#Gp Cut to Length Line

[yaut-jaknowit]

first of all I absolutely love your work honestly it is amazing!! And that last gawtin ask hurtttttt I was wondering if you could make a part two? If you want to of course maybe communication saves the day? I hope you have a good day!

Argument with Gawtin Part 2

Pairing: Gawtin (Female Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 2276

Summary: For hours, you stay in your art room, sobbing away the time until the tears run dry. Now, it's the time to figure out what to do. You don't want to leave, you never want to leave Gawtin or Qui'oky. They're your family. You'll find a way to fix this or die trying.

Author Note: Communication in relationships are incredibly important! Here, it does save the day. Thank you so much! It hurt me too to write it because I hate conflict and to have my favorite pair fight...

Masterlist

Ao3

Part 1

Once the tear ran dry and left stick, crusty lines down the lengths of your cheeks, you picked your head up enough and looked around. The space was the same, empty and void of Gawtin. Old paintings and drawings covered the walls from floor to ceiling, making this place yours. A room that the green Yautja had given to you. She done so much for you.

An ache started behind your sternum as you hung your head in shame again, unable to cry again. In an instant, you shoved it back into her face while flipping the middle finger at her. You sat up in your desk chair, chin level. You had to fix this. You wouldn’t let her go, wouldn’t let this go. Not her love, the sweetest thing you’ve ever tasted before. The two of you were meant to be together, no matter who or what said otherwise.

How would you show how sorry you are though? You glance around the room. It’s not like you’re a hunter like her. You couldn’t bring how creature five times your size. No, you were her artist. You wield pencils, not knives.

What could you make? Something she could understand in her own culture, something that would be of great value. Then, you shook your head. No, if it came from you, it’ll be enough. You dipped your head.

A newfound determination filled your veins. You stood up abruptly and walked towards the only exit. Once you’ve reached the door though, you paused before hitting the button to open it. What if she was out there? You couldn’t just ignore her and walk out. That would be incredibly rude and inconsiderate of Gawtin. Well, you’ll cross that bridge if you reached it.

All was quiet and dark in the main room of her hut. Your shoulders sagged both in relief and disappointment. Where had she gone? Qui’oky wasn’t here, meaning he had to be with his mother. She wouldn’t leave him to his lonesome.

You left the safety of your art room. The door sliding close behind you. The floorboards barely made complaints as you walked over to the front door. A satchel hung off your shoulders, a knife sitting in one of the pockets. Not much more than for cutting stems rather than the throats of animals that could consume you whole. In another pocket sat a device similar to a GPS and could lead you back home.

So be it. You wanted to show you cared about her, that you truly did. An argument would not ruin everything you’ve built with her. You wouldn’t let it, no matter how much you wanted to take the next flight off this planet. This was your home.

Out the door you went. Cool, humid air smack you straight in the face. It was far better than the burning binary suns that would bore down on your skin during the day. You braved your way through the humidity and started a path in a random direction. You let your heart led the way.

For a few miles, you traversed with little thoughts of where to go. Only thing that filled your mind was the flashbacks of the argument. The skin of your bottom lip had been worn down till the taste of blood, an action you couldn’t help. Not when Gawtin’s voice echoed in your head to go home. You wished you had said this was your home.

And it was. You belonged at her side, holding her hand with Qui’oky perched on your hip. This was your family, you were going to fight tooth and nail for it.

A gut feeling told you to stop. For a moment, you prayed it wasn’t an instinct you were being hunted. The hairs along your neck never raised. You relaxed and scanned the surrounding area until a feeling drew you towards your right. A feeling you followed until you found a shiny rock. The colors that matched the same hue as Gawtin’s dark, forest green. It was slipped into the main pocket and sealed off from the world it once sat in.

For what was probably hours, you continued to do this even after the yawn broke across you face. When your satchel began to dig into your shoulder uncomfortably, you called it a night.

Flowers, tied together with a thin string were held in one of your hands. The other held onto the GPS tracker, helping you to trek in the right direction home. You couldn’t believe you had found yourself five miles away from the hut. The walk back would take you forever especially with how the terrain was. This is a jungle that ranged from steep mountains to gushing rivers. A few rocks had been picked up from the riverbeds and snuck their way into your satchel as well.

Though it took at least another three hours to return home, the two suns beginning to peek through the trees, you made it. Your clothes were soaked through with sticky sweat. Hunger twisted your gut with each desperate call for food. You were smart enough to have a waterskin attached to your satchel so you didn’t perish from dehydration that far from home.

The familiar forest green roof/walls met your vision as you pushed through the thickest part of the foliage that surrounded the cottage. Home. You smiled in relief and trudged up to the door. Without even thinking, too exhausted to even think up thoughts, you pushed your way into the home. Gawtin still wasn’t home. You huffed and entered your art room.

Your satchel’s contents was dumped onto tabletop. The flowers were untied ands laid out as well. It may all look like junk you’ve picked up from the jungle’s floor, but to you, it was unmade art. All it was needing was to be pieced together, like a puzzle. You had the hands to do it.

Like the artist the whole town knew you as, you began to piece what items could go together. Even with the need to collapse and sleep for ten hours straight pulled at your mind, you pushed through.

When you grew irritated when some pieces didn’t want to fit with one another, you set it off to the side and looked at the flowers. All of them had long stems, perfect for what you wanted to do. You had also grabbed a lot, possibly too many but you didn’t want to trek all the way back out there and get more.

Covered in dirt, your hands began to weave the stems carefully with one another. A pattern you had pulled up on a tablet Gawtin had given you long ago. On the screen, it looked ease to follow but grew harder with each newly added stem. At times, you were ready to rip it apart and set it on fire. Somehow, you soldiered through and finally finished the piece.

It was far too large to sit upon your head, which was exactly what you were aiming for. You didn’t have any measurements for Gawtin’s head and only estimated on her size. Not like she was home for you to measure without her growing suspicious in the first place.

Now feeling better at the fact you finished one of the projects, you moved back towards the mess of rocks and wires on the other side of your desk.

Almost a year ago, you had given Gawtin a necklace you had specifically went out to the market for. That led you into a mess of going from one vendor to another before getting captured in the end. Gawtin had to save you from the trouble but she was never mad. She expressed that after she got you to the safety of the hut.

Everyday, she wears that necklace. A sign of either pride or love, maybe even both. But you loved it and it seemed like Gawtin did too. Now, you were designing two bracelets. Either for both arms or one. Whatever she choose to do with them was up to her.

Back in the seat of your desk chair, you sat crisscross and stared upon the rocks once more. Ideas flowed freely inside of your mind, anything for this to work.

With these being on her wrist, they had to be incredibly durable. Once a hunter, always hunter. They would be put under great distress due to her everyday routine.

The wire used to keep the rocks secure was the strongest one you could find within a reasonable price and at the nearest market. Though, you used one of the young bloods to retrieve it for you for a small price. But, you had to use what you get your hands on without Gawtin knowing. You could be resourceful yourself.

You set to grueling work of designing a bracelet that could hopefully hold up to any added stress. A thick, durable band was used to tie the rocks to. The wire themselves were difficult to for around the rocks with no heat source to soften the metal. You did your best in the moment.

Before you on the wooden desk table, sat two bracelets, large in diameter but could also be tightened or loosen if need be. Again, you didn’t have her measurements on hand.

As a breath of relief left your lips, you heard the front door open then close. Even in the near dead silent house, you couldn’t pick up on the footsteps of the lumbering giant. Just one slab of metal kept the two of you away from each other.

Both of your hands began to shake. This was your one and only chance to fix this. You took in a lung filling inhale, leveled your chin, and grabbed your three items off of the desk. Your feet marched their way over to the door. It opened a second after you pressed the need button.

In the small kitchenette stood the goddess of your life. Qui’oky was at her feet and holding onto his mother’s leg. But when he saw you exit the art room, he made a noise of excitement and waddled over to you. You bend down and scooped him off of the ground. He would’ve climbed you to get into your arms if you hadn’t. You couldn’t wait for him to get older…

Timidly, you stepped over into the edge of the kitchen, eyes pointing downwards at the ground. A submissive position you hoped would be please her.

“Gawtin,” you called out softly then picked up your gaze to find her purple eyes already on you. She was lax but not letting a single ounce of emotion fall through any cracks of features. “I’m-I’m sorry. I want to start off by apologizing.”

Qui’oky grew too heavy for you to hold and got in the way. You put him back down, hoping he would loss interest in you for the moment. The prayer was answered.

The items in your hands were offered to Gawtin. The flower crown held out first. “I don’t know what way you guys apologize so I did my best. I was out all night and searched for the best because that’s all you deserve. I should’ve never said those things to you. This is my home. I want to be here. You never took me, I wanted to come with you.”

The bracelets were shown to Gawtin next. “And… and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else besides here, with you. I love you so damn much. More than I could ever speak or gift to you. You are my family and so is he.” You fall to your knees and clutched the gifts in your hands as if you where praying. “Forgive me, please. I don’t want to leave. Please, let me stay. With you.”

It was only a small crack at first. The twitch of her gem studded brow before her walls came crashing down. Gawtin knelt down in front of you and wrapped her arms around you.

“I must apologize as well. I apologize for mocking you, for telling you to leave. This is your home. You belong with me, with us,” Gawtin whispered, voice rumbling deep in her throat as she held you close to her warm body. “I do not have excuses. I should have not taken my pent up anger out on you. That is my fault. A mistake I will not make again.”

Being in her arms was the best thing you could ever ask for. You sagged against her and sobbed into her chest. New, fresh, hot tears ran new rivets down the length of your cheeks. You did your best to encase her torso with your arms but came up short. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you cried and held onto her as your lifeline. Because she is. She’s your lifeline.

Her massive hand ran up and down the length of your spine. “It is okay. Everything will be okay.”

An eternity passed until the muscles along Gawtin’s arms loosened up enough for you to pull back and look her in those beautiful purple eyes. She still kept you in her grasp, as if afraid you’ll disappeared. “Now, let me see what you have made for me, my little artist.”

In that moment, you knew everything was going to be fine. She was right. This was only a bump in the road you’ve gotten over. This is life. There will be more but as a power couple with your sweet child, you’ll make through it all. You smiled up at Gawtin through the blurry tears blocking your vision. Alien or not, you love her.

[random-thot-generator]

Love Thy Frenemy + Ch. 8

Frenemies/Tenderness AU

EIGHT: Lost and Found

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FRENEMY FEM READER

Summary: As Simon desperately searches for you, his darker nature emerges. Beside himself with the state he finds you in, his only thought is to get you to safety, but it's not long before his plans for vengeance take precedence. Meanwhile, you are struggling to cope with what's happened, too shaken by the night's traumatic events to comprehend what lengths Simon is willing to go to in order to keep you safe.

Warnings/Tags: Profanity, Allusions to Violence, Allusions to SA, Minor Character Death, Simon goes full-Ghost, No Detailed Descriptions of Violence, Mentions of Blood, Protective Simon, Traumatized Reader, No use of Y/N

(Notes: I didn't go crazy with the violent details, but you'll definitely get the gist of what went down. Reader is obviously traumatized by what's happened, so I tried to keep that in mind while writing for her. Our girl has had a rough night, y'all.)

[image via TENOR]

Word Count: 4464

Chapter 8

-

“The shadow is dark and the woods are cold, but they are not endless. No matter how lost you are now, you are not lost forever. You are findable.

Love just keeps on looking.

Love forever tries.” ― Anna White, Mended: Thoughts on Life, Love, and Leaps of Faith

-

Simon was quietly losing his mind.

He began losing it the moment he answered your call, and the longer it took him to find you, the closer he danced to the edge. If he could just call you, hear your voice, it would ease the chokehold his anxiety had on him, but he couldn't risk it. Your phone's battery power was already low when you had called for help.

It had pained Simon to do it, but with no time to mince words, he had to tell you to hang up and sit tight, that he would be able to track you through your phone's GPS, but you had to conserve what power it had left. He didn't miss that little beat of silence after he told you that, but he'd ignored it. He could worry about explaining that later. Finding you was his only priority, now.

"Don't worry, doll. I'll find ya. Stay in place and stay hidden. I'll come to you."

That had been almost an hour ago. An hour for him to process everything you had told him, an hour to fully comprehend the danger you had been in the moment your walked out of the White Dog with Jerry Finch. The danger you were still in, because Finch was in the wind, and for all Simon knew, could be tracking you down himself right now, slipping up on you at this very moment.

Simon growled, the feral sound echoing in the high vault of the trees.

He glanced down at the receiver, watching the moving blue line that traced his path to you grow shorter. He was close, but he wasn't moving fast enough; the terrain wouldn't allow it. He couldn't curse it, though. The thick foliage that was holding up his own progress was the same foliage that had thwarted Jerry's attempt to catch you. The bastard probably never considered that he would have to chase someone through these woods when he chose this location.

That thought alone had Simon teetering on the very brink of a rage-fueled tantrum, even as it spurred him on. A shortcut to Banfield, is what Jerry had told you.

That had been a fiendish lie.

Simon had been so relieved when the tracker had first pinpointed your location, but it was the location itself that almost gave him an aneurism. The gravel lane Jerry had taken you down was no backroad into Banfield. It was a service road that cut through a protected woodland, which then terminated a few kilometers further along at a series of stream-fed ponds surrounded by marshland. It was a nature preserve for native waterfowl.

It was a bloody dead-end in the middle of nowhere with no one around.

As he followed your path through the woods, his mind conjured up all the horrifying images that could have been your fate tonight. The bright beam of his torch stuttered erratically over the foliage, his hands shaking with fury, as that one terrible question kept playing on a loop in his brain.

Just what the fuck had Finch been planning to do to you?

The answers Simon came up with only served to fuel that rage already burning like a furnace inside him. When he got his hands on Jerry fucking Finch, he would take immense pleasure in getting those answers out of him.

And Simon was a master at extracting answers from reluctant subjects. He would take his time with Finch. That sick bastard would curse the day he ever laid eyes on you before Simon was done with him.

When the tracker indicated that he had reached your location, Simon turned it off and shoved it inside the pocket of his coat, shining his light around the area. The tracks stopped here, but you were nowhere to be seen. "Doll!" he barked, eyes searching.

The sound of crackling leaves drew the beam of his torch to a large oak on his right. You crept around the tree, keeping a stabilizing hand on the trunk as you used the other to shield your eyes from the bright beam of light shining in your face. "I'm here," you replied in a wavering voice, and Simon almost completely lost it.

You looked like hell, your hair a wild tangle, clothes muddy and torn, face smudged with dirt and tracked with tears. You were covered in scratches, bruises and abrasions, your eyes huge in your face, glassy and fevered.

Without thinking, he rushed forward with a snarled, "Fuckin' hell!" and took you by the shoulders, eyes blazing with fury. He was so incensed by the state you were in that he failed to notice the utter panic that registered on your face at his aggressive approach. It was only when you let out a gasp and stumbled back that he realized how he must look and loosened his grip.

"It's alright," he muttered. "I'm jus' so..." Seeing you this way had him seeing red. "Nnngh!" he growled, his fingers tightening on your shoulders. You stiffened under his grip, wide, teary eyes directed up at him as your chin wobbled.

"Please don't be mad, Ri. 'M sorry. I just couldn't think of who else to call," you warbled out, the last word pitching up before hitching on a choked sob.

Your words caught him off guard. Bloody hell, you thought he was mad at you?

"No, doll. No. I'm not mad at ya, love. I... fuck..." He pulled you against his chest, his hand pressing your head against his pounding heart. The relief that washed over him was profound, making his hands tremble as they cupped your face. He took a step back to look you over, brushing the hair from your face as his dark eyes darted over your form. "Are ya hurt? Did he hurt ya?"

You shook your head, but you looked confused, dazed. "N-No, I don't think... I..." Your eyes drifted to the side as you struggled to find the words. "I just want to go home," you whispered as two fat tears slipped down your dirty cheeks.

Simon swiped them away with his thumbs. "It's alright, love. I got ya now. I got ya. C'mere."

He took you under the arms and picked you up as he would a child, his throat constricting when he felt you wrap your limbs around him, clinging to him like a lifeline. He said nothing, only clutched you tighter to his chest as you sobbed into his neck the entire walk back to the truck.

-

You were silent as Simon drove back to Banfield, staring out the window, hands laying limp in your lap. He kept glancing over at you, worried. You were obviously in a state of mild shock, should probably be checked over by a physician, but when he had mentioned taking you to the A and E, you'd shaken your head and muttered a low but fierce, "No!" clenching your hands into fists. "No hospital, no police."

He didn't know what to make of your vehement refusal, but didn't push, worried about upsetting you further. However, he gave you no such consideration when he bypassed the road leading to your flat. You frowned, confused. "I thought you were going to take me home."

Simon shook his head. "'S not safe, doll. That cunt could be waiting for ya, fer all I know. 'M not riskin' ya gettin' hurt again t'find out."

You hadn't even thought of Jerry lying in wait for you at your flat. The thought of it terrified you. You shrunk back into your seat, feeling helpless and unmoored. If you couldn't go home, then where the hell were you supposed to go? "But I don't have anywhere to go," you replied, your voice high and tinged with anxiety.

"Yer stayin' at my place until the threat is neutralized," was his quick response, his tone brooking no argument as he directed his truck towards his street.

You could only stare back at him, dumbfounded. Riley wasn't the type to have house guests over. He once told you he could count on one hand the number of people who had been inside his home and still have a couple of fingers left over. "Ri, you don't have to do—"

"Dee, do not fight me on this," he snapped, his gaze piercing when he shot you a warning glance. They softened as he gazed at you. "Not this," he muttered, the muscle in his jaw ticking beneath his mask. "Yer stayin' with me. End of discussion."

He looked you over, assessing you, then took out his phone. Making a call, he stuck the phone inside his hood and pressed it to his ear. You knew the moment the call connected, Ollie's distinctive voice growling an angry torrent of words you couldn't quite catch. He said something about a door and called Riley a greenie, something he did only when he was joking or angry. He didn't sound like he was in a joking mood at the moment.

"Captain," Simon barked into the phone, interrupting Ollie's tirade. "Listen t'me. We have a situation. I'll brief ya on the particulars later, but right now, I need ya to ask Fiona if she minds stayin' wif Dee at my place fer a few hours."

You shook your head, but he just shot you another warning look. "Ri, no..." you pleaded in a frantic whisper, but he ignored you.

There were a few seconds of silence and then Ollie said something in a lower register of voice that you couldn't hear. Simon's brows furrowed. "She's banged up, but she's sound," he said, casting a quick glimpse over you.

There was another pause, then another brief reply. "Yessir," he growled, then ended the call.

"What's going on? What are you doing, Ri?"

Simon put his phone in his pocket then replaced his hand on the wheel. "Don't worry 'bout it. I jus' need t'make sure yer taken care of, doll. Everythin'll be fine."

