way here but it was the only way I could get to talk to you.”, he said, looking at the bruises beginning to form.

He talked nonchalantly as if this were a normal conversation. Your wrists were raw from pulling away from the cuffs, clothes covered in dirt and dried blood. He strode up to you, pulling his helmet off and placing it carefully on a metal crate.

“Now, I know Bucky and Sam had a lot to say about me, but you, you were always silent. I thought we had an understanding.”

‘An understanding?’

You refuse to look at him.

“You talk big words for someone who couldn’t begin to understand the legacy of that uniform.”

“I earned this! I put in the work. All they want is someone to look up to. To show them that justice still exists.”, he paces in front of you.

“Justice. Is it?”, your eyes narrow.

He pauses in thought, seething with internalised spite. Pacing the floor, he turns his back to you.

“Have you had time to think about my question?”

You remain silent, glaring at his mockery of Steve’s uniform.

“No? Okay. That’s fine,”, he whispered.

Walker signalled for a guard to open the doors once more and two more men entered, dragging someone along. You squint your eyes to identify the person as they dump them in front of you. 

“No”, you whispered desperately, your breath caught in your throat.

You spot Joaquin’s dark hair and tan complexion, more so, the blood staining his clothes. The men dragged Joaquin next to Walker, letting him slump to the floor. From what you could see, he had been beaten pretty badly, the bruises already beginning to form on his face. His hands are cuffed behind him and he’s unable to hold his own weight. 

Panic fills Torres as he notices the chains securing you to the wall. The last he heard over the coms was a struggle. He and Sam had been surveilling to get anything they could on your kidnappers.

You could only hear the rapid beating of your heart in your throat as blood rushed to your face. Your breathing quickens as you don’t quite know what will happen next. 

John broke the silence,

“I’m going to ask you again.”

“Then, I'm going to count from three.”, he said, pulling a silencer out from his waistband and cocking it at Joaquin who rested on his knees.

“What are you?”

You stare at him incredulously, unresponsive. 

You look down at Joaquin as he gazes up at you, helpless to move with guns trained on you. He’s telling you to stop, to lie, to do anything but give yourself up.

“What answer do you want?”, you asked, using all your strength to lift your head up.

“You want me to say I’m a freak? A mutant? An experiment? What good does that do you? Everyone knows it.”, you huff, sharpening your glare.

He stares down at Joaquin and kicks his foot out against the ground, clicking his tongue. Walker threw his foot into Joaquin’s back, pushing him into the floor.

“Not that.”

You watch as he points the gun harder.

“Tell me. What. You. Are.”, he grits out.

You clench your jaw hard, shutting your eyes tightly. A burning sensation fights in your chest, spreading to your arms. You suck in a breath desperately, a whimper tearing from your throat as your head drops.

The click of the safety echoes loudly.

(1:26s of the song)

Your eyes shoot open, blazing red and as the chains snap free from the wall. The metal clangs loudly against the floor, triggering the five weapons now pointed at your chest. A surge of fire ignites as you swipe your leg, knocking the agents back. The two standing closest raise their guns as you tilt your head and launch a blast of fire from your hand. The next agent replaces him, firing his gun consecutively, but you strut towards him, swiping them away with blasts omitting from your hands. You send a roundhouse kick with a wall of fire, propelling him through the exit. The remaining three encircle you with their weapons, clicking the safety off.

Your hands burn, glowing red with the heightening energy,

“Okay, you got me.”

You raise your hands in surrender as one of them steps towards. Faltering a step, you inhale deeply as he grabs your arm. Once he sets a hand on you, you exhale, breathing out a stream of fire. You twirl in a circle, the fire pushing them back and blocking their sight of you as they flinch from the heat. Dropping to the floor, you strike the cement and crack the surface. The building’s structure shakes as a cloud of energy dissipates from the contact, incapacitating the last of the soldiers.

Walker fixes his gun on Joaquin but you focus your glare on him. You wait as he stares at you, knowing he has the advantage.

"I'd stop right now, if I were you."

You silently stare at him with blazing fire burning in your orbs. The clicking of the safety reverberates in your mind as all movement stops. The muzzle of the gun is inches away from Joaquin's head.

“Alright, you’ve had your show now.”

You've got mere seconds to make a decision here.

He remains still, as Joaquin’s eyes meet yours and you nod your head slightly. 

It’ll be okay because you’d never let anything happen to each other.

"Walker, you've made your point. Look, it's me you really want, not Torres.", You snipped, grabbing his attention. 

Joaquin’s heart raced faster, 

What were you doing?

You could see the gears turning in Walker’s head, his eyebrows perk up.

"C'mon, this whole thing was to get to me, right? To weaponize me. It's my power. So take it. Just let him go." 

Walker pauses in thought,

"I don't think I will." 

You knew that'd be his answer but he was too busy looking at you to notice anything else. Joaquin threw his leg out, kicking Walker’s shin to knock him off his centre.

Moving quickly, you roundhouse, knocking the gun from his hand and driving your foot into his knee. He lets out a pained yell, ducking your elbow jab and rolling behind you. You roll forwards, swooping your flames across the floor to knock Walker on his back. He rolls to the side, standing again to flick open a compact switch from his pocket. He struggles for a moment as you strut over, but he presses the button down with conviction. 