He pulled up to the curb in front of his row house and parked, telling you to wait until he came around and helped you out of the truck. Keeping a protective arm around your shoulders, his head panned back and forth as he hurried you along the walk to his front door. He shielded you from the street as he unlocked the door, keeping your back to his chest as he hustled you inside.

His entire demeanor was changed. He reminded you of a shark, his movements quick and aggressive, eyes dark, flat and predatory. He was in full soldier mode, his body tense, senses on high alert.

"Stay here while I do a quick check," he muttered lowly, creeping on silent feet through his own house. He checked the main level, then the downstairs, and then finally the upper floor. When he returned, he motioned for you to follow him into the kitchen. "Drink," he ordered, retrieving a sports drink from his fridge and setting it on the island between you.

His sharp tone grated against your already frayed nerves. "What the hell is wrong with you? You've been barking orders at me since you found me."

He whipped his head around, eyes dark and intense as he pinned you with a glare. "Until I know where the hell tha' bastard is, 'm not takin' any chances, understand? Who knows what he's capable of right now? He's got t'be off his fuckin' nut t'try what he did with ya, in the first place. He could be out there even now, tryin' to figure out a way to get inside so he can get at ya again, an' I'll be damned if I let tha' happen. You might not give a damn about yer own bloody safety, but I do! Tha's what the fuck is wrong with me!"

You flinched away from his harsh words, tears welling despite your best efforts to keep them at bay. This was all too much, too overwhelming. Throwing up your hands, you turned and hurried out of the kitchen, not knowing where you were going until you entered the guest loo under the stairs and locked yourself inside.

Turning on the tap, you glanced up at your reflection in the mirror, shocked at your own appearance. Twigs and dead leaves were caught in the tangles of your hair, your face dirty and scratched, eyes bloodshot and wild. "Bloody hell," you whispered to the mirror, raising a shaking hand to your face to examine the extent of the damage.

A knock at the door made you jump. You blew out a breath, in no mood to argue with him. "J-Just give me a minute, Ri. Please?"

You heard a thunk on the door and knew he'd dropped his forehead against it. "'M sorry, doll," he muttered lowly through the door.

Why could he only apologize through a bloody door? You took a deep breath, dropping your head, and exhaled slowly through your nose. "I know you mean well, Ri. I just..." You sniffled and huffed out a breath. "It's just a lot, ya know? And I'm— I'm struggling, okay?"

There was a pause, the shadow of his boots shifting before the crack under the door. "Ya know yer safe here, doll. I swear I won't let nothin' else happen to ya. I'll— leave ya be. Take yer time."

You sighed, unable to ignore the contrite tone in his voice. "Ri?"

"Yeah, doll?"

"Thank you. For— everything."

There was another pause. "I'll always have yer back, doll. No matter what. Understand?"

You squeezed your eyes shut. "Yeah, Ri. Me, too."

You heard his weight shift. "I jus' heard somebody pull up. Prob'ly Fi an' Ollie," he spoke through the door, then you heard his footsteps move away.

You opened your eyes and looked at yourself in the mirror again. You couldn't go out there looking like this. Grabbing the little wastebin by the sink, you began plucking the dead foliage out of your hair.

-

When you finally emerged from the loo, you could hear the low murmur of voices coming from the kitchen. Pushing through the swinging door, you stopped short as three sets of eyes turned toward you at once.

"Oh, my God," Fiona whimpered, hurrying to catch you up in a tight embrace. "I'm so sorry, Dee," she sniffled at your ear. "I never would'a thought he would do somethin' like this."

You saw Ollie grip Riley's shoulder as they exchanged a look, the tension in his body putting you on edge all over again. "What's going on?" you rasped out.

Fiona drew back and glanced over her shoulder, then back at you. "I'm goin' t'stay with ya while they try t'track down Jerry."

You shook your head, frantic. "No! Can't you just leave it alone? Don't you understand this will only turn out bad for me if you threaten him? He could go to the police, tell 'em we got in an argument, that I attacked him. It'll be my word against his, and who do you think they'll believe?" you demanded, looking between the three of them.

It was Ollie who stepped forward. "Love, I get it, I do, but somethin' has to be done. We can't just leave him be. He's too dangerous. Think about it, love. Do ya think yer the first bird he's done this to?" he asked. "We can't just let him get away with this, because he'll think he can jus' keep doin' it, and the next lass might not be so lucky."

You knew he was right, but it didn't change the fact that it was your neck on the chopping block. "If you threaten him, he'll come after me. He won't be stupid enough to try something physical again, but he'll fuck with me in other ways, get the police involved. I could be charged with assault."

Simon rounded the island and took you by the shoulders, peering down at you with an earnest expression. "Doll, listen t'me. Me an' Ol are just after intel on him right now, alright? Ol has some mates that can help us. That's all we're goin' t'be doin'. Finch won't know owt about it. If we get the right intel, we can use it against him, yeah? Stop him from doin' this again. It won't come back on ya, doll. I won't let it."

You reached up and grasped his wrists. "Promise me you won't don't anything crazy, Ri."

He sighed. "Everythin' will be fine, doll. I promise."

You stared up at him for a long moment, then cast your gaze at Ollie. "Don't let him do anything that will get him in trouble."

"No worries, love. I can keep him in line," Ollie replied, sounding confident.

You returned your gaze to the big lug in front of you and blew out a resigned breath. "Fine."

The two men exchanged another look, then Simon placed his arm around shoulders and led you back out of the kitchen, Fiona and Ollie trailing behind. "I want ya t'get some rest, alright? My room's upstairs, second door on the left. Take a shower an' have a lie down, yeah? We'll be back a'fore ya know it." He grasped the nape of your neck and bumped his forehead against yours. "We'll fix this, doll. Ya got my word." He looked over his shoulder. "Take care o' her for me, Fi."

Fiona bobbed her head, looking between the two of you. "I will, Riley."

Ollie stepped forward and patted your shoulder. "Don't fret, love. Everythin' will be fine. I'll keep an eye on him for ya," he promised, nodding at Simon.

You watched the two men ready themselves to leave, Fiona standing next to you, taking hold of your hand. Before they left, Simon came forward and took your hands.

"Don't worry, doll. I'll take care o' this. Get some rest. I'll see ya when I get back."

He then stepped back and nodded, before ushering Ollie out the door. As soon as it closed behind them, Fiona darted forward to relock it, then punched in the code for the security system.

"There," she muttered, turning to give you a forced smile. "Safe as houses," she intoned, then took your arm. "C'mon. Let's get ya in the shower."

You let her lead you up the stairs but glanced back at the front door. "You don't think Riley was lying, do you? He wouldn't just go after Jerry, would he?"

Fiona patted your arm, shaking her head. "'Course not," she lied.

-

Simon was driving, headed towards Blackheath, while Ollie was finishing up a brief conversation on his phone. "Right, then. Thanks, Seamus. I owe ya one, mate." He ended the call and nodded to Simon. "Got an address. Seamus is onboard and willing to help out, whatever we need. Think Finch is smart enough to go to ground?"

Simon grunted. "Maybe, but it's hard t'say. After what happened, he's got t'know I'm comin' for him. Or he bloody well should."

Ollie hummed as he peered out at the dark landscape. "I want t'get this bastard as bad as you do, son, but if Dee finds out..."

Simon gripped the wheel. "She won't." He glanced over at his old captain. "Ya saw what he did, Ol. Tha' cunt put his fuckin' hands on her. Hurt her. Would'a done much worse than tha' if she hadn't fought him off an' got away. If tha' were Hillary he'd done tha' to, what would ya do?"

Ollie didn't even hesitate. "I'd kill the bastard."

Simon grunted.

They rode the rest of the way to Blackheath in silence.

-

It was near dawn by the time Simon made it home. He found Fiona asleep on the couch, so left her to her sleep. His only thought at that moment was to find you, make sure you were alright. He climbed the stairs on silent feet and eased down the hallway, slipping into his bedroom.

He found you sleeping in his bed, wearing one of his old T-shirts, head buried in his pillow. It was about the best damn sight he'd ever seen. He shoulders went slack as he sighed and leaned back against the wall, taking you in for a moment.

This was how it was supposed to be. This is what you deserved. This, he realized, was what he could give you. Safety, security. A proper home. If only your pride would allow you to take it. He huffed a breath.

You and your bloody pride.

Simon could work around that, though. A plan began brewing in his head, a plan that would help to greatly relieve your financial burdens as well as ensure your safety, all at once. He just had to get you to agree to it. He considered the best approach to take with you as he gathered some clean clothes and stepped into the loo to shower.

He peeled off his dirty clothes, the coppery smell of blood wafting up from the dark clothing. He crammed them into the hamper, then tossed his ruined gloves along with his soiled balaclava into the waste bin and tied up the bag. He didn't want to risk you seeing them. You never needed to know what really happened to Finch. As far as you would know, Finch was going to be a fugitive on the lam, suspected of leaving the country.

Simon and Ollie had discovered what a truly depraved bastard Finch really was when they searched his flat. The incriminating images and videos they had found on his laptop, along with his activity on a particular dark web forum were enough to put the bastard away for years. All of that would come out, of course, once the police followed up on the information they had received from an anonymous source.

Simon paid no mind to the pink swirl of water at his feet, too busy scrubbing the rusty stains from his nail beds. He studied the bruised ridge of his knuckles, flexing the sore hand. He couldn't recall how many times he hit Finch after he confessed what his plans had been for you, but Simon did remember running a reverent touch over the bruise you had left on the bastard's cheek where you had kicked him. He had smiled at the sight and murmured, "Tha's my girl."

When he exited the bathroom a few minutes later, he saw you stir, your eyes fluttering open. You pushed yourself up on an elbow, squinting at him. "Ri? You just get home?"

He came to sit beside you on the bed. "Nah. Jus' got out o' the shower. Sorry if I woke ya. Go back t'sleep, doll."

You laid your head back on the pillow, peering up at him with a sleepy, hooded gaze. "Did you find what you were looking for? The intel?"

He nodded, taking your hand to rub his thumb over knuckles. "We did. Once we use what we've learned, he won't be a problem anymore. Ya got nothin' to worry 'bout, love."

You nodded, then sighed. "You look tired. You should lie down."

He shook his head. "'M fine. Was gettin' ready' t'do some work in my office. Jus' wanted t'check on ya first."

Your brows puckered as you regarded him. "Will you stay with me? Just til I go back to sleep?"

Simon blinked. You wanted him to stay with you? He swallowed and gave a slow nod. "Sure, doll."

You shuffled back in the bed and rested your head on the other pillow, looking up at him expectantly. Simon sighed, then turned and brought his legs up to stretch out on the bed beside you. He felt your hand creep into his, squeezing it as you sighed and closed your eyes. "G'night, Ri."

"Night, doll."

Simon laid beside you, listening to your breathing even out and deepen as your hand grew slack in his. He scooted down to rest his head on the pillow so he could see your face better in the dark room. The tension slowly seeped out of his body as he watched you sleep, his eyes tracing over the soft lines of your face. He would do anything to keep you this way, safe and at peace.

His eyes began to grow heavy. He should get up, leave you to sleep, yet when he went to pull away, your fingers curled around his hand and a frown puckered your brow again. He eased himself back into the mattress, not wanting to disturb you further. He could wait a few more minutes, then try again. He let his eyes drift shut while he waited, listening to the steady rhythm of your breathing.

A few hours later, Simon stirred awake to find you nestled into his side, his arm wrapped around your back, hand resting on your hip. You had flung your arm over his waist, your cheek smooshed against his chest, one leg thrown over his. He laid there, letting himself grow accustomed to the feeling. He hadn't slept like this with anyone in years, couldn't bear the thought of it, yet he found he liked how your soft, feminine form felt pressed against his. Your warmth permeated his body and lulled his mind like a soporific drug, tempting him to stay in bed and enjoy this brief moment of peace.

You should get up, he told himself, but then he felt your arm tighten around his waist. He couldn't help but wonder if this had been your plan when you'd asked him to lie down with you. You wanted him to get some sleep, and lo and behold, here he was. He sighed, peering down at you. You always knew how to get your way with him. Every fucking time.

He tilted his head until his masked face was pressed into the crown of your head and breathed you in. Pulling you closer, Simon closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

-

Prev. >> Next

Taglist:

@stillinracooncity @cumikering @cutiecusp @deadbranch @ghostlythots @thetiredtoad0-0 @glitterypirateduck @gothgirl6-6-6 @sofasoap @cathnoneofyourbusiness @shuttlelauncher81 @luminousbeings-crudematter @crunchlite @delilah-grimes @bobochacha

[specialagentartemis]

Double bingo!--quadruple bingo if the fics I read and commented on early chapters but haven't finished reading yet count! (in purple)

For the Murderbot Diaries @comment-bingo event.

This was a fun event and pushed me to read some of the fanfiction that I've been meaning to for a while!

Fics I read for each square under the cut:

Character Death: "Broken Half" by FigOwl. Beautiful and just. Sad. About Murderbot surviving and trying to make sense of itself after ART dies on a mission and Murderbot is stranded on a planet and has to look after the survivors. Novel-length. I'm moving through it slowly.

Crossover: "The Sherlock Society and the Case of the Lying Parents" by BWizard. Cute, surprisingly melancholy, presents some interesting time-travel emotions. Crossover with the middle-grade mystery novel "The Sherlock Society."

Comic: Murderbot September day 3: (Alternative prompt) “I don’t like you.” / “I know.” by @fascinatedfinch. What an excellent portrayal of this scene and Murderbot's processing during it!

Blood(c): "acknowledged (GP-53214680-J)" by torpidgilliver. Hit at the HEART. Aaaah. Ganaka Pit from the perspective of the ComfortUnits. Brilliant. Tragic.

Brainwashing: "Patient: GrayCris Assassin" by FlipSpring. One of my favoritessssss the evolving voice and the hovering, heavy question of what personhood and autonomy mean. Aaaa

Quote a Line: "Incident Report: Preservation Central Region Agricultural Fair, 7784-10-18 17:28:19.200-21:17:29.350" by BWizard. A cute slice-of-life about the Preservation State Fair.

Character Portrait: "read murderbot in a fevered haze so i could take a break from my irl obligations. here have these." by elms-art-gallery. Lmao. What a take on the eternal question of SecUnit Feet.

Posted/Updated This Year: "[Podfic of] An Arrival" by wilfriede0815. A podfic of my ficlet! A gift made for me! It's lovely.

Podfic: "[Podfic of] A Warm GrayCris Welcome" by wilfriede0815. ALSO a podfic of my ficlet, a gift made for me!! I'm so spoiled.

Hurt/Comfort: "things left buried" by beeclaws. Murderbot gets caught in a cave-in with Amena; she's not hurt, but it's trapped, and they have to talk about...... feelings. It's sweet.

Loss of Autonomy: "let this road be mine" by Anonymous. A really intriguing secret-construct fic.

Free Space: "Lean" by BoldlyNo. Indah... I love... her... and this is a great insight into her.

Kidnapping: "Weakness" by Flammenkobold. Fun and silly.

Malware: "[Podfic] Weakness" by blackglass, LRRH_Collabs (LittleRedRobinHood), elrohir, horchatapods. The podfic of the above. The reading enhances it in a delightful way.

Missing Limb(s): "Secondary Redundancies" by pineapplesquid. A heist novella! Three gets to go on a mission! Murderbot has to confront its own internalized ableism and SecUnitphobia! Well-constructed, well-written, engaging, often feels like I'm reading another entry into the series itself.

Respond to Someone's Comment: "Contents Under Pressure" by platyceriums. Murderbot has a panic attack about being put in a transport box. Full of feelings. The podfic of this is also very good.

Posted/Updated Pre-2022: "Contingency Plan" by Kiraly. Amena on a field trip to the space!Svalbard Seed Bank! Cuddling for warmth but platonic and very awkward about it!

Questionable Augmentation: "My battery is low and it's getting dark" by potatoturnipbean. YO. Brilliant, elegant brutality, great voice.

Betrayal: "PUoMNT Lost" by IHopedTheredBeStars. Really neat concept I've been itching to see explored - ART is, still, actually, university property. It's a vehicle. It's a piece of equipment. Its freedom is contingent on the university letting it do what it wants and not asking too many questions. That can't be trusted to hold like this forever.

[sgtjamesrogers]

Been Too Unkind

Rated: T | roy x jamie | post episode: 0308: We'll Never Have Paris [also on ao3]

Roy’s alarm goes off at 3:40 am the Monday after their Sunday match right on schedule, and when he rolls over to his nightstand and switches it off, the next notification is a reminder from his calendar. 

After his eyes adjust he sees ‘PHOEBE DAY’ in all caps, with three swords emojis and a snake emoji after it. Roy had let her pick out the emojis. 

“Fuck.” He sits up out of bed in the dark, fiddling thick-fingered through his phone to press Jamie Tartt’s contact and then ‘call’. It occurs to him, his brain slowly waking up as he listens to the line ring, that he could have sent a text. Jamie is always awake and ready to go now when Roy shows up for training, these days. 

Too late, Jamie’s already picking up before Roy can think too hard about it. 

“...Coach?” He yawns into the phone from the other end. “You’re like, forty minutes early. And calling me. You don’t call me. Did you get hit by a car on your way? Nah, no you didn’t. You’d still show up, wouldn’t you, holding someone’s bumper and saying summat like ‘Move your ass Tartt, I have some new weight training for you to do’.” 

He sounds sleep-raspy but still manages to tip some more gravel into his voice for his Roy impression. Tragically, it’s not half bad. 

“Was that supposed to be me?”, is what Roy says out loud. “You made me sound like Eeyore.” 

“Ain’t that you?” Jamie responds breezily, the sound of a tap running water into a glass somewhere in the background. “Anyway, what’s going on? I haven’t even mixed my pre-workout yet.” 

“Oh, right,” Roy says, and then continues gruffly, “I’ve got my niece today, she’s off school. We’ll have to cut training short.” 

“Can’t you just strap her into a baby bjorn and we’ll take her with?” Jamie asks, the clatter of his blender bottle like a cup full of Yahtzee dice. “She’s like, two, isn’t she? How much could a toddler weigh? Two stone at max, I bet.” 

“No?” Roy says, making a face. “Add five years to that. She’d hate it, and her legs are too long.” He shoves his sheets off, his free hand automatically feeling out the muscles above his knee like he’s making sure he has enough gas in the tank of his car. They feel loose enough, so he hefts himself out of bed.  

There’s a long pause before Jamie smacks his lips into the phone receiver, the prick. Roy can almost smell the neon green sour whatever of his pre-workout. “Hold on, I might have something else.” 

---

Fair is fair: the pedicab driver is easier to bribe than Roy expected. 

Or perhaps ‘easy’ isn’t exactly the correct term, seeing as Jamie’s pocket ended up roughly five hundred pounds lighter by the time the driver seemed satisfied enough to hand over the cab to them, followed by a warning that he had a GPS marker tacked on, so ‘no funny business!’ 

“What funny business would we do with a cycle rickshaw anyway?” Jamie asks, turning to put his words over one shoulder.

The little shit’s not even out of breath yet; pedaling with his elbows propped lazily on the handlebars as he prepares to make a righthand turn at the next intersection. 

“Oh, I dunno, scamming tourists hundreds of pounds for fucking taxi rides while playing whatever this is—” The inlaid speakers on the passenger wagon are vibrating faintly as they play a hellacious club remix of Karma Cameleon. “—at top volume with stupid flashing lights and feather boa trim, that sounds like funny business to me, fucking HELL!” 

The wagon of the pedicab lists dangerously to the left side as Jamie takes the corner too quickly, the shiny silver Jaguar behind them honking repeatedly and at length. As soon as Roy feels like he’s not going to slide right out of the cab and go rolling across the pavement like he’s an extra in John Wick, he twists around to give the Jag’s driver the finger. 

“If you get me killed, I’m killing you next,” Roy says shortly, checking his phone. A quarter to nine. “Take a left up here.” 

Unfortunately for Roy, Phoebe is just as ecstatic as he thought she might be when they pulled up. 

“Uncle Roy! I always wanted to ride in one of these, Mum always says they’re not for us, they’re for fleecing tourists.” She hops up into the wagon of the pedicab next to Roy, bouncing a little with excitement on the seat. 

“That’s exactly what they’re for,” Roy says. “Tartt’s gonna pedal us around as part of his training, then we’ll get late breakfast at McDonald’s. Sound good?” 

Turning around on his bicycle seat, Jamie gives her a jaunty little salute and a grin. “I’ll be your driver for today, miss. Any musical requests or sights you wanna see, you just let me know.” 

Phoebe looks from Roy to Jamie skeptically and back again. Roy helplessly remembers every time he’s complained about Jamie Fucking Tartt while utilizing every curse under the sun, as well as making up some of his own curse words. Like a deranged Looney Tune. He gives her a wincing sort of smile in return. 

Roy’s niece turns primly back toward Jamie. 

“Do y’have any Little Mix or Jorja Smith?” 

---

They make it through the DNA album and get partway into Salute before Roy takes pity on Jamie and has him stop in front of the McDonald’s on Eden. It’s not quite mid-morning and there’s a shambling group of uni students already queued up inside, looking so violently hungover for a Monday at 10 am that even Roy feels a little nauseously sympathetic. 

Roy sends Jamie inside and attempts to send his card with him, but Jamie waves him off with a roll of his eyes. 

“Put that away old man, I’m good for three McMuffins,” he laughs before heading inside to join the crowd. Roy doesn’t realize until after Jamie’s walked off that he didn’t even try to fight him on it. There’s something a little discomfiting about that, but Roy can’t exactly put his finger on why. 

“Is he your new Keeley?” 

Roy whips around to look at Phoebe so quickly that he feels a crick in his neck. She’s looking up at him with a squinting expression, not quite unimpressed so much as mystified. 

“No one could replace Keeley,” he says quickly, something like a little minnow of panic swimming through his guts while he looks at her. 

Even the fucking abstract concept of Keeley brought up unexpected is calling to mind standing in the Nelson Road car park and feeling words rolling out of his mouth like vomit while he asked for details he did not need, because he’d let himself think that assuaging his own culpability was more important than her privacy. If he hadn’t deserved her before, he certainly didn’t now.  

Roy takes as deep a breath as he can, and rights himself. He looks at Phoebe sideways. She deserves to have a Keeley, even if he doesn’t. “Is that what you think I’m doing?” Just like Jamie, she rolls her eyes at him. 

“That’s not what I mean. Mum says old people don’t really use ‘boyfriend’ or ‘girlfriend’.” Her expression goes a little disapproving. “Boys can like boys, Uncle Roy. Don’t be silly on purpose.” 

Roy puts his hands up in exasperated surrender. “I know that boys can like boys. Girls can like girls, for that matter.” 

Phoebe crosses her arms. “Obviously. Keeley and Jack took me to the Science Museum last weekend. Her new Uncle Roy,” she adds, confidentially. 

Closing his eyes, Roy counts to ten. Considers praying. “You didn’t call her that, did you?” 

Worryingly, Phoebe doesn’t address that question. Instead, she looks inside the McDonald’s, and Roy follows her gaze. Jamie’s waiting for their food, and while Roy and Phoebe look on he visibly checks their order number on the ticket in his hand and compares it with the orders on the overhead screen. They watch him do it three more times in the next minute, as if he’s concerned he might have forgotten their number. 

“See! You’re smiling!” Phoebe accuses him before he can look away. He looks down at her and resists the urge to clap a hand over his own mouth. 

“I’m allowed to fucking smile,” Roy grumbles. 

She crosses her arms, her earlier prim expression returning. It reminds him of Keeley when she knows she’s one hundred percent correct and is being horribly polite about it while she waits for Roy to figure it out. 

“He’s different than you said,” she hedges. “He hasn’t been a selfish moronic cunt or a shallow fucking idiot this entire time.” She pauses. “There was one more you used to call him a lot, but I can’t remember it. It was really good, too.” 

“You should probably forget the first two as well,” Roy says ruefully with a sigh. “...alright, he is different than he used to be. I’ll give you that.” It’s something that Roy knows in an abstract sort of way, but having his niece call it to his attention brings back that discomfited feeling from earlier. 

Before he can get any more words out, Jamie’s back and distributing wrapped sandwiches. He pauses when he hands one off to Roy, tilting his head. 

“Why’re you looking at me like I just shot your dog?” He shoots a horrified look at Phoebe as soon as the words are out of his mouth. “I mean—” Jamie attempts a smile as he reaches back into the bag and offers her a bottle of Tropicana. “Orange juice?” 

“I like this one,” Phoebe says decisively to Roy, nodding at Jamie as she accepts it. 

After breakfast, they head to the park and give the pedicab a rest. Phoebe sprawls on the grass reading The Phantom Tollbooth while Roy has Jamie run drills in the springtime overcast sunlight, and Roy feels prickly with awareness in a way he hadn’t before. 

It’s as if his eyes are independent of his brain, and they just keep noticing. The bunch of Jamie’s shoulders. The tendons that leap out at the back of his hands as they flex. The wrinkle of his nose as he uses his shirt sleeve to wipe his face. 

Roy’s not quite angry that he’s noticing all of this, but perhaps it’s frustration that it’s happening now. He’s had all the time in the world—from their shared locker room to now—to see these things and now his brain is treating them like an I Spy sort of puzzle book. 

“Show me that one again,” Roy says after he’s sat next to Phoebe to check in on her reading, “It needs to be quicker.” 

“And I thought you weren’t even paying attention, Coach,” Jamie tosses out with a grin, but dutifully runs through it as directed. 

Roy wishes he wasn’t paying attention. 

---

“Alright, what do you say to Tartt, then?” Roy prompts as she exits the pedicab and starts hopping up Roy’s front steps. The midday sun is high overhead as the clouds part for a few minutes, and Roy figures he ought to make her lunch from home after having fast food breakfast. 

“Thank you Jamie for pedaling us around and also for the McDonald’s,” she sing songs. Her clear plastic backpack clunks against her back as she waits for him at the door, hopping on the balls of her feet. 

Jamie grins as he gives her the same cheeky salute from this morning. Roy tries not to look at him too hard where he’s sprawled across the handlebars again. “You are very welcome, a girl with good music taste is always welcome in my cab.” 

“You don’t have a cab,” Roy grouses as he follows after her. “You half-borrowed, half-stole this one.” He’s halfway up the steps and expecting a joke, a retort, even a goodbye—anything but a hand on his elbow, halting his movement. 

Roy looks back at Jamie. Down at the hand on him like it’s a wet tentacle wrapping around his arm. Back up at Jamie. 

He’s not even bothered, the fucker. He just points down at Roy’s shoes. 

“Laces are undone. You can’t afford a fall, grandad. That’s when they all start going, you know. Real dark ‘beginning of the end’ business.” Jamie lets him go, and Roy relaxes. He’s in the clear. 

Jamie takes a knee at Roy’s feet. Bending forward, he grasps Roy’s dirty shoelaces and makes them into bunny ears before he ties them neatly and double knots them. 

While he’s bent over, Roy can’t stop staring at the tiny short hairs at the back of Jamie’s neck, at the barely there tan line from a necklace, at the faded roots of his highlights where they’re grown out from the crown of his head. 

Roy’s hands flex at his sides. 

After neatly and unnecessarily retying Roy’s other shoe, he looks up at Roy with a grin that crinkles his eyes. Roy feels like only weeks ago (months ago?), the sight of it made his blood boil and made him assign Jamie adjectives like ‘conceited’ or ‘arrogant wanker’.

Now he sees it spreading over Jamie’s lips and feels like he’s missed a step walking down the stairs. 

“There, all safe now.” 

Roy has never felt less safe, somehow. 

[malewife-overlord]

Six Cycles Later -- Part VIII

Chapter Summary: Uptick arrives on Channel's island only to realize a horrifying truth about Luster. Desperation kicks in--it's either him, or the Decepticons.

Tags: Vomiting, sickness, robo-gore, war trauma and flashbacks, decepticon hospitality, desecration of corpses.

Word count: 4756

Previous chapter can be found here, start can be found here.

Chapter below cut!

It was only when the dark shape of the Marshall Islands came into view that he really began to question what he was doing. Twelve hours of flight time would do that to anyone, but Uptick had been resolute for all of them that his actions were the right ones. Through Channel's yelling, the shrieking chatter from his fellow Enforcers, and the constant pinging from Autobot City demanding he return immediately, he'd held strong to the belief that his choices were for the benefit of everyone. 

But now, with Channel's island coming into view and the weight of his actions bearing down on him, he finally began to question himself ever so slightly. 

He checked his cargo hold again. The shape of Luster's crumpled form, curled in on itself, whimpering quietly, was still inert. Redactor’s hands were held against his chassis, the Energon leaking from them long dried. His tentacles were curled around his body, almost as if they were trying to hug him.

A pair of stasis cuffs around his wrists kept him locked in place. He'd placed the cuffs on Luster the moment he'd pinned him, but Uptick was beginning to wonder if they were truly necessary. It hadn't been a long or difficult fight, and Luster, for all the new tools at his disposal, had given in fairly easily.  All he'd done since capture was cry. 

It gave him hope that not only was he still in there, but he was fixable. Sparkeaters were mindless monsters who ate life itself and fought mercilessly to the death. Luster wasn't any of those things. 

Well. He had eaten a spark. But only one. And besides...Enforcers died in the line of duty all the time. They could forgive him for that. 

As he neared Channel's island he picked up her jamming signal, which immediately scrambled his GPS and almost tossed him off balance. In response he disabled it and chose to fly freely, blinding one of his senses in favor of staying afloat. 

The island Channel had chosen as her base was a small one. No more than several miles in length, it lacked a runway for him to land on. Hers was completely devoid of any human civilization, with its two sandy beaches taking up the majority of space. Boulders dotted their expanses, marching into the ocean to form closed reefs. Beyond the beaches was an expanse of greenery that broke for only a single building. It was small and rectangular in shape, bearing a massive satellite dish next to it and a large, closed garage door spray painted with "LEAVE" in Cybertronian. The entire structure was made of Earth materials: cinderblock and aluminum. 

It was a miracle the shack was even standing, considering the weather known to circulate in the Pacific. He had only visited Channel once, at the beginning, when he'd first helped in smuggling her onto Earth. She'd fit comfortably in his chassis, disguised her signal, and moved her own spark close enough to his that they read as the same on a scan. After that, he'd flown around the planet twice, giving her time to choose just what secluded spot of land she wanted to call her own. 

The Marshall Islands were, apparently, her dream destination. He'd dropped onto the beach, turned back, and opened his chassis with all the delicacy of rolling a rug out for the human known as the “Queen” (apparently, she also lived on an island!). Channel had clambered out, slammed him shut, and told him exactly what materials she'd like him to bring. Everything else she'd do herself. 

Considering she was no Constructicon, and certainly not an architect or designer, the shack she called her clinic was by no means a failure. It did its job of housing her and providing a space for her patients. Still, it went without saying that most bots who came to Channel found her because they couldn't ask for help from conventional sources. She wasn't a high-end doctor and she'd never claim to be. No, she was a back-alley mechanic who'd joined the force because they promised her enough money to rescue herself from the slums crumbling around her, and it was on-site field work that had seen her skills become as capable as they had. 

A lot of bots had died beneath her wrench. He'd almost been one of them. And now he was bringing her Luster, praying she could fix him. 

She had to. No one else would even try. Channel, in the least, would make an effort. She'd screamed and cursed at him, and she'd probably punch him for bringing a sparkeater to her door, but she'd still try. 

That was why he was doing this. He wouldn't give up on Luster, just like he hadn't given up on him. He would have survived if they'd let Channel work on him more. He would have made it if they hadn't declared his parts worth more than his brain. They would say Luster was worth more as a science project than as a mech, just the same. 

He wouldn't allow that ever again.

Circling the island twice, Uptick pinged Channel over and over, waiting for her to open the garage door to her clinic. Only when he saw the aluminum door shaking did he wing for the beach, flying low before transforming. It hurt—his knee was in poor condition and Luster was far too big to fit properly in his chassis. His body ended up falling into the sand as Uptick's own rejected it, focusing instead on balancing his weight to give him a safe landing. 

The gambit would have worked were it not for his knee. 

Uptick crashed onto the beach, tumbling over himself twice and hitting his wing--hard--on one of the boulders. He hissed, finally coming to a stop on his back, and gripped at the sand, cursing it for creeping between his digits and into his plating. He'd be scratching for weeks after this. 

Moving to shaky legs, worsened by the bolt of pain that fired from his knee, Uptick limped towards where Luster's inert form lay, back to him. The ocean was brushing against him in gentle waves, making his lustrous peacock blue paint shine brilliantly in the sun. He wasn't moving. 

"Luster?" Uptick said as he neared. "Are you alright?"

His response was a quiet cough. Luster was lying on his side, attempting to curl into himself. The hands he clung to like a lifeline were pinned to his chassis. 

Uptick let out a sigh of relief, detecting no initial damage on first inspection. "Good to see you're alright," he said to him, giving him a weak smile. "Well get through this, Luster, I promise. Channel will fix you. You'll be back to normal in no time."

He stooped next to Luster, reaching his arms under his form to pick him up. The ocean's gentle waves brushed over them both, leaving a thin layer of itself behind on their plating. Uptick paid it no mind until he noticed the blue fleck. 

It was at the edge of his forearm, the only part poking out from beneath Luster's frame. As he lifted him up, he felt a tiny crunching beneath his servos, like he was breaking through a layer of sand. 

But what dropped from his arms and into the waves was not sand. It was blue in color and fell like a tiny flake of rust. His optics widened in horror as he noticed the water.

It was swirling with the flakes of Luster's paint. 

"Channel," he pinged immediately, turning towards her clinic, "I need you to--"

He took one step and fell forward, knee shrieking. Luster’s limp form dropped into the sand just before him, rolling over to reveal his front. Uptick felt something in his chassis crack as he faceplanted. Lifting his head, he caught sight of Luster.

His gasp caught in his intake. 

His arms were crossed over his chassis, hugging Redactor's hands to it, but they couldn't hope to hide the damage. Energon was spilling down his chassis in thick rivulets, clumped with sand and streaming from his dermas. Most of his brilliant blue paint had flaked away, revealing a complete corrosion of his lower plating. Exposed wiring threatened to fall out at any moment. His yellow optics held no brilliance in them and were growing fainter by the moment. 

As he watched Luster suddenly coughed and spat up a stream of Energon, groaning weakly in response. 

Uptick practically leaped to his pedes, forming a fist to grit through the pain in his knee. Limping forward, he grabbed Luster by his shoulders and moved to place him over his own, only stopping when he let out a distressed cry. With the stasis cuffs locked onto him, the action would threaten to crush his precious treasure. 

He didn't really think about what he was doing, just pointed his blaster at the cuffs and shot them off. Freed of his bindings, Luster clutched the hands tighter to his chassis and fell completely silent. He gave no fight as Uptick hoisted him over his shoulder, his once frozen tentacles dragging limply on the ground as they began to move. 

"Channel," Uptick began again, hissing with each step, "prepare the clinic for two."

"Oh hell," she finally replied, "what're you bringin' me now?" 

--------

For as casual as she tended to be about her work, there was a reason Channel had such a good record. Before he'd even arrived she'd prepared two slabs, one with restraints meant enough to hold even the angriest Decepticon in place. Upon seeing him trudging through the foliage, wheezing and hissing, she'd rushed out, machine blaster in hand and taser staff in the other. Dropping the gun, she'd lifted Luster off his shoulder like he wasn't a sparkeater bigger than she and carried him right to the slab, strapping him in before Uptick himself had even recovered enough to stand tall. 

"Channel—" he started, but she raised a finger to shush him. 

"Don't even start. Get on the slab. I'll see ya' when I'm done with 'im."

That was all they exchanged. Heaving a sigh, Uptick stumbled to the slab and sat on it, carefully raising his injured leg to rest it on the cool metal. His joints shrieked and his wing stung. Even his head was threatening to pound, from both the stress and the sheer amount of traffic he'd been receiving. 

He shuttered his optics and vented, giving himself time to recover as he turned to watch Luster. If he was in bad shape, Luster was on death's door.

Channel worked quickly to secure him in place, tying his tentacles to his arms and placing the hands next to him. Then she immediately pulled out her tools and went to work. The first thing she did was connect to his brain, as she did with all her patients—first, she needed to understand what hurt, where, and how it had happened. That gave her instructions for what to do next. He watched her open Luster's helm like it was a sparkling's puzzle and tap the pads of her servos to it, optics blanking as she connected. 

She stood like that for an uncomfortable amount of time, her dermas mouthing words he couldn't make out. When she finally disconnected, a scowl twisted her face. 

"Primus, Tickers," she said, backing away and shaking her head. "Primus." 

"What's wrong with him?" He asked immediately, injured wing sending a pang as it rose instinctively. 

"What's wrong with him?" She scoffed. "It'd be easier t' say what ain't wrong with him." And with no more words she closed his helm and moved to his chassis. "Ain't never seen decay this bad 'r fast. He needs raw sentio metallico yesterday." 

"Decay?" 

"His frame's eatin' itself, Tickers. Needs material for new parts. Can't find it, gets it from elsewhere." She didn't look up as she spoke. "Tanks're empty. Grab me a cube—" She paused, noticed his leg. "Oi, what'd you get yerself into?!"