You falter in your steps as a loud piercing sound breaches your cranium and hearing. It’s overwhelming, threatening to shatter your skull. A whimper falls from your mouth as both hands grasp your head. You can faintly hear Joaquin yelling your name from behind. The pain is unbearable. Joaquin bangs the cuffs on a metal crate behind him, forcing them to break. 

Your vision blurs as you clumsily move towards Walker. Once you’re close enough to him, you throw an uncoordinated right hook but he catches it and returns with a kick to your chest, knocking you to the floor. The pain continues, eliciting a moan from you as it grows worse with each second. Joaquin watches as you scream in agony, sprinting towards Walker and tackling him to the floor. Walker loses the switch from his hand, punching Joaquin in the jaw to get him off. Joaquin hisses as his head hits the floor, but he’s quickly grappling for the switch before Walker can get his hands on it. Scanning the floor, he sights it inches away from where you’re curled up in a ball. He’s crawling over to make it but a grip on his shoulder halts him, flipping him over and punching him repeatedly. 

Over the intense clanging, you see black dots form in your sight as you want to pass out. You hear grunts nearby and the sound of a fist making contact with skin. You flicker your eyes upward to see Walker’s figure looming over someone. 

‘Joaquin...where’s Joaquin?’

You close your eyes and force yourself up, struggling to gain your bearings. Upon opening your eyes, you notice something within your reach. Crawling forward, your fingers barely touch it. You try again and again before you feel the metal beneath your fingertips. Finally, you have it in your hands and crush it. The metal crunches and the ringing ceases. A sigh of relief leaves your mouth as you push yourself off the floor.

More coherent now, you angrily send a blast of energy to knock Walker off of Joaquin. Scrambling off the floor, he brings his fists in front of him, but you've already there, standing in front of him.

"I’m going to count from three.”, you said.

Striking a wave in his direction, you blast fire into his chest, your eyes imbuing fluttering embers.

‘Three’

You continue your onslaught, attacking him with multiple blows of rage. 

Your figure looms over Walker, blocking Joaquin from his sight.  

‘Two’

Your hands emit a fiery glow as you project flames, igniting a huge blast which sends Walker crashing through the window and down below.

‘One’

Gazing down the terrace, you saw Walker’s unconscious body laying on the crushed roof of a car. The authorities would show up eventually. 

Looking back inside, you finally start to feel the adrenaline rush declining. You move away from the window to find Torres leaning against a crate. Joaquin's face is bruised and cut-up as he holds his side with a grimace. 

"Joaquin, are you okay?!", 

You rush over to hold his other arm, scanning him for serious injuries. 

He stops your moving hands to grip them,

"(Y/N), I'm okay, I'm okay. It's you I'm worried about. You almost died. How did you do that?", Joaquin asked, concern lingering in his eyes at the magnitude of your powers.

"I-I don't know. I guess my powers have always been linked to my emotions and then you were in danger. It was kind of instinctive, you know?"

"I could never let anything happen to you. Never.", She whispered silently, not noticing if he had caught it.

Joaquin moved to grasp her chin in his hand, pulling her head up so he could look into her eyes.

"You saved me."

You glanced over his face and the clear pain he was hiding from his injuries. 

"You have no idea how glad I am that you're okay. I-I was afraid...It shouldn't have been you.", You said to Joaquin, tears glinting in your sight.

"I'm not going anywhere. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.", he said, moving closer as your eyes meet his deep and endearing gaze.

"We should call Sam.", You suggested.

"I'll call him later."

Yours eyes met as he leaned his forehead on yours. You inhaled deeply as he gripped your hands tightly as if you would fall out of his grasp. Joaquin's arms encircle your waist and pull you in his embrace. Your arms rest around his neck, nestling your head against his shoulder.

You hold each other tightly in a moment of calm, seeking comfort from that person. The one person you would always seek out. 

You pull away, but his arms remain around your waist.

"You're so beautiful.", He whispers.

Your breathing shudders for a second before you decide to go for it,

"I-I love you, Joaquin."

You gauge his reaction as his eyes widen slightly. He leans in and guides his lips to yours. He kissed you slowly and passionately, his hands still gripping your waist. You sigh and stand on your tip-toes, tugging the hairs on the back of Joaquin's neck to bring him closer. You both pause, gasping for air for a moment. Kisses linger in between breaths as you both wind down from the intense 24 hours you've had, emotionally and physically.

"For the record, I love you too.", He grins, laughing at your eye roll.

"I didn't quite catch that, why don't you show me again?", You winked, biting your lip as his arms swooped around you again and tugged you closer. 

Barely brushing your lips, he looks between your eyes and then your lips.

"I think we can arrange that."

Your breath catches as your lips brush his. You smiled, closing your eyes, as does Joaquin. You swayed in his arms as his lips encased yours once more. 

Suddenly, red and blue flashing lights breach your vision from below. Sirens surrounded you both. You separated, glancing outside the broken window. 

Police cars surrounded the building. Reinforcements had arrived. His hand still grips yours and you motion to help him take some of his weight, wrapping an arm around his waist. 

"We should get of here.", You pushed open the door to exit down a flight of stairs. 

"Yeah.", Joaquin replied, grinning down at you as you walked out together.

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