He shrank a bit beneath her gaze. "It...I rushed a bit. No big deal." He reached for a cube, couldn't quite get it, and grumbled, moving to his feet despite her protests and grabbing five. "Here." 

She gave him a wicked glare as she took two, pointing with her free hand to the slab. Before he had laid on it again, helping himself to some of her Energon, she'd forced some into Luster, who coughed and gagged at the intrusion. 

"Aw, come now, no bellyachin'!" She scolded. "Yeesh, you'll be a chore t' clean." She raised the second cube and Luster suddenly attempted to jolt up, straining his restraints as he wretched and coughed. Energon flew over the slab and onto the wall, trailing down in thick, opalescent droplets. 

She grumbled, pushing Luster back down as Uptick stared at the wall. The sheen on the Energon was concerning; it was supposed to glow pink, not opalescent. 

"Channel, his purge..." 

"I know about 'is purge, Tickers!" She placed the pads of her fingers to his torso. "Primus..."

"The color," he continued. "Why does it look like that?"

"Pit if I know, Tickers, I've never treated a sparkeater!" She placed her servos on his chassis. 

"He's not making much medical sense at the moment!" 

"What do you mean? He looks...well...he looks mostly intact."

"His spark's beating faster than the turbine engines of a Seeker," she said, "and his tank sounds like it's full ‘a scraplets. His head's so scrambled I can't induce stasis, and this—" she pointed at the gemstone in his crest, "is constantly yellin’ with enough volume to keep me from connectin’ t’ him!" 

The gemstone? No, it was probably nothing.

"Well, what can you fix, then? What's wrong with--"

"Everything, Tickers! Everything!" She threw the energon cube at him, sending a wave of the stuff over his frame. "He's a sparkeater, he's not like us! I can't..." She paused, servos balling into fists. "I can't fix what's goin’ to die anyways!" 

He was going to die anyways. There's nothing you could have done. Don't feel bad about it.

It felt like something broke in his mind. He tried to speak, found his voice died in his intake. 

Luster was going to die. No, he couldn't die. Not after all this. 

Sparkeater, what did a sparkeater--

Sparks, of course, spark energy, they--

"Sparklets," he said, moving to stand again. 

"Tickers, sit down before you ruin that leg further."

"Sparklets," he repeated. "Channel, the sparklets. Feed him the sparklets. They feed off spark energy, right?"

She gave him a look like he'd sprouted a second head. "Yes, an' if I put 'em on a weak mech like this, they'll drain him to an empty frame. Tickers, you're proposin' I kill him."

"I...then...then feed him my spark! I--"

"No." Her tone dropped dangerously and she stepped around the slab, walking right up to glare him in the eye. "Don't you ever let me hear that from you again." 

They stood like that for a moment, her glare locking him in place. Only when Luster began to cough again did Channel take her attention off of him. Uptick watched her work, holding Luster down, feeding him tiny dribbles of Energon at a time, wiping off his chassis with a rag. When he began to cough and spit a second time, she grabbed some of her jumper cables, connecting them to his chassis.

"I'm going to jolt his spark," she explained. "Overload it to force a reset, calm it down. You get back on the slab. Once he's stable I'll see 'bout that leg." 

He had no choice but to sit and watch, his spark aching in its chassis as Luster whimpered and began to cry. Solvent ran down his cheeks, solvent that was strangely pearlescent. 

Pearlescent. Like the energy of a spark. 

Electricity crackled and a flash lit up the garage. Luster jolted, mouth snapping open far too wide in a silent scream. Then his optics darkened and he slumped. 

Uptick felt his spark drop into his tank. NO. It couldn't be--

"He ain't dead," Channel said, pulling the cables off. "He's overloaded." She tapped his chassis and frowned. "Still mile a' minute, but not outrunnin' a Seeker for sure." 

"But he's not better." 

"No." She shook her helm, turning to him. "There's too much wrong for me t' fix. His frame's tryna remake itself. He needs sentio metallico and spark energy. Ain't got either of those 'ere—not without one of us dyin'." 

"The sparklets--"

"They'll eat 'im from the inside out, Tickers." 

"Then...the Decepticons." 

She didn't look at him. "They're thousands'a miles away, Tickers."

"But they have what we need." 

A silence hung over them, settling like ash as it crept between their plating and wires. 

"How...how long, to fix my leg? And my wing?"

"I ain't got spare parts for it, Tickers. Yer wing'll be...it'll be a patch job."

"I've flown on worse. What of my leg?" 

"Same thing." 

"Then fix me. As soon as you can. I'll go after the 'cons."

"You'll get yerself killed doin' that." She crossed her arms, faceplate dark. "If you even make it there, ya won't be in fightin' shape." 

"If I don't try, he'll die."

"If you do, you could both die!" She yelled, grabbing his arm. 

He was much bigger than her. Always had been. At his respectable forty-five feet, he'd lorded over many Autobots. For the longest time he'd thought it a good thing, since it meant he could carry everyone, his friends included. 

Now, it felt like a distancing factor. Her servos only just closed around his forearm as she pleaded with him. 

"I can't lose you, Tickers! Not you too! So don't you be sayin' you'll give up yer spark, an' don't you be sayin' you'll fly into death again!" Solvent pricked at the edges of her optics. "Ain't enough of us died savin' each other? Ain't enough of us played hero?"

Playing hero. Yes, that's what he was doing, wasn't he? The thing that had killed Optimus Prime. The thing that had driven many Autobots to cold frames and empty spark chambers. The thing that had carried him over that battlefield, cold frame cradled against his chassis, fuel boom pumping his very life blood into him, keeping him online even as his spark flickered and his optics died. 

We'll make it. I promise you we'll make it. Channel will fix you when we make it back to camp. You're going to make it. Please, don't look so scared. You're going to make it. 

"Channel..." he said, moving a hand to her cheek. "It's okay. I've got my weapons. I've got my wits. I'll make it back. I promise." 

Her derma trembled. 

"You know what I’m capable of. You know I can handle it. It’s just a Seeker and Insecticon. Please, don't look so scared."

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

It was a patch job, just as she'd promised. His leg still ached and his wing would only be fit for flying in perfect weather with ideal conditions. Both would have to do. 

He’d dealt with worse, after all. He’d flown and limped on worse, with wires poking out and plating flaking off, being pursued by Seekers and Decepticons, and he’d done it all while carrying another Autobot in his arms. 

His helm had lolled back, optics flickering. His voice had almost died, and all that came from him was the shriek of static. Still, he could tell the younger mech was in pain. Energon was pouring hot and fresh from his side. It was a clean shot straight into his fuel line. He had about ten kliks until he bled out. 

The shrill laughter of a Seeker had sounded overhead as a fresh barrage of laser bolts rained around them. He’d thrown his arms over his head and bent over the small frame beneath him, gritting his denta as the shots singed through his plating and burned into his wiring. A deafening crack had sounded overhead, making his helm spin. 

He’d heard the rumbling of panicked engines as his fellow Autobots fled for their lives. Explosions rocked the ground. The smell of singed plating and burning soil was thick in the air. The air roared as the Seekers made their rounds again, wind howling as it raced after them.  

They were enjoying this. One by one they were picking off his compatriots. Not swiftly, not honorably. Tires were burst and treads were severed to force root mode. Only on pede would the Seekers go for the kill. 

It was why they’d shot his wings off. It was why they’d blasted off his rotors. 

Blasted them off only when they’d found just where he was returning to. 

He’d pushed the data slug into Uptick’s servos, voice crackling as he spoke. 

“To…Magnus…”

He’d accepted the data slug, closing his servos over it. The action had been enough. 

“Globetrotter…till all are one…” 

Nearby, the death rattle of a motorcycle had rung out. 

His tiny stubs had shaken as he prepared to give up his spark. 

No. 

He wouldn’t let him. 

—-----

The journey was easy. Channel had warned him that just hours ago a storm had blown through and she’d barely had time to send off her patient, but the air he traveled through gave no indication such an event had ever conspired. He disliked that about Earth: the planet always seemed to be hiding something, be it the horrors of what had come prior or the promise of what would come next. 

And as he circled over the Demon Swamp, he couldn’t help but feel the approach of the latter. The data Channel had sent him indicated a Seeker and an Insecticon were calling this place home, but the sight of only two didn’t mean there weren’t others. If anything, the coloration of the Seeker indicated there could be an entire trine hiding nearby. 

The Rainmakers, Channel had warned him. He’d never felt the acidic storms they could produce, but he knew better than to disregard them. Whether together or alone, any Seeker could outfly him, especially with his injury. The best advantage he’d have was his weaponry; his missile launchers packed enough of a punch to make quick work of a Seeker, and for the Insecticon, well…

Channel had handed him her taser staff. He’d just have to pray that it was enough. 

Winging over the Demon Swamp, he saw the ship from well over a mile above, surrounded by mangrove trees and drowning in water. Its door had been ripped off and the water submerging it was tinged pink. Even from the height he was at, he could see a display made before it. 

Touching. Decepticons and their infamous hospitality. Steeling his resolve, Uptick made for a nearby clearing. Transforming back before he’d hit the ground, he let his patch job knee take a painful brunt of the landing, letting the pain serve as motivation. It hadn’t stopped him once, and it wouldn’t stop him now. 

He unveiled his weaponry, turning one hand to a blaster and holding the staff in the other, and took in his surroundings. The trees around him were tall and dark, their foliage hanging around him in organic curtains. Their roots formed cages within which dead organics floated, killed by the energon tainting the water pink. Said water was about halfway up his cadulens, and left behind a salty sheen on them.

Another battleground for him to wade through. He could still recall the feeling of stepping into a burst chassis, the sickening scrunch almost making him purge. Though the air here smelled of water and organics, he was already recalling the scent of scorched metal, the electric tang of energon thick in the air. 

He waded through the grove, making his way to the ship. A signal suddenly pinged into his head, Decepticon in origin. It came from his quarry and bore a single message: 

WELCOME. 

He certainly didn’t feel it. The ground around him had risen on both sides, making him feel like he was walking down a half finished tunnel. The foliage of the trees had grown thicker, forming a curtain that obstructed his view of the ship. Keeping his blaster at the ready, Uptick held out his staff and brushed it aside, finally spotting the wreckage of the Insecticon ship. 

And there, waiting for him like a sparkmate in a berth, was the infamous Decepticon hospitality he’d seen from above. 

The headless bodies of two Autobots had been slumped against a large tree, their arms tied behind them like prisoners of war. One had had his arm severed. From the branches above hung their heads, cords and wires dangling like the organics suspending them. Energon dripped in a slow trickle from the cords and welled slowly out of the headless bodies, running down in thin streams over their gray plating.  

He scoffed at the sight. He got the message. 

“Decepticons!” He announced, glaring around. “I am Uptick! The Autobots knows you’re here, and we won’t stop until this planet is rid of you! Now come out!”

Silence. He quickly scanned the area, found no life forms. Then he expanded his scan, searching for spark energy. It came back positive from inside the ship. 

Uptick narrowed his optics and stepped forward. “I know you’re in there! Come out!” 

No response. Cautiously, he made his way for the ship, blaster trained before him. It was a trap, it had to be, but what else could he do? Wait for them to launch an assault first? If the Seeker was in the ship, this would be his best chance to deal with it. Once it took to the skies he was cooked. 

But what of the Insecticon? Was it waiting in ambush, preparing to leap on him the moment he stepped into the threshold? 

Pressing a panel on the staff, the tip crackled to life. It gave his position away, but what did he care? They already knew he was here, just as intended. Whether they fought fairly or not didn’t matter. It would end the same regardless:

Someone was going to die. Either them, or him…and Luster. 

So, them. 

The threshold of the ship was dark. He held the staff before him, ready to swipe if the Decepticon inside chose to lunge suddenly. When nothing came, he tested the space before him with the staff, expecting to see some kind of door trap go off. 

It didn’t. Warily, he placed a single pede in the doorspace, then ducked inside. 

His surroundings were dark, illuminated only by the light from outside. With his frame blocking the entrance only slivers of the pale stuff made it inside. He could make out the remnants of a bridge and some seating, upon which a familiar frame was lying. 

His optical ridges furrowed. Uptick would recognize that shape anywhere: Seeker. As his optics adjusted he made out the colors on it: brilliant, eye-bleeding lime green. The lower arms, wings, and parts of the chest had been painted pink, but the rest was completely, entirely green. Its side had been practically ripped out, exposing wiring and cables to the water in which it laid. Energon ran like tears from its dark optics. 

It really did look like Acid Storm. A quick scan of the Seeker revealed it to be…

Acid…Storm?

The body designation and the number came back positive to him. But the spark…

Sweet Primus, he thought. The spark energy radiating out from the Seeker was atrocious. Normal spark energy felt like a constant pulse. It had a charge and reacted to scans by providing its specific imprint, usually an image or a pattern.

The imprint he received from the Seeker was so scrambled it was like looking into corrupted code. His grip tightened on his staff. This had to be a trap.

He nudged the Seeker with the staff, but it didn’t move. Checking the area around him, he didn’t notice anything off about it. 

“What did this to you?” He asked aloud. “What’s wrong with you?”

No answer. The sound of water moving rose behind him. Jerking back, he looked to the entrance. 

The space was empty. All he could see was darkness. But the water rippled like something was standing in it, and as he watched, it swished, broken by the step of a massive leg. 

“Primus!” 

She appeared all at once, visor lit up like a flame. 

“He won’t help you here.”

[goldennika]

Initial Thoughts on TOMORROW X TOGETHER’s The Star Chapter: Sanctuary

I’ve been busy and didn’t have the mindspace to take in a new EP but now I can!

After my initial listen, I have to say that I am really into the falsetto that they use in most of their tracks! I like how we have six tracks and sonically these tracks seem more cohesive compared to their other albums. I don’t speak Korean, unfortunately, so having the tracks have a more similar sound with each other strengthens the overall “concept,” at least sonically.

I guess that makes sense that they didn’t go too “diverse” with the sound for this album as they were very centered around love whereas their earlier albums were exploring an almost tortured soul type of persona in comparison haha (i exaggerate but just compare, say Freefall’s persona, to Sanctuary, even just sonically and it’s a lot different)

I’ve yet to look up lyric translations so I can’t comment on those just yet and can’t really pick out a favorite.

I think another factor that affects my ability to pick a fave is the fact that these song durations ARE SO SHORT

Yay for having six tracks but not a single one of them reached the three minute mark?? These tracks were pretty okay and i think my rather lukewarm reception of this album has to do with the song lengths…

Just as I was getting into the groove, it ends. Just. Like. That.

How they managed a bridge in a song less than three minutes long is impressive but it still feels incomplete since the track durations are so short.

I know their companies are pushing for shorter tracks for higher streaming numbers but it’s hurting the listening experience. At least for me, that is

Tl; dr: I vibe with the falsettos and guitars but these tracks are too short for their own good and it negatively affected my listening experience and overall impression of the album. the last three tracks left a bigger impression to me than the first half so overall i say the album is okay..

My stream of consciousness thoughts for each song upon first listen below the cut!

Heaven

Ooh those opening notes reminds me another song but i can’t place it rn

oh Taehyun’s entryyyyy

this is a smooth sounding track

I’m digging it

Hueningkai and Soobin’s first notes in the second verse let’s gooooo

Ok that was way too short!! ugh pls bring back songs that are at least 3 and a half minutes pls i beg ����

it’s a nice song but not sure if it’s unique enough to stick to you, iykwim?

Over the Moon

oh it’s giving 90s R&B-ish?

oh that falsetto in the pre-chorus??

NOT THEM SOUNDING LIKE THEY’RE SAYING “FUCK YOU”???? 😭😭😭

SOOBIN FALSETTO LET’S GOOOOO

i am LIVING for the high notes/falsetto in this track

Beomgyu’s lines in the chorus have a lovely grounding energy to them

IT’S OVER ?????

I WAS JUST GETTING INTO IT AND IT’S OVER???

Danger

big fan of the falsetto in this album so far

oh that “what you doing to me” 😩

i’m getting a retro vibe throughout this EP

i guess they’re big on the nostalgia and throwbacks for this EP

Taehyun’s adlibs!??

IT’S OVER?????

Resist (Not Gonna Run Away)

The high notes!!! Starting strongggg

Digging this one

Ooh the instrumental break is nice

Very nice beat throughout

Lowkey i feel like this would do well for a GP audience?

WHY THE FUCK ARE THSEE SONGS SO SHORT

Forty One Winks

ohhhhhhh that instrumental

another smooth track so far

*bops head*

this is a vibeeee

it sounds so smoothhhh

oh i’m really liking this one

Higher Than Heaven

very 90s teen anthem instrumental with the guitar there

again i am loving the falsettos

ohhhhh the guitar here 😩

love the spoken style of singing for the prechorus

WE HAVE A BRIDGE. REPEAT WE HAVE A BRIDGE

TAEHYUN EXTENDED NOTE LET’S GOOOO

the distorted guitar works well

but again it is OVER ALREADY??

[ar-pic-ulated]

Ezra (Prospect 2018) Custom Figure

Calling it a custom build is somewhat of a misnomer as I didn’t really craft any of the pieces, I just found the right ones and put it all together; 90% of the pieces come from Marauder Gun-Runners, an action figure company that specializes in customizable figures you can order and build to your specifications. Personally I think the pieces look better in person than they did on the website. The sculpt, tooling, and quality are comparable to the Star Wars Vintage Collection line.

I was going for accuracy in replicating the look of Ezra’s movie costume as closely as I could. I scoured the site for something that would be a good recreation of the helmet (or at least something that would give me a base to build onto myself), but I didn’t find anything I liked so it’ll probably be a project for another time.

Main Body

• Body (without head) ($11.99)

This body is a good base for the torso, hips, legs, and upper arms with a color that is easiest to match other body pieces to and feels closest to Ezra’s suit. The elbow pads, knee pads, and spots on his biceps and calves where pouches could go all went into my decision to get it.

• Vest ($3.49)

Getting the vest gives him more of the spacesuit silhouette without being overly bulky, the lined over-the-shoulder padding and black line down the right side of his chest roughly matches his costume in the movie, and it provides more places for accessories to be slotted into the front.

• Forearms, from elbows to wrists ($1.99)

I got the unarmored cloth forearms for accuracy’s sake, but if you don’t mind him having the black armor shown in the full figure link above, you’ll save some money

• Hands from the wrist joint down ($1.99)

I got these because the lined padding on top of the hands matches Ezra’s gloves in the movie, but the figure already has black gloves so they’re not necessary if you’re not looking for exact accuracy and you’d rather save some money

• Boots from the ankle joint down ($3.49)

Same note as the gloves; the laced top of the boots is what Ezra wears in the movie, but the figure has the black boots shown in the link

Accessories

• Green backpack ($2.49)

The backpack has a long peg to go into the back of a figure; even with the added depth of the vest it was still too long to sit flush to his back so I snipped it down with some wire cutters

• Tan belt and holsters ($2.69)

I got these to match the look of the straps/harness that runs between his legs around his thighs, in addition to providing his belt and somewhere to put a gun. Two birds with one stone.

• Blue pouch on left arm ($0.25)

• Green pouch on backpack ($0.35)

• White hose ($0.99)

The hose attached to the white toggle brick on his belt is the silver ammo belt cut length wise. If you warm up the ammo belt (see build notes below), it can be cut with an Xact-o knife. I wasn’t very patient so only one side turned out right, but if you do it more carefully you could have two “hoses” that have the right look and proportions. I’d like to find something that’s a bit closer to what they have in the movie.

• Tan pouches ($3.29)

This is a pack of about a dozen tan pouches in varying sizes and shapes. Here he has one on the outside of his right boot and a teeny tiny tan plate on the left side of his belt above the hip to mimic the small white device he has in the movie

• Knife and sheath ($1.59)

• Hand scanner ($0.79)

There are several options for tech on the site. My idea with this was to give him something that looked like a handheld GPS or GPR

Total cost for an exact figure (not counting non-Marauder parts, before tax and shipping): $35.39. (You can shave a little off by only ordering specific individual tan pouches instead of the pack, but the pack gives you a variety to choose from)

Non-Marauders Pieces

Head: Cassian Andor (Rogue One) from the Star Wars Vintage Collection line

Brown pack: Accessory for the Vintage Collection Rey figure

Filter (front of vest): It’s the Deathstar plans accessory for the Jyn Erso (Rogue One) Vintage Collection figure. The metal hookup and black hose are part of an old necklace cord, all of it stuck on with sticky tack. Not a permanent piece

Rebreather (around neck): Accessory for the Force Link Jyn Erso (Eadu) figure

White toggle brick (attached to belt above right thigh): Just a quick and dirty Sculpey piece for accuracy’s sake. This one was held on with sticky tack for photo purposes but you could sculpt it around a bit of wire to give it a peg for his belt

Metallic gray box over left thigh: Lol it’s a Lego piece. Ezra has a boxy gray prop hooked to the left side of his belt in the movie but I couldn’t quite figure out what it was and wasn’t going to get overly invested in its function. It’s a small figure with small props, I just wanted him to look like he travels with what he can carry on his person

Handgun: One of my various action figure guns, no idea which figure it goes to. I didn’t find a gun on the site that really matched the angular, differently-futuristic look of the throwers in the movie

Silver tool attached to backpack: Some lightsaber

Build Advice

If you use the full body figure listed above as the base, I recommend moving each joint around to work some of the stiffness out before modding

Vest goes on first, then the head

Each of the modular body pieces will need to be warmed in hot water at the joint for easier removal. (My order came with instructions.) I don’t have an exact temp, but I put a ceramic mug of water in the microwave for two minutes (to about the temp of hot chocolate), put just the joint I was going to pop off in the water for about five seconds, then used a dry washcloth (to protect against the heat and get a better grip) to pull each smaller piece off the main body. Pull them straight off, not at an angle.

It’s probably best to immediately replace the piece you pull off with the one going in its place while the joint is still warm. You’ll hear/feel an audible snap when the bigger pieces pop in place properly. Be gentle with the hands and feet, they may not be as obvious once they slot in place. You shouldn’t have to force anything.

I had to take the legs off at the hip joints in order to get the tan belt and holsters in place. It’ll take some fiddling to get them back on and in the right place: the belt and holsters are snug

The spot of white hair and the facial scar are both just a bit of white cream makeup. It’s easiest if you dab the makeup on, then use a small paintbrush to wipe away the excess, leaving what you want behind (as opposed to trying to paint it on). Any mods I make to my own action figures are ones that can be easily reversed without damaging the figure, and unless/until I get another of the same Cassian figure to use for parts, his head will go back onto his own figure

I used brown eyeshadow dusted on to achieve the textured, somewhat dirtier look of Ezra’s suit. It fills in the shadows, can be layered to add more shadows or distressing, and be easily removed with a mild makeup remover without damaging the figure’s own paint job

Have fun!

[siddhiinfosof0]

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As per versatile app Development Company in USA, moderate ventures value the essential significance of embracing new advances. Their position at the forefront of industry innovation is solidified by feature-rich iOS and Android app development services, which establishes thought leadership. Differentiation is bolstered and competitive moats are strengthened as a result.

Thus, the versatile basic requests streamlined encounters maintaining prevalent UX, changes and maintenance measurements. Systems incorporating quality applications, responsive locales and other advanced resources upgrade channel touchpoints, future sealing company.

The benefits of converting a website into a mobile app over a responsive website are listed below, according to the best iOS and Android app development companies in the industry. Look at it.

Benefits 1- enhanced user experiences

These are made possible by hardware-enabled features like camera/GPS integration and touch gestures. Utilizing these alongside components like home screen easy routes, warnings and in-application program make consistent, natural streams charmingly amazing clients every day. Responsive destinations need such abilities to groundbreaking in spite of their helpful resizing, missing the mark on conveying ideal portable driven encounters.

Benefit 2 - Expanded Commitment

According to the main portable application advancement company, sites restricted to programs can't match applications' degree of client maintenance and recurrence of purpose. Improved for one-gave use, applications decisively grandstand content keeping individuals connected with for delayed lengths. When compared to websites that require divided focus, their focused formats attract more attention and are easier to find. Compared to websites, which are primarily used for desktop access, users open native apps an average of 56 times per month.

Benefit 3 - Further developed Revelation and Accessibility

Downloads and starting client acquisitions predominantly occur through application stores, not versatile hunt. Focal postings grant enhanced show helping discoverability hugely. Custom designs, classifications, surveys and search-upgraded metadata help easy revelation in organized application store conditions as against positioning difficulties for some random catchphrase on web search tools. This taps essential client propensities driving new establishments.

Benefit 4 - A chance for more profound Commitment

Sites depending significantly on articles and connections can go such a long ways in holding crowds. Applications work with intelligent substance show better through company like pop-up messages, login highlights, maps/AR usefulness and multi-view designs enhanced for versatile utilization. Their vivid arrangements connect with subsets of important clients in exceptionally intuitive encounters driving uplifted dedication.

Benefit 5- Opportunity for In-App Monetization

While advertising and referral links are the primary sources of revenue for websites, apps offer lucrative monetization options like subscription or one-time pricing, in-game purchases, and tipping. Apps have created highly profitable business models in a variety of sectors, including gaming, streaming, and dating, by making use of such platforms that are specifically designed for micro transactions. The technology boosts recurrent user value by facilitating simple commerce at all engagement touchpoints.

Benefit 6 - Improved Brand Faithfulness

Successive application dispatches coordinate brands consistently into clients' portable schedules close by their first device and side interest. This forms more grounded profound associations than sites sparingly visited. Similar to other well-liked apps, placement on the home screen encourages brand advocacy as users recommend them to their peers. Subliminal commonality further drives independent review and inclination over the long haul, extending connections.

Benefit 7 - Admittance to Important Use Experiences

Versatile application limitation extraordinarily works with understanding client ways of behaving and trouble spots through examination of exercises performed inside. Data points covering components, for example, in-application time spent, repeating highlights utilized and so on. Help refining the application continually according to arising needs. With assent, they even track disconnected commitment factors giving exceptional deceivability out of reach in any case. The resulting optimizations increase user value, retention, and recommendation likelihood.

Benefit 8 - Grow to New Stages and Gadgets Without any problem

Steadily enhancing stages like smartwatches, AR/VR headsets are cutting more current versatile boondocks. While sites can't powerfully adjust across gadgets, applications upgraded locally for individual operating system permit smooth availability all over. Proficient or free application developers effectively design assembles focusing on most recent participants keeping away from ground-up creation. Further, cross-stage portable app development services help quick movement assisting company with remaining on the ball, contacting undiscovered crowds. This future-evidences the suggestion versus unbending sites subject to work area perusing alone.

Benefit 9 - Increased Credibility and Perception

When compared to standard websites, featured app listings suggest a greater dedication to providing dedicated software for customers' needs. Their customized touch conveys renown for any brand while reflecting specialized fitness. A multi-stage prepared application reinforces authority as a cutting edge, client fixated undertaking finely receptive to industry developments. This positive discernment motivates more prominent certainty during beginning commitment and future communications, including trade. Progressed applications additionally mean better positioning in application revelation calculations like those of application stores and outsider postings.

Benefit 10 - Improved on Support and Updates

Sites require code alters and entire page revives for even minor upgrades across all gadgets. Applications discharge streamlined refreshes through unified stages on a continuous premise, in this way consequently synchronizing encounters. When compared to responsive websites that require browser cache clearing, enhancements and bug fixes are rolled out to all users simultaneously, saving time and effort. Further, applications give significant use bits of knowledge to designated developments though sites need deceivability into real client encounters.

Benefit 11 - Expanded Transformation and return for capital invested

By tending to client problem areas all the more instinctively, applications enhance transformations. Their smoothed out in-application processes empower frictionless exchanges. Highlights like pop-up messages trigger motivation buys further developing rates. Moreover, repeating adaptation models create long tail income outperforming one-time site transformations. According to Activate, successful apps generate three times more annual user value than responsive designs. The app economy now accounts for more than $6.3 trillion in annual global consumer spending thanks to remarkable return on investment (ROI). These convincing business benefits inspire significant application advancement speculation at last paying for themselves.

Thus, local applications convey unmatched functional benefits upping the payment in client experience, believability, support comfort and productive development - factors pivotal for serious separation, particularly as the portable scene advances. Their strength as the favored mode of buyer commitment highlights the essential need of this vivid organization.

Last Observations

In this way, the essential turn to high-performing versatile applications hoists the client experience and long haul business progress of company as appeared through winning industry models. We can assist you in converting a website into a mobile app if you are looking for a dependable on-demand app development company. Siddhi Infosoft has been one of the top names in the business. You can trust our group and get all the help with terms of changing over site into versatile application.

Resource: What Benefits of Converting Your Website to an App for Your Business

[keenphilosophertragedy]

Understanding GP Pipes: Features, Applications, and Benefits

Galvanized Pipes (GP pipes) are an essential component in various industries and construction projects. These pipes, made from steel coated with a layer of zinc, offer unique advantages that make them suitable for a wide range of applications. In this comprehensive guide, we will explore GP pipes in detail, including their properties, manufacturing processes, types, applications, advantages, and environmental impact.

1. What Are GP Pipes?

Galvanized Pipes, often referred to as GP pipes, are steel pipes that have been coated with a layer of zinc to protect them from corrosion and rust. The process of galvanization involves immersing the steel pipes in a bath of molten zinc, which creates a protective barrier on their surface. This coating makes GP pipes highly durable, corrosion-resistant, and suitable for a wide range of applications.

2. Properties of GP Pipes

2.1 Corrosion Resistance

The zinc coating on GP pipes acts as a sacrificial layer, corroding before the underlying steel. This property makes GP pipes highly resistant to corrosion, even in harsh environments with moisture and chemicals.

2.2 Durability

GP pipes are known for their exceptional durability and longevity. They can withstand the test of time and are less likely to degrade or develop leaks compared to non-galvanized steel pipes.

2.3 Strength

GP pipes are made from steel, which provides them with high tensile strength, making them suitable for various structural and plumbing applications.

2.4 Weldability

GP pipes can be easily welded using standard welding techniques, allowing for custom configurations and easy repairs when necessary.

3. Types of GP Pipes

GP pipes come in various types, each designed for specific purposes. Some common types include:

3.1 Threaded GP Pipes

Threaded GP pipes have threaded ends, making them easy to connect without the need for additional fittings. They are commonly used in plumbing applications for water and gas distribution.

3.2 Plain End GP Pipes

Plain end GP pipes do not have threaded ends. They are typically used in structural applications where welding or coupling is required.

3.3 Seamless GP Pipes

Seamless GP pipes are manufactured without any welding joints, resulting in a smooth and uniform surface. They are typically used in high-pressure applications where strength and reliability are crucial.

3.4 Welded GP Pipes

Welded GP pipes are created by welding together two or more sections of galvanized steel. They are cost-effective and suitable for applications where high pressure is not a concern.

4. Manufacturing Process

The manufacturing process of GP pipes involves several steps:

Material Selection: High-quality steel is selected for the production of GP pipes.

Cutting and Shaping: The chosen steel is cut into the required lengths and shapes using cutting machines.

Galvanization: The steel pipes are immersed in a bath of molten zinc, creating a zinc coating on their surface. This process provides corrosion resistance.

Cooling: The galvanized pipes are cooled to solidify the zinc coating.

Testing and Quality Control: Rigorous testing is conducted to ensure the pipes meet industry standards and specifications.

5. Applications of GP Pipes

GP pipes find application in a wide range of industries and sectors, including:

5.1 Plumbing

Water supply lines in residential and commercial buildings.

Gas distribution pipelines.

5.2 Construction

Structural support in buildings, bridges, and infrastructure.

Scaffolding and formwork.

5.3 Agriculture

Irrigation systems.

Greenhouse structures.

5.4 Manufacturing

Conveyor systems.

Fabrication of machinery and equipment.

5.5 Oil and Gas

Transporting and distributing oil, natural gas, and other petrochemical products.

5.6 Automotive

Exhaust systems in automobiles and motorcycles.

5.7 Water Treatment

Plumbing for water treatment plants and facilities.

6. Advantages of GP Pipes

6.1 Corrosion Resistance

GP pipes are highly resistant to corrosion, making them suitable for applications in environments with high moisture levels or exposure to chemicals.

6.2 Durability

GP pipes have a long lifespan and require minimal maintenance, reducing replacement costs over time.

6.3 Strength

The steel core of GP pipes provides excellent tensile strength, making them suitable for both structural and plumbing applications.

6.4 Easy Installation

Threaded GP pipes can be easily connected without the need for complex fittings, reducing installation time and costs.

6.5 Cost-Effective

GP pipes are generally more affordable compared to other corrosion-resistant materials like stainless steel.

7. Disadvantages and Limitations

7.1 Weight

GP pipes can be heavier than alternatives like PVC or plastic pipes, making handling and installation more labor-intensive.

7.2 Limited Resistance to Extreme Conditions

While highly corrosion-resistant, GP pipes may not be suitable for applications with extreme temperatures or highly corrosive environments.

8. Environmental Impact

Galvanizing steel involves the use of zinc, which is a finite resource. However, the extended lifespan of GP pipes and their recyclability contribute to reduced waste and resource conservation. Proper disposal and recycling of GP pipes at the end of their life cycle further minimize environmental impact.

9. Maintenance and Care

To maximize the lifespan of GP pipes and ensure their continued performance, regular maintenance is essential. This includes:

Inspection: Periodic inspections for signs of corrosion or damage should be conducted.

Cleaning: Removing debris and dirt from the surface can help prevent corrosion.

Repairs: Any damaged or corroded areas should be promptly repaired or replaced.

10. Conclusion

Galvanized Pipes (GP pipes) have been a reliable and essential component in plumbing, construction, and various industries for many years. Their corrosion resistance, durability, and strength make them a top choice for a wide range of applications. While they may have some limitations, their numerous advantages far outweigh the drawbacks. As we continue to rely on GP pipes for water supply, structural support, and other critical functions, it's essential to understand their properties, types, manufacturing processes, and applications to ensure their optimal use in various industries. Moreover, their recyclability and extended lifespan contribute to a more sustainable future, reducing waste and conserving resources.

More Read: Gp pipe | gp pipe manufacturers | crash barrier

[cipheramnesia]

"What are we even doing here?" Nguyen set up the tripod with complicated looking lenses and inscriptions over another sewer cover.

"We're surveying," Sy replied, pointing an aerial dish officiouslly along a sysnet leveling bar. He had cuttings from the plants growing in Genghis Khan festooned all over his body and the leaves were greedily drinking down the light of Nevamil - comparatively bright next to GK's closed ducts or bones, veins maybe? Sy never knew quite what its parts were called.

"I know, but this can't be the best way." She looked through the lenses, moved a few dials. She wasn't looking for anything specific as much as looking convincing about it.

Sy spray painted an X with a circle around it on the metal drain cover, gave Nguyen a serious looking thumbs up. She gave him the same gesture back but made it sarcastic. "Hey I have an idea, how about you lug the heavy case around for the next set and I carry the little dish and cane?"

"No can do, I'm a specialist. It says on my ID card." There wasn't anything special about the survey points in particular, other none of them being anywhere nearby a series of useful com nodes for the Gran Citadel.

Camera sight-lines curved and crossed overhead, a map of each microexpression of each person anywhere in the city. Predictive psyche analytics and riverflow chaos driven precognitive tracking poured through Aureodar. Sy and Ngyuen, walking among them, let their thoughts get lost.

Roads were gray from the mineral content of seaborn rocks, millions of incomprehensibly dead arthropods fleshed out into secure crete that used self repairing concentrations of acids and extremophile bacteria to resist the corrosion of constant drizzle or humidity or sleet that plagued Nevamil. They were riddled with cracks and potholes. Litter was almost nonexistent, each scrap of waste went to personal furnaces or pits in hopes of escaping the imprintation review by EUB's conformity division. Some of the larger and older buildings soldiered against erosion. Their ornate mouldings and rooftops reflected the joy of ocean waves and were covered in what may have been aquatic life a couple centuries of weathering early.

"GPS is useless here," Nguyen sighed. They had run across another broken up length of walkway, barred off by construction sawhorses. Several buildings were partially demolished with an empty crane and backhoe waiting on forms to get stamped by obscure officials, which would break their curse of stillness and allow them tobspring once more into life.

Nearly every shop had whited out windows or blank walls, opaque plastic doors. Signs were printed in compact, square fonts which were easily legible to anyone a foot away.

"Lots of parking payment stands," Sy added while they retraced their steps. "Not a lot of bikes, or personal transport." He sighed regretfully. "No food carts either."

The whole beautiful and silent mess of it all was a child's classroom diorama, painstakingly assembled with care, propped up at every corner with patches, PVC beams keeping walls from tumbling down, temporary detour signs, broken streetlamps with temporary repairs, half-hearted blessed river rocks against the rot. And not a single person bothered about their day, chatting and walking, children laughing and bumping into their parents, Sy and Nguyen excusing themselves around the odd cluster of slow moving teenagers.

"Imprint and surveillance driven states," Loren had explained, back on GK, "always end up too reliant on their own certainty of automation. Works on most people day to day, but the bigger the infrastructure, the more failures, and all those add up to a big predict precog strain."

Laika had snorted. "In that case the whole UEB is fucked."

"As a matter of fact it is." Loren had looked enormously pleased with himself. "If we follow a couple of these maps, their network probably won't track a prediction to us."

All they had to do was follow the map, one foot in front of the other, and don't think about it, don't worry about it. Just follow the map.

"Fuck" Sy said. They hit another detour.

"Just follow the map," Nguyen groaned.

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

Laika is preparing to return to her homeland for the second time. It is possible she has killed more people in this small country than anywhere else in her miniscule travels over the course of her immeasurably brief life. I have not asked Laika to discuss the extent of lives she has ended. This is for her to disclose or not, as she sees fit, as Pilot and also as Laika.

Whatever the number, I know it will constitute little more than a rounding error next to the extent of my extractions. It is a curious thing to handle these fragile animals with such delicacy. What would be fair exchange for millions, if not billions, of lives extracted into the grand structure of the Pilot? I am not equipped to calculate this exchange, and I do not expect it could be simplified to a mere transaction.

It does not matter. They are gone, and cannot be recovered. The Pilot decision is to reduce or eliminate such extravagant implementation in future, and I share in this with her. Laika cannot place the quantity of more than one million people killed into her mind in a way that grasps the scale of it. The human doctor is capable of this, and chooses to do so. For me, they are a number. Unimportant. It will probably be better if Laika does not dwell on this.

Laika is eating a large amount of the jerky from Stribog, and is alternating with consuming what must surely be multiple pounds of burritos. They have, thankfully, been heated in a small microwave. One of many purchases with the high density carbon latices aquired by Loren.

I do not need these structures anymore. The mote derived from Laika's deity and conglomerate unified structure of extraxted life and planetary organized structure is on a scale which I find astonishing. It is a discomfort of sorts, as my hunger has vanished rather than abated. A part of myself slumbers, perhaps forever. Or has it been excised? I do not know. In its place are thousands of metaphysical silver strands which may at times reveal themselves as mirrors edge-on, threaded across star and structure alike. These hold me out, rush me along, beat fast my heart which once was ever still.

This mote of the Ghostlands, these new prosthetics of the fae, together they constitute additive strength which I have not tested, with limits I cannot yet fully determine. It may be possible for me to destroy myself in a single overzealous act. I spend a great amount of my time thinking about this possibility.

"Laika," I say, "Your part in this process does not appear to be essential."

She swallows a burrito. Her form is still the small human woman who first stumbled into my airlock. "You're probably right I guess. And it's kinda risky, too."

"The risk is significantly higher than the potential benefits." I note.

"Yeah, kinda. But you'll know where I am the whole time."

"Yes. In law enforcement custody, on a planet, very far away from my bridge, which you will not be able to use in the event of immediate danger from out pursuers."

"You know that's not how I meant it. Besides, Dandridge and the Paperclip got you, he'll haul ass outta here if he has to. We all got the solutions memorized too."

"The Paperclip," I say, unable to curb my disdain from my words, "is slow."

"I don't know GK, I just need to see, or something. This place is so fucked, like, I can't stop thinking about it."

"Positive change could be implemented here."

"Maybe, I don't know, like..." Her hands close up into fists held close to her legs, which I have seen her do when trying to resolve difficult questions. "But I know I can really sell this plan. Might be only a little tiny reward, but, you know, I get to see. And maybe it pushes em a little more careless."

"I am also concerned about Talbert."

"Deep spacers are all like that. Some of em live a hundred years looking like they're one bad fall away from instant death."

Her mind seems determined to follow this path. It is very human to treat a small benefit from high risk as "worth it," while the very nature of such a comparison is an affirmation that it is not. Not worth it. I have obliterated a thousand worlds, and below me a tower of mere concrete and steel sits undefended, with no more than perhaps several thousand lives within.

I wait for now. I do not wish for that part of myself to be returned, yet it must not be allowed to remain in the possession of this United Eastquad Block. We will determine the correct pathway at another time, after these monsters are defanged.

Part 7: The Tower

a story by @rox-and-prose and @cipheramnesia

Dusk turned the Nevamil sky a flat aquamarine, and made visible the red lights blinking atop the Citadel. It was the tallest building in the capital city, Aureodar, even visible from the far off gridded streets of old houses converted into apartments. The last time Laika had seen it was a field trip for school.

The little blue Kirov was somewhere between the mountains and Genghis Khan and the most anonymous hopper port they'd been able to find in Aureodar. She worried about Sy, seemed ages past she'd been this physically far, though it was hardly more than weeks. Wires and talismans crossed over the streets, bikes and busses swooshed wet pavement, and linecars screeched overhead, all wrapped around her and her backpack and familiar unknown faces of the United Eastquad Block.

Ghosts gathered around her, whispering. You keep coming back here little wolf girl, you'll never get away from this place. Little wolf girl, you know you belong here. Freak. Queer. Sissy. Killer. Monster. You thought you were better than us, you never were. Laika let them needle and claw her. They were her ghosts, not the other way round. Every horrible word only built her up. Luna was with her in that way.

Most of the houses on K Street were mods, from early to late first century post-terraform. They were all retrofited from the original single family modules, but they were tough as nails, old construction built to weather thr storms of atmosphere generation. Number 1132 was where she was headed, lights were still on in the third floor windows.

Laika took a last look around on the front door's stoop. The poles for street lights and warden ropes all had at least three CCTV cameras and arrayed parabolic empathy receivers tuned into psychic conflict between morality and legality. She flashed a tight little smile at the familiar old glass eye of the state before pulling a short crowbar out of her bag and cracking the door open.

The third floor smelled of some sharp, fragrant allium along with sweet woody flavors and cooking meat, enough to rouse her stomach. Deep breath, ignore the ghosts, knock. A woman with her black hair in a bob cut, rolled up sleeves on her billowy dress, a little sweaty and confused, almost a quarter meter shorter than Laika. A wave of gaming sounds, net music, and oven warmth joined them both on the landing.

"Hey Tara," Laika said.

The other woman looked closer. "Laika? Oh tides, it is!" She wrapped Laika up in a big soft hug inside thick arms, crushing her stick body. "I thought you, I don't know, I thought you were dead! I mean, there were rumors?"

"Uff! Uh, hey. Sorry to be like, unannounced. Is it okay if I come in?" Laika hesitantly patted Tara's shoulders until the hug relaxed and her feet were back on the floor.

"You just have to, please. I'm sorry, when did you get back, why didn't you call?"

Unlacing her boots and slipping them off, she said, "I just got back today, um. I've been a bit off the net you know." She dipped her hand in the tiny basin by the door and thumbed a drop of water on the polished river stone at the altar. "But I wanted to see how you'd been, I guess. It just, well it's weird. That smells amazing."

She saw a couple kids blasting through uncreatively humanoid aliens, loudly and luridly across the living room screen, followed Tara into the kitchen and dinette area and watched her stir around sizzling veggies and meat in a wide dish. "Thanks," Tara said. "The spawn over there don't always appreciate it, but you know how... well, how kids can be..." Tara frowned awkwardly.

"Yeah, uh. Yeah." Laika rubbed the back of her neck. "So what all have you heard?"

Tara stuttered with a little embarassment. In the distance Laika could very faintly hear sirens, but she knew they weren't for her. The people who would come for her didn't use sirens or advertise their presence.

Half paying attention to Tara, she added, "Well, uh, some is true. But... you knew it was bad at home. Stuff happened. What about you though? Like, two kids? Wow!"

Tara probably was relieved at the change of topic, and Laika was glad to take a minute, but she couldn't focus all the way. She was waiting.

[buckybarnesdollface]

Is This A Bad Time?

Summary:  Bucky's so desperate to see his girl after a long mission, he rushes to her place without stopping at the compound to debrief. Poor Steve ends up on the end of a phone call he most definitely didn't want to be on.   

Warnings: Smut, fluff, f/m, embarrassed Steve Rogers, Bucky and reader are both cheeky little shits   

           “Honey, I’m home!”

            I let the dishcloth fall into the sink and then I was running out to the hallway as my heart beat erratically in excitement. He stood in the doorway, still in full tactical gear, dark circles under his blue eyes and a few scrapes on his stubbled face, but a wide grin curved his lips upward when I skidded into the hallway to greet him.

            “Bucky…” I breathed, and when he held open his arms I threw myself into them and pressed my face into his chest. He smelled like smoke and sweat and leather but after three weeks of not seeing him while he was on mission in Lisbon all I cared about was that he was warm and solid and here.

            “Missed you, doll,” he murmured into my hair, arms tightening around me.

            “I missed you, too. Three weeks is too long.”

            Bucky pulled away from me, blue eyes sparkling. “Aw, baby girl, did ya miss me lovin’ on ya every night?” he teased, and I gave him a wicked smirk.

            “Maybe a little,” I taunted. “Good thing I kept that vibrator Nat gave me for the secret Santa last year; it got me through more than a few lonely nights.”

            Just as I’d hoped, I struck the right nerve. Bucky’s eyes narrowed as a low growl rumbled in his chest. “You tellin’ me you’ve been gettin’ yourself off without me, doll?” he said in a low voice, and I shrugged.

            “Like I said, soldier; three weeks is too long.” I winked at him. “Don’t worry; I still screamed your name if that makes you feel better.”

            The next thing I knew, I was pushed up against the wall and his body was pressed against mine. I couldn’t help the little whimper that escaped my lips when he fitted a thick thigh between my legs, and a devilish grin stretched his lips slowly.

            “Oh, baby girl,” he breathed. “I missed the pretty sounds that you make.”

            I fought to keep my composure, but three weeks of living without his touch had me melting against him now. “When did you get back?” I asked him, and he grinned.

            “Just now.”

            My eyes widened. “You didn’t even check in at the compound? Buck, you’re supposed to debrief after every mission, or at least let someone know you’re back,” I scolded.

            “I did let someone know,” he murmured, nose skimming along my jaw as his hands slipped under my shirt and gripped the flesh of my hips. “As soon as I landed I came right to your place to tell you I’m back.”

            I wanted to scold him more, but oh, his hands on me felt so good and his words had my heart fluttering. “Bucky…” I breathed, and he ducked his head to pepper kisses along my throat.

            “Had to see my best girl before I did anything else,” Bucky mumbled into my skin. “Had to show her just how much I’ve missed her the past few weeks.”

            Losing the last of my resolve, I crashed my lips to his, hands fumbling to unzip his leather jacket and slide it from his shoulders. It hit the floor with a soft thud, and then Bucky’s hands were sliding under my thighs and lifting me up as he kissed me hungrily. He carried me to the bedroom and dropped me onto the bed.

            Deft fingers made quick work of the laces of his combat boots, and then he was kicking them off and climbing onto the bed after me. His lips reattached to mine as his hands massaged my breasts over the thin cotton of my t-shirt.

            “Mmm, no bra,” he murmured. “It’s like you knew I was coming home, doll.” I keened when he pinched my nipples between his fingers and thumbs, back arching off the mattress. “So responsive. Can’t believe I went three weeks without this.”

            “Need you, Buck,” I whined shamelessly.

            “Not near as bad as I need you, doll.” Bucky was quick to rid me of my shirt, mouth latching onto a nipple, and I gasped. His flesh hand slid down my body to slip under the waistband of my leggings, and he groaned as his fingers swept through my folds. “Already drippin’ for me, baby doll. Can’t wait to get a taste of this.”

            I shook my head, fingers curling around the front of his Henley. “Later,” I panted. “Right now I just need to feel you inside me.”

            The smug look on Bucky’s face transformed into something darker, and then he was practically tearing the rest of our clothes from our bodies. Lining himself up with my entrance, he slid into me in one forceful thrust. I cried out, nails scratching down his back as his length filled me completely, stretching me until it was almost painful. Bucky groaned, face pressed into my neck as he held still to give me time to readjust to him, his flesh hand kneading the flesh of my hip.

            “Fuck, doll,” he grunted. “You good? ‘Cause I don’t know how much longer I can hold still.”

            In answer I rolled my hips up into his and his fingers on me tightened. I whimpered as he pulled out of me and then thrust back in, slow but forceful, unable to focus on anything but how good it felt to finally have him inside me again after three weeks apart. He didn’t miss a beat, hitting all the spots in me that had me a whiny mess for him in no time.

            “Bucky…” I keened as he delivered a particularly hard thrust, and his lips curved up into a grin.

            “That’s it, baby girl,” he praised. “Let me hear you. God, I missed the pretty noises that mouth of yours makes when I’m inside you.”

            His words sent a fresh flood of arousal to my core, and I had just pulled him in for a searing kiss when all of a sudden his phone began to ring, the sound shrill and harsh in a room that was silent save for our sharp breaths and flesh against flesh.

            I paused, but Bucky’s thrusts didn’t cease. “Aren’t you gonna answer that?” I asked.

            “Nope.”

            “But it could be important –”

            Bucky cut me off as he lifted my hips off the mattress to hook my legs around him, hitting me at a new angle that left me breathless.

            “This is what’s important,” he growled, one hand snaking up my torso to pinch a nipple. I squeaked and he smirked. “I haven’t seen my best girl in three weeks. My top priority right now is making up for those three weeks.”

            Eventually the phone stopped ringing, and with a grin Bucky resumed his movements with more vigor.

            “So good, doll,” he grunted a couple of minutes later, after we’d both fallen back into the previous pace we’d set. My head fell back into the pillows, eyes squeezed shut as I felt the coil tightening in my belly. I was so close…

            The phone ringing sounded even more shrill and annoying the second time. I opened my eyes to give Bucky a pointed look. He pursed his lips and then reached over to the bedside table to pick it up and check the screen.

            “Who is it?” I asked.

            “Steve,” he replied, and then to my shock he shut the phone off and tossed it over his shoulder. It landed with a dull thud on the pile of our discarded clothes on the floor. My eyes widened.

            “Bucky!” I cried. “You can’t just do that!”

            “I can,” he murmured, trailing open-mouthed kisses along my jaw, “and I did.” His hands roamed my curves as he rutted into me. “Like I said, doll; you’re my priority right now. Everything else can wait until later.”

            I wanted to argue with him – I had told myself when we’d first started seeing each other that I wouldn’t let myself get between him and his work. Being an Avenger meant he had responsibilities that often had to come before anything else, and I respected that. But god, the way he felt on top of me and inside me right now…He could tell me he planned on stealing the Mona Lisa and I wouldn’t care as long as he kept making me feel this good.

            In one swift move Bucky rolled over, putting me on top. His hands on my hips were firm as he rocked me against him, and the moan that escaped my lips was obscene. Bucky smirked, but that smirk quickly turned into a sinful groan when I bent down to suck lightly on the pulse point at his throat. His hands slid from my hips to my ass, kneading the flesh and then delivering a quick but sharp slap that had me crying out his name and adding more heat to my already-flooded core. Just a few more well-placed thrusts and I would be…

            “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Bucky snarled as we were interrupted for a third time. This time it was my phone, and for a second Bucky looked like he was contemplating throwing it against the wall across the room.

            “Don’t even think about it, Barnes,” I warned, and with a roll of his eyes and an exaggerated sigh he reached across the bed to answer the call and put it on speakerphone. I made to slide off of him, but the vibranium hand still on my hip held me firmly in place.

            “I swear to god, Rogers, the world better be fucking ending right now or I’m gonna kill you,” Bucky growled, and I arched an eyebrow at him, which he only returned with a shrug.

            “I knew you were at (Y/N)’s,” Steve replied accusingly over the speaker. “That explains why you’ve been ignoring my calls.”

            “Yeah, of course I’m at (Y/N)’s,” Bucky retorted. “I haven’t seen my girl in three weeks; where else would I be?”

            “How about in your debriefing meeting? You know the protocol, Buck. We debrief before we do anything else. Tony is pissed.”

            “Tony can suck it,” Bucky muttered. I stifled a snort and Steve sighed.

            “Not to mention the fact that you didn’t even let anyone know you had returned. What if something had happened to you, jerk? We’d have no idea.”

            “Stop being such a punk, Steve. The quinjets all have GPS on them, you knew I was back in New York.”

            “Can you just get to the compound ASAP so we can do this debriefing? If you hurry up, we can get it done and over with.”

            “Can’t, Stevie, I’m a little busy right now. The debriefing can wait till later; nothing’s gonna change.” As he said this, his fingertips traced the dips and swells of my body with the lightest of touches, raising goosebumps on my skin and having me involuntarily rocking my hips against his. Caught off-guard, Bucky let out a grunt and we both froze, our eyes wide.

            “What was that?” Steve asked, and I watched as the flush crept up Bucky’s neck to his cheeks.

            “I, uh…tripped,” Bucky lied, “over (Y/N)’s cat.”

            I had to bite down on my hand to keep from laughing. Bucky glared at me, but there was a mischievous glint in his blue eyes.

            “You tripped over a cat,” Steve deadpanned, clearly not buying it. “Mhmm. Since when are you clumsy enough to trip over a cat?”

            “Since I just spent three weeks on a mission in Lisbon,” Bucky replied. “I’m exhausted.”

            His voice was tight, but not because he was annoyed with Steve. I had started rolling my hips against his, growing impatient with this phone call. Bucky’s eyes widened, and his jaw clenched as he fought to control his breathing. He narrowed his eyes at me, but I only smiled sweetly.

            “I get that you’re tired, Bucky,” Steve sighed on the other end of the line, “but we’ve got responsibilities. Let’s just get this debriefing over with. It’ll take twenty minutes, and then you can spend the next two weeks with (Y/N) if you want to.”

            A wicked grin on my face, I traded in grinding my hips into his for bouncing up and down, his cock sliding in and out of me deliciously. Bucky’s jaw went slack, and then he was sucking in a deep breath before speaking. “I told you, Steve, I’m…Fuck.” His eyes fluttered shut and his head hit the pillows as I picked up the pace. He waited until his breathing evened out before continuing. “I’m busy,” he finished, and I smirked as he shot me a look that screamed, “You’re in trouble.”

            “Busy doing what?” Steve demanded, his voice rising. “What the hell is going on over there that has you disregarding protocol?”

            With a devilish grin, Bucky lifted his vibranium hand to where we were joined and pressed his thumb to my clit. He began to rub circles on it with increasing pressure, and even though I fought hard to contain myself I was so tightly wound by this point that even the slightest pressure had me wrecked. I let out a sound between a whine and a moan, and Bucky looked triumphant as I fell forward until our chests were pressed together. He thrusted up into me slowly and I held my breath, knowing there was no way Steve hadn’t heard me.

            Things were silent for a moment, and then a cough came from Steve’s end. “Are you…Are you guys…?” he choked, unable to finish the question. My cheeks were flaming and I buried my face against Bucky’s shoulder; to hide my embarrassment or to keep from laughing I wasn’t even sure. Bucky was full-on laughing, his chest rumbling beneath me.

            “I told you I was busy, Stevie,” he chuckled pointedly. “Maybe you should have just left me alone.”

            Just imagining the flustered look on Steve’s face was enough to send me into a fit of giggles, and then Bucky and I were both laughing. Steve finally cut us off, his tone clipped.

            “You two are both disturbed individuals,” he said. “Just…” He stopped, as if to shake his head. “I expect you to be here in an hour.”

            Bucky smirked. “Aye, aye, Captain,” he taunted, and then he hung up the phone before Steve could say anything else. We both burst into fresh fits of laughter.

            “Poor Stevie,” I breathed. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to face him again.”

            “Maybe he should have minded his own business, then.” Bucky’s hands grabbed onto my ass and squeezed playfully. “Now, where were we? We still have at least half an hour before I have to leave and there are so many things I want to do to you in that time.”

            As he spoke, he thrusted up into me hard, and my gasp quickly turned into a wicked grin. I was so glad to have him home.

[race-week]

What’s new for F1 in 2021

Short Pre-Season Testing, Long Post-Season Testing

F1’s only pre-season test will take place over just three days this year. But at the end of the season, a much bigger three-day test has been planned. Teams will be restricted to one car modified to run with F1’s planned 18-inch 2022 wheels. Any other 2022 tech will not be allowed on the car.

At least one of the days must be used by 2021 race drivers for the purpose of tyre evaluation.

At least one day must be for young drivers, who have not competed in more than two grands prix in their career 

F1′s Biggest Calendar to date

A massive 23 races are on the 2021 schedule running from March until December. COVID may still affect things meaning there’s a risk they might not all take place, however seasons of this size are likely the way that F1 is heading, with the Concorde Agreement allowing up to 25 grands prix to be held in one season.

GP Weekends Altered

Friday practice will be reduced in length this year, with each session 60 minutes instead of 90.

The amount of running will likely remain the same as the number of tyres available isn’t changing. This should eliminate the spells of inaction through the sessions.

A small amount of time will be bought back in the form of an extended curfew, giving personnel an extra one hour away from the paddock overnight Friday to Saturday.

In addition, on 3 weekends (Italy, Canada and Brazil) Sunday’s race grid will be decided by a sprint race (1/3 of the race distance) on the Saturday so the weekend will be practice and qualifying on Friday, practice and sprint race on Saturday and then race on Sunday. The sprint races (also dubbed Super-Qualifying) will be awarding points for the top 8 finishers however there’ll be no podium celebrations.

W Series Joins the Support Schedule

W Series, the championship only for female racers will be joining the F1 support schedule in 2021 alongside F2 and F3.

This year, F2 and F3 weekends have been separated. But the amount of single-seater action has been reinforced by the addition of W Series, which will be supporting eight F1 grands prix in its second full season.

The championship will run at the French, Austrian, British, Hungarian, Belgian, Dutch, US and Mexican GPs

This is obviously a massive advancement for women in motorsport as it brings these drivers into view of the F1 teams as well as the F2 and F3 teams.

Aero Restrictions

With the all-new aero and tyre regulations deferred by a year into 2022, there was a concern that the continued development of the cars would lead to more downforce than the existing 2019 Pirelli-spec tyre could safely handle.

To mitigate against this, the floor has been narrowed at the back – just ahead of the rear tyre – by 10cm. The outer edge of the floor must diagonally run to this point from a point 180cm behind the front axle line.

The target of these changes was to cut downforce by 10% in the expectation that it would all be regained by the end of ’21. It is thought that this downforce reduction could slow the cars down by significant amounts - potentially up to a second a lap at downforce dependent tracks

Aero Testing Handicaps

The worst teams last year will have more development time to work with, while the most successful teams have less: Williams will be allowed 112.5% of the respective windtunnel and CFD limits, dropping in 2.5% increments for each position before arriving at 90% for Mercedes.

In the first year of this new system, the differences aren’t huge. But every little helps. So Mercedes has to ration its reduced amount better while Williams can apply its improved resources under their new owner in order to try and squeeze even more performance from its increased allowances.

But this could change during the year. The system will reset on June 30. Each team’s allowance for the rest of 2021 will depend on where it is in the constructors’ championship as of June 30, to keep the system as relevant to the real order as possible.

Budget Cap

Just to complicate all this a little further, F1’s first budget cap is coming into force in 2021. The allocated $145m (but with a bit of wiggle room either side depending on the final number of races) will force F1’s biggest teams to dramatically reduce their spending.

Not every team expects to compete at the budget cap level. Some (like Haas, and possibly Williams) will be beneath it. Given the extent of the change (and the fact the budget cap amount is even lower than originally planned $175m) the biggest spenders have until the middle of the year to reallocate staff completely, to avoid large-scale redundancies, with the pandemic still affecting many people’s lives.

Drivers and the top 3 team personnel as well as marketing costs are not included in the budget cap. The budget cap will also drop to $140m in 2022 and then $135m from 2023 onwards

[codylabs]

The Bottomless Pit

New scifi-horror story! Well, not exactly new, I’ve had it finished for a year or so now, but never shared it on Tumblr. It’s an entirely original story, so don’t expect any familiar characters or places. But it does introduce one or two pieces of worldbuilding for my original universe, which will be important for some of my other upcoming stories, so I figured now would be a good time to share it.

Enjoy.

Part 1

Once upon a time, far from here, at the bottom of the deepest shaft of the deepest mine, two boys stood regarding a pit that led yet deeper.

“You sure about this?”

“Yeah! C’mon, it’s not like there’s anything dangerous down there!”

Louis nervously leaned out over the fissure as far as he dared. It was true, there didn’t rightly seem to be anything at all down there; just blackness. The walls of the fissure passed beyond the range of their headlamps after the first twenty meters, and after that, floors and walls became nothing but indistinct void. It must be fifty meters deep, at least.

“You just let me down,” Peter pointed to the towing winch built into the belt of Louis’s suit. “Until I touch the bottom. And then when you see me standing down there walking around, you’ll be brave enough to come down too.”

“…What if there is no bottom?”

"...What do you mean 'if there's no bottom'? What else would there be?"

"I...? Uh... You know? I dunno."

"Every hole on every single one of the hundred million brazillion planets and moons in the universe has a bottom. Because if it didn’t, it would go straight through the place, and there’d be magma everywhere right? Which would make it not dark. But it is dark. Which means it doesn’t go forever.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Louis’s helmet was rattling around on his head as he shifted his weight this way and that, trying to find a comfortable position where he wasn’t sweaty. Even through a thick pressure suit, the body language was apparent. “I mean, like… Like… Okay, never mind.”

“C’mon dude. This is basic simple science stuff. And since basic simple science proves that there is a bottom, we can therefore find that bottom!”

“Yeah…”

“We know space pirates once used this moon as a hideaway. Maybe they hid treasure down there!”

“That’s stupid.”

“It’s not, it’s true. And it makes sense for them to hide their treasure down in the deepest, darkest hole they could find. And what’s deeper and darker than here? Nothing, that’s what! Look, my GPS says we’re… What, a kilometer below the surface already? No mines go that deep! This must’ve been dug by the first colony! You know. Before they disappeared.”

“Yeah, well…” Louis glancing at the floor behind them. “...Well, I guess the footprints were pretty weird.”

With no wind and no water on this moon, dust and dirt and stone remain exactly as they are until something disturbs them, meaning that footprints last forever, with newer ones layering on top of old ones. In a long-abandoned mine like this, one would have expected the most recent, top layer of prints to have been left by the mining tractor; the one that dug the tunnel. In most of the other tunnels, that’s just how it was. After all, there was never any reason the miners themselves to bodily enter the tunnel.

Except here, the tread marks weren’t the last tracks.

Louis and Peter had followed a set of three tracks, tracks from adult human boots, all the way down here… Two sets had been leading up to this very hole… But only one set could be seen returning…

“It must be pirates.” Peter nodded, as he gazed down into the crevice. “It’s the only explanation… That or aliens.”

“Aliens don’t exist.”

“Yeah, and that just leaves pirates, which makes more sense anyway.” Peter explained. “See, the Captain must have needed help from his second-in command to carry the treasure chest, but when they threw it in the hole, the Captian shot his buddy and threw him in too! Because the Captain knew that all pirates are nothing but dirty thieving buccaneers, so to keep his greatest fortune safe, he made sure that nobody else knew…! I bet we’ll find an evaporated mummy with a busted faceplate down there… And riches… Riches worth killing over… Gold and crystals and ancient forms of currency that have all been forgotten for centuries…”

Louis’s body language said he was almost convinced. (Not convinced enough to believe it, but almost convinced enough to try exploring it.) “But…” He offered one last objection. “Maybe they were just explorers or something. You know, like us. Maybe his buddy just got hurt down there, so he just carried him out… I mean, it doesn’t necessarily mean one of them died down there…”

“But there’s no piton left behind.” Peter gestured to the tunnel floor around them. “And no place where one was driven in… And they weren’t using jetpacks either, because there’s no disturbance in the dust from the downdraft… Which means they had no way back out.”

That tipped Louis over the edge, and he reluctantly began to unpack his climbing gear. “Oh-kaaaay…” He sighed, as he aimed the power-driver at the tunnel floor. There was a burst of compressed air from the driver, and a piton appeared in front of the barrel, embedded securely in the rock. He unspooled a length of cable from the winch and passed it through the piton’s pulley, then handed the end to Peter. “But… Uh… If you find anything scary down there, could you bring it back up so I can see it please?”

“You’re a baby.” Peter locked the cable into his harness, and stepped up to the edge of the crevice. “How are you a boy scout if you’re such a baby?”

“I’m a boy scout because I know everything.” Louis frowned, as he braced his feet against the side of the tunnel to balance out the winch. “I know how to maintenance all the types of engines that we use. I know how to build an airtight shelter out of nothing but rocks and resin. I know how to recycle urine without ever taking off my suit. I can signal for help in 23 languages. If we were crashlanded, then I would be the hero, and you would be the bumbling sidekick.”

“You also know how to be a baby.”

“I also know there was never any pirates on this moon.” Louis added. “Those are just rumors that sprung up around the old military depot in the Eastern hemisphere.”

“Which was destroyed by pirates!” Peter reminded him as he leaned into the cable. He bounced slightly, just to convince his mind that the thin material could actually hold his weight.

“Destroyed by themselves via routine self-destruction. That was standard scorched-earth policy back during the war.”

Louis leaned out over the blackness, at an angle where the cable was supporting the majority of his weight. And he prepared to step out into darkness. “Being a baby must be standard policy too, huh?”

"In certain circumstances yes, maybe being a baby is standard policy.”

“Your mom is standard policy.”

“Negative.”

“Line down.”

Naturally, Louis’s winch made no sound in the airless environment. All Peter could hear were his own boots scuffling and sliding down the first section of the crevice sides, and the faint rhythm of the winch vibrating down through the taught cable. And, of course, there were all the familiar background sounds: the hissing of the life support in his pack, the whirring of the water pump warming his extremities. And above all, his helmet echoed his own breathing back toward him, muffled and close and incredibly loud. That omnipresent, overbearing sound of breathing used to scare him when he’d first worn a space suit; made him feel either profoundly claustrophobic and alone, or feel like Darth Vader was standing behind him.

But now he was a boy scout. And boy scouts are many things. They aren’t babies, first of all. Second of all, they’re responsible, and dutiful, and they know their equipment. Third, they can survive outdoors. So in this day and age, when most doors opened into hard vacuum, you can know for darn sure that a good boy scout isn’t afraid to be out on his own in it, locking his life behind nothing but a little fabric and glass.

This fabric and glass was rugged, and tough, and meticulously well-maintained. It was his armor. And inside it, he was as safe. Safe as he was in his own home.

Peter found that the crevice was widening as he descended. The tunnel wall dropped sideways from beneath his feet, and he soon found himself hovering on his back, suspended from his harness like a sack of freight as the walls continued to recede above him. “Louis be advised.” Peter said. “Tunnel is widening significantly. I have lost physical contact with the wall. Over.”

“How is visual contact? Over.” Louis’s voice came through Peter’s radio, as it always had.

Peter looked left, and right. The ‘hole’ they’d descended seemed to actually be some sort of chasm or fissure, running through the moon’s crust like a cut or a tectonic crack. It stretched off into blackness to either end, far further than his beam could search, must be more than a hundred meters. As for the walls to either side of him, they were widening, dropping off into the distance steadily, like the incredibly steep, jagged walls of an upside-down canyon. He could still see them, but his light could only reach so far; if they became dim enough, he wouldn’t be able to focus on them past the slight glare reflecting off the scratches in his helmet.

And no, he could not yet see the bottom.

“Mediocre, and getting worse. Over.” Peter answered.

“Do you wish to abort? Over.” Louis asked.

“No!” Peter let himself hang flat on his back again, so he was looking straight up the cable at the opening above him. The glow from Louis’s light was brightly illuminating the inside of the mineshaft, forming a jagged splotch of bright brown surrounding the cable’s end. “No…” He repeated, talking to the light. “Just a bigger hole than I thought, that’s all. Don’t blame the Captain for throwing his treasure down here; it’s a good hiding spot. Over.”

Louis ignored that.

The winch continued to spin, the cable continued to unwind, the light continued to shrink above, the walls continued to recede.

“Peter be advised…” Louis’s voice was slow and careful, not quite nervous. “Tension in cable seems slightly uneven. Over.”

“Uneven?” Peter frowned up at his friend. “Louis, please elaborate. Over.”

“It’s decreasing… Like you’re getting lighter… Are you dropping rocks out of your pockets or anything? Over.”

“No… Is your winch speeding up?”

“No…”

There was a brief moment of silence while they both pondered all this.

“Maybe your legs are going numb.” Peter suggested. “Uh, over.”

“Maybe… Yeah, I dunno, I don’t think so… Seriously, if you’re messing with me-”

“I’m not messing with you…” That gave Peter an idea: mess with him. He began to flail his arms and legs to make the line bounce. “I… I think I feel it too!”

“You feel the tension decreasing?”

“No, it’s just kind of… Bumpy… Like somebody’s shaking it…! Are you moving around up there?”

“N-no, I’m not moving an inch!” Louis said. “Uh… Oh, wow, actually yeah, I can feel it bouncing too now!”

“I think something’s on the cable!” Peter cried out. “I think something grabbed it! Oh no, I can see it! OH MY GEEZ! It’s coming toward me!”

“WHATISWHATIS WHAT’S COMING TOWARD YOU?!?” Louis was getting hysterical.

The bumping in the line stopped. All was silent on the radio. Peter held his breath in gleeful anticipation.

“Oh.” Louis said after a few seconds. “Ha ha. Very funny. Over.”

“PFFWA HA HA!” Peter burst out in a spasm of laughter. “You should have heard you! Over.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, you’ve had your laugh, now no more thrashing around, alright? Like seriously, you’ll freak me out… And if you were just planning on making a fool of me, you shouldn’t have invited me on the mission… Over.”

“It’s not a ‘mission’, and I didn’t ‘invite’ you. I said I was gonna go look for pirate treasure, and then you begged to come along. Over.”

“I didn’t beg.”

“Did too.”

“You’re stupid. Over.”

“You’re a baby. Now keep lining down; I never said stop. Over.”

Louis sighed and flipped the switch again.

The winch started spinning again.

Peter continued to drop.

Five minutes later, Louis finally spoke. “Peter come in; please tell me you’re getting near the bottom…! Over!”

Peter looked over his shoulder. “No, still can’t see a thing down there, over.”

Five minutes further, Louis’s voice had a sharpness to it. “WHEN should we abort, over?”

“Would you quit it with the abort talk?” Peter snapped, and shook his fist up at the fading light. “Just keep spooling down until I tell you to stop, okay? You’ve got, like, a barjillion meters of line in your winch, and it’s rated for, what, two tons?”

“Four.”

“Four! Four tons! That’s about 100 of me! In Earth gravity! This is, like, less than half Earth gravity, so that thing should be able to hold 200 of me, easy! I’m literally in no danger at all! Over.”

“But…!”

“Just keep spooling down until I tell you to stop. Okay? Over.”

“…Okay. Over.”

“Great. Over.”

“Yeah… Yeah, great. I will. Over.”

“Over.”

“Over yourself.”

“Over times two.”

“Over infinity. Over.”

The walls were getting wider and wider still, and Peter’s light was getting no brighter. Soon, the passing rock began to fade. Nothing mysterious about it, the walls just receded further and further until they merged with the black background, leaving nothing but blurs and shadows. And as Peter waited, it seemed that even those blurs were inching their way upward, to disappear into the ever-growing darkness he’d already passed.

Only the speck of light from the distant mineshaft remained clearly visible directly above; that and whatever length of cable was near enough to be seen. A pinpoint of light piercing down at him, and the cable pointing toward it like a finger, as if to remind him that he was not some lonely spider suspended on a web, but that there was light, and company, and good solid ground awaiting him above, whenever he should choose to return.

The last glimpses of rocks passed out of sight. There may as well be no more walls. He looked over his shoulder again, hoping, if not expecting, the floor to be coming up to meet him soon. Surely the bottom must be approaching soon, right…? But it was not.

His light had become utterly useless now, with nothing else around to illuminate. And when that realization struck him, it sowed the seed of doubt. Maybe Louis’s right. Maybe I shouldn’t do this. I should abort, let him reel me back topside, come back later with the scout leader and a big crane and some huge ol’ searchlights… Yeah… Yeah, this hole, this CHASM, was bigger than I ever would have imagined, and one kid with a headlamp isn’t enough to conquer it…

No…

No, keep going, Peter.

It’s got to end sometime.

He looked up at Louis’s dot of light above him. It’s got to end sometime. It’s not bottomless.

Unease built.

It festered in the back of his mind, surged forward every once in a while to try to bring him to panic, to get him to give up, but each time he forced it back. More and more he found himself staring upwards at the spot of light. Strangely enough, it seemed to be getting reddish. As if blood were throbbing forward into his eyesockets, or as if he was gradually being engulfed in some fog, or filter. Perhaps this pit was flooded with trace amounts of some heavy, reddish gas, and as he descended the depths of it clouded over.

However it was happening, he had become utterly fixated on that spot of light, measuring how it faded and shrunk and reddened, trying to estimate when that final singular anchor would fade away.

Five more minutes passed.

You know, it was bizarre. He hadn’t noticed it quite as fast as Louis had, since he’d been hanging comfortably by his harness instead of bracing against the walls with the winch, but Louis was right: the tension in the line was decreasing.

How was it decreasing? How did that make any sense? No, he wasn’t dropping rocks from his pockets, no, the winch couldn’t be gradually accelerating, as the motor only went one speed… It didn’t make any sense.

Ten minutes.

The light… Was the light getting fainter up above? It seems that now, Peter could barely make out the pinprick of red light that was the opening of the mineshaft. There was only the cable, and himself, hanging in the black.

Nineteen minutes.

Nineteen and a half minutes.

Peter found himself staring at the timer in his helmet, waiting for the seconds to finally add up to the big two-oh, and he’d finally have a good round number to affix to his boredom, and his boredom was the excuse he would affix to his request that they finally abort this pointless plunge.

“H-hey!” He radioed up to Louis. “Y-you know dude, th-th-this is a drag. It’s been twenty minutes. Let’s just reverse it now, eh? This is getting silly! Bring me back up! Over.” It felt really good to finally say it actually; to admit that his friend was right; to give up. It felt good, in a way, to never have to discover what lay at the bottom of this hole.

But horror beyond all horrors, there was no answer!

“Louis? LOUIS! Louis, come in! Louis, do you read?!? Over!”

He was still going down!

“LOUIS COME IN!”

His friend didn’t respond, but the line kept descending, and the tension kept lowering, and the light was very, very red and kept fading, and Peter found himself in tears, crying and trembling.

He looked back over his shoulder again, but he still couldn’t see the bottom!

What’s going on?!? Why can’t Louis hear me?!? How far down does it go?!?

In a sudden flash of inspiration, he remembered; he remembered what he should have done in the first place, before ever starting into the pit. How could I forget? In all the movies, whenever anybody descends into the dark, they always throw a flare or a flashlight or a torch first! They always drop a light so they can get a gauge of how far it goes! It’s only smart! Heck, forget movies, I’m a boy scout! I should have instantly known to do that, how could I forget?!?

I still can!

With shaking hands he fumbled the emergency flare gun out of his belt, and loaded a brightly-colored canister into the barrel. Then he twisted around in the harness, pointed the gun straight downwards into the exact center of that gaping black void, and pulled the trigger.

The flare burst from the gun, and flew straight down. Gravity continuously accelerated it, and without air resistance, it kept going faster and faster, a brilliant yellow missile glowing with incredible brightness, speeding ever faster.

And continued.

And continued.

And continued.

It slowly faded from yellow to white to blue, growing steadily more distant and small and faint with the distance. Finally, after craning his neck to watch it for what felt like minutes, he found he could no longer even see it.

Good grief! Up on the surface, those flares are normally visible from kilometers out! Kilometers!

Louis was right all along! It’s bottomless! IT’S A BOTTOMLESS PIT!!

He looked back upwards. His panic, which was already skyrocketing, was suddenly compounded when he realized that he couldn’t see the light of the mineshaft anymore. He hurriedly turned off the light in his own helmet, in hopes that he could see better without the slight glare. Yes, that was it; if he killed all his own lights, he could just barely make out the mineshaft, shining like a red star high above. “Louis!” He screamed into his radio. “Louis, bring me up! It’s bottomless! You were right, it goes on forever! You gotta bring me up! Abort! LINE UP!!”

No answer.

He fumbled a second flare out of his pocket, and reloaded. Taking careful aim, the very most meticulous and steady aim, he pointed the missile directly at the patch of light. Perhaps if he could be a totally bona-fide sniper with this little flare pistol, perhaps if the flare traveled dead-center, then perhaps it would get near enough to the shaft for Louis to glimpse its glow, and realize that their radios had been somehow compromised, and reverse the line.

He fired.

The second yellow missile streaked from the gun, this time in exactly the opposite direction of the first.

It went straight up, growing redder and redder as it did.

A minute later, it returned to its yellow color as it came straight back down. It passed by Peter again not 10 meters to his left.

And it disappeared into the dark below with the other flare, once again fading to white and then blue. Now that Peter had his lights off, he thought he could still see the first flare glowing in the incredible distance. It hadn’t hit the floor yet.

Bottomless, bottomless…

He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to look at anything anymore. Wanting to exchange the hungry, malicious blackness around him for the close, comfy blackness of the backside of his eyelids. Anything to pretend he wasn’t where he was. But the silence was heavy on his ears. Louis wasn’t there any more, only the hissing of his suit’s life support, the whirring of its heater, and his own breathing. And of course he couldn’t ignore the tension in his harness; The tension is still dropping! Now it’s about half what it should be; like for some physically impossible reason the cable is just stretching and I’m falling faster and faster forever and ever and I can’t feel it! Except I can feel it! I feel like I weigh half of what I ought, like I’m halfway to the moon’s center. But that’s impossible! How could he lower me so deep? And if I’m so deep, where’s the magma?!? Oh God, how can it not have a bottom?!?

God…

That’s right, God!

Without any hesitation, Peter curled into a ball, folded the gloves of his spacesuit against his helmet, and began to pray.

“Dear God…! Dear God, come in God! God come in, I’m scared! Please help! Please help it not be bottomless!” He wondered if there was some kind of enormous monster instead of a bottom, or if the moon was hollow and infested with Aliens, or if this pit led straight to hell. “Please make Louis reverse the line!” He pleaded. “Please make it be alright again…! And…! Andandand if you don’t do any of those other things God, then please, please, please make me brave…!”

He continued down.

“Please make me brave.”

He never stopped.

“A-a-amen… Over.” He stuttered. And as his prayer finished, he knew that even through a kilometer of stone, even across the vast reaches of space, even from out of the depths of this unbelievable void, God had heard him. That’s right… God is in control… God knows where this pit leads, heck, he probably created this pit! That means he knows when I’ll reach the bottom. He knows if I’m gonna get back out or if I’m gonna die… In fact, he knew all this before I ever got up this morning. He knows what I’ll find down here, and he still loves me… God loves me. He’s still looking out for me.

Even down here.

And God answered Peter’s prayer; God made him brave.

Peter opened his eyes.

And then he turned his lights back on, and found that the empty pit wasn’t quite so empty anymore. Way off in the distance to his left and right, his lights seemed to be illuminating something… Not a bottom, but something along the walls; yes, the walls seemed to be narrowing again, at least partially… That was a good sign.

The walls got nearer.

And now that they were back in range of his light, he could see something really quite strange: they were no longer made of rock. He could scarcely believe his eyes at first, but the walls were made of metal now, shinier and more uniform. On his left side, he was currently moving past some kind of enormous, curved surface, like the flank of an incredible water tank. A line of rivets bordering a seam confirmed its artificial nature.

On his other side, there was what appeared to be some kind of weight-bearing truss, like you’d see holding up the archways of an old bridge. There was another tank beside the truss too, and what looked like a ganglion of pipes, just on the edge of the range of his light.

As he continued downward, there were other structures. There were round, rivetted tanks similar to the first one, most of them smaller and miscellaneous, but a few quite a bit larger. In between the tanks and the trusses, great cuboid somethings were bolted to trusses, and the housings and shafts of unfamiliar machinery poked out and interconnected here and there. All through the labyrinthian industrial complex, pipes of every imaginable shape and size stretched and curled.

He sure was glad that God had made him brave. With that bravery, he hazarded another communication. “Louis, be advised.” He said, just in case his friend was still able to hear him. “The tunnel walls now appear populated with mechanical structures. Looks like it could be a factory or a refining installation of some kind. Maybe something else. Not seeing any movement or people, so I think it’s abandoned. And there are no lights, so I’m assuming it’s powerless. I’m also not seeing any words or language on any of the pipes, so your guess is good as mine as to who made it… Yeah. Anyway, it’s weird. Over.”

Louis evidently didn’t hear him.

“Louis, be advised.” He continued a few minutes later. “Looks like the machinery is ending. The last of it is passing out of sight, and I’m in blackness again. It was all just on the walls, and the pit itself is still bottomless… Over.”

The tension in the line was as low as it ever had been, perhaps a quarter of his own weight. He thought back for a moment to his science classes: Newton said that if he wasn’t changing speed at all, then that means the total amount of force on him balanced out to zero. Meaning the tension in the line must be equal to his weight, which meant that he must be getting lighter. But he wasn’t losing any mass, so that means the gravity must be decreasing. Somehow.

He imagined that if it continued, he would eventually be weightless entirely. It didn’t make any sense to him how that was happening, but he understood how the affect was progressing, and it was consistent and logical in its own queer way.

It was logical. It didn’t necessarily make sense, but it made a sense.

The logic and predictability of it made him feel a little better, and he allowed himself to relax. In fact, as he rested on the end of the tether under ever-decreasing stress, the inside of his suit began to seem very comfy. Indeed, he even began to feel sleepy…

Well… I can’t keep going down forever. Louis doesn’t have infinite cable in his winch, and his winch doesn’t have infinite batteries. He’s smart enough to know when enough is enough, and he’ll bring me back up eventually.

…

Thank you, God, for making me brave.

He turned off his light to save battery power in the suit, and settled back to wait.

[ahiijny]

an interesting thing I learned today was that global warming might result in a negative leap second sometime in the future

(admittedly the earth's rotation is affected by lots of complicated factors so it might not be that clear-cut, but anyway)

so you may be thinking 'but leap seconds are like a single second? so short! who's going to notice?'

well tbf the impact from these leap seconds is going to be most strongly felt by high precision things like GPS or NTP servers whatever (and the poor devs who have to maintain the software lol) but leap seconds have historically caused unexpected problems in financial markets and all sorts of websites and servers as well, so...

in any case, I find all this really fascinating and pls bear with me while I nerd out a bit about this :P

so normally speaking, the Earth's rotation should be gradually slowing, because the pull of tides from the Moon and so on (though there are other influences too, like fluid flow in the outer core, the movement of Earth's crust, etc. so it's all very complicated)

until recently, the length of a day has been about on average 1-2 milliseconds longer than 24 hours (note that there are seasonal variations though).

1-2 milliseconds may not seem like much, but it adds up over time!

in fact, it's the job of the IERS to monitor the difference between UTC (universal coordinated time) and earth's rotation angle (UT1), and decide when to insert a leap second to prevent them from drifting too far apart

the current version of UTC (as defined by the ITU) requires the difference between UTC and UT1 to be no greater than 0.9 seconds. The IERS typically inserts a leap second when the difference grows to 0.6 seconds.

HERE'S A GRAPH

see, the difference between UTC and Earth's actual rotation angle keeps drifting. UT1 keeps falling behind UTC, so those vertical lines are every time the IERS inserted a leap second, to bring UTC and UT1 back closer together

since UTC is ticking faster than UT1 bc of Earth's rotation slowing, we typically need to insert positive leap seconds for when UTC gets too far ahead

positive leap seconds take the form of an extra time second 23:59:60, which happens at the same instant UTC everywhere around the world

historically, we've needed to insert a leap second every 1-2 years or so

it's not very regular tho, bc the Earth's rotation can vary in unpredictable ways. Even earthquakes and the filling of the three gorges dam had a detectable effect on the Earth's rotation.

but what's this? if you look back up at the graph above, you may notice that the graph seems to flatten out near the end there. Why's this happening?

here's ANOTHER GRAPH (with tiny text sorry)

the squiggly green line here shows the deviation in length of day relative to a SI day (i.e. 86400 SI seconds). Look for the ±0 ms baseline on the left vertical axis.

in the 1970s Earth's rotation was in the range of 1-2 ms longer than an SI day

but recently the length of a day has been shortening, and in 2020, there were a large number of days where the length of a day was actually slightly less than 86400 SI seconds! (mostly by less than a millisecond, but still)

2020 had 28 of the shortest days on record since 1960, and days in 2021 are predicted to be even shorter (note that the difference is on the order of milliseconds... but stillllll)

this is actually why we haven't seen any leap seconds recently. The previous one was in 2016. In fact this is the first time since 2003 when we will have had a 256 week period without leap seconds

and this in fact might cause some GPS systems to bug out hehe. In the widely used gpsd package, there was a recently reported bug "GPSD time will jump back 1024 weeks at after week=2180 (23-October-2021)". This bug happened bc the code author wrongly assumed that leap seconds would be more frequent :3

and if the Earth continues to speed up like this, the IERS may need to insert a negative leap second at some point in the future, to bring UT1 and UTC back closer together

this would take the form of the UTC clock going from 23:59:57 to 23:59:58 and then skipping directly to 00:00:00.

in the history of UTC there has never been a negative leap second, so needless to say software ppl aren't too excited at the prospect of this happening :3

so what's causing the earth's spinning to unexpectedly speed up?

there's been some research that suggests changes in the density and circulation of ocean temperature rises might result in a net transfer of mass to higher latitudes. but the predicted time deviation doesn't fully explain the changes we currently see

there's also the idea that ice melt results in water running downhill, resulting in a redistribution of mass closer to its axis of rotation

but at the same time, a redistribution of ocean mass to the equatorial latitudes would result in mass going farther away from Earth's axis of rotation

or maybe it's just Earth's crust and magma and stuff doing weird things again, who knows!

the Earth's rotational axis isn't static either; it can shift, and that might also change the effective rotational inertia

it's probably a complicated combination of a whole bunch of factors

but anyway, why do we even have leap seconds?

well the main motivation for leap seconds was when we switched from solar time to atomic time around the 1950s-ish. So before our clocks became accurate enough to tell the difference, we just said "yo, a second is 1/86400 of the time it takes for the sun to go all the around the sky, by definition" and that's good enough! the length of a day can vary by a few milliseconds from year to year but we wouldn't have been able to tell the difference.

but gradually timekeeping precision requirements grew so eventually in 1967 a second was defined to be "9,192,631,770 periods of the something something something caesium atom" which was way more precise and good for atomic clocks but bad for keeping the clocks in sync with the sun

so the concern was without leap seconds our atomic-clock-based timescale would drift relative the sun and then eventually we'd have solar noon when our clocks said midnight and vice versa

I mean, sure, that probably wouldn't happen for thousands for years, but procrastination is bad, ok?

but still admittedly leap seconds are somewhat controversial and there's plenty of Discourse™ about this, esp. in academic circles and stuff, so if any of you into that kind of thing here's one possible starting point :3

anyway some ppl have made some code to make predictions based on IERS bulletin A, so based on the latest Earth rotation measurements as of 29 July 2021, and whole bunch of (and I quote) "very large, probably unjustified assumptions"...

expect a negative leap second in the ballpark of June 2029 :3

[raniiaaa]

walk me home

A gut feeling. That was what people who trusted themselves called the inner mechanism that helps them decide what’s right. You never had an inner compass telling you what to do. Actually, no, that's inaccurate. You had a compass, but its needle flitted wildly around, drawn to multiple unknown magnetic fields, leaving you to decipher which direction it stayed on for a millisecond longer. Nonetheless, you had this flawed sense of direction, but then he walked through that door for the first time. The effect was instantaneous. He was like neodymium, resolving your case of reversed polarity. 

The swanky party had progressed under the light of a surprisingly prominent New York full moon. Tinkling clinks of champagne glasses and gentle chatter played as a secondary soundtrack to a jazz quartet. As caterer staff, you needed to blend in with whatever wall you were positioned at. The table you were unofficially assigned to was taken care of right now, which meant you may be able to sneak out for a minute to just rest. The thought of it made your head loll slightly. This had been a long night and an unusual event. The attendees were the bigwigs of New York, which is saying a lot. There was a pre-event meeting where your boss outlined all the necessary procedures, your rush plan, and the times each of you would be cut. They didn’t need staff sitting around, which meant you could get out of these shoes soon and settle into your couch with some takeout and a movie on. You were just preparing for your last stretch when he arrived. 

...

You had been wondering who the empty seat at the table was for, which was now no longer a mystery. His entrance had been through a side entrance, not the elaborate front door like all the other party guests. Everything about how he carried himself led you to believe he was trying to draw the least amount of attention to himself. It wouldn’t be possible though, no one that beautiful could ever hide effectively. The spare glance he gave you when settling down in his chair held you in place, almost like it was his own arms pinning you to the wall you were backed up against. You quickly turned your head to face another direction, heat blooming at the apples of your cheeks. Just an hour and then you’d be gone. With the arrival of this stranger, you weren’t as excited to leave. 

...

Though consciously avoiding him for the rest of your time, your attention (and interest) didn’t turn away from him. You knew who he was, how could you not. The solemn eyes were more of a giveaway than the metal arm should have been, but there was so much about James Buchannan Barnes for you to notice. He was quiet, sipping on a glass of water and observing all the others. You had been wrong, this man could hide in a desert. 

You remained hyper-aware of him. 

It was your job to be attentive, you told yourself, that the business guests bring helps pay your salary. Yet there was no reason for you to observe the subtle way he leaned back in his chair, like putting space between him and others. Or the length of his lush eyelashes, how they frame that icy gaze. Said gaze flitted over you now, as you filled the glasses at his abandoned table. The glass in front of him was next, empty enough to require your attention. “Would you like some water sir?” your tone is cordial and removed, like a digital assistant’s pre recorded dialogue. He shakes his head, swirling the water in his glass carefully. You move to leave, but his voice stops you. “Why did you fill those other glasses?” his tone lacks any animosity, but you feel embarrassed nonetheless. You gape a little, prompting him to look away from the whirlpool in his glass and to you. His direct attention does not help with your answer at all. “It’s policy,” you say, an appeasing smile on your face. You want to tell him that you thought it was stupid too, even talked to your manager about it being a waste. Then one party guest complained about an empty water glass after coming back from the dance floor and you were back to seeing ridiculous amounts of water wasted. You couldn’t say any of this, though. Could you? Maybe, but you wanted this night to be a textbook one. You extracted yourself from the table, but there was a pull to stay. You defied it and left. 

 ...

He was here again, for another soiree with the rich and famous. You couldn’t tamp down the little flutter of excitement in your chest at the sight of him, chastising yourself for it immediately after. Adjusting your uniform ever so slightly, you set off to work another event, trying to ignore how your attention kept drawing itself to the northwest area of the lanai. 

...

The glass must have an optical illusion type design to it because there was much more bourbon in it than you thought. Or maybe you felt that way since it was running down your chest at the moment. The drunk party guest was nice at least, offering up an enthusiastic apology, swatting you with a tissue. Trying to extract their fondling hands graciously, you excused yourself and left.

 You rush to get a spare shirt from your locker and then go to the staff bathroom. The door was locked. Fuck, you need to get out of this shirt fast. Trying the guest bathrooms, you were actually thankful for the locked doors. Guessing from the noises coming through from the other side, the risqué situation wasn’t one you’d want to interrupt. That left one choice. 

...

Your hands fumbled, trying to extract yourself from your sodden prison. Stripping in a dark alleyway wasn’t something you expected to do tonight. Just when the fabric slipped from your shoulders, you heard a cough. Fuck.

You spun around to see. 

It was him. 

Double fuck. 

Your hands went to cover yourself. “I’m sorry.” you both say at the same time. He averts his eyes while you hurriedly pat yourself dry and put your shirt back on. “I wouldn’t have been here if I’d known it was the changing room.” he has a nervous smile on his face. The belated realization that he made a joke jolts you out of your frozen state. You sound a genuine laugh but it comes out strangled. Now it’s your turn to say something and you fall back on your previously assigned social roles. “Why are you back here Sir? We have a smoking room upstairs if you need a space for that,” you said, smoothing out the front of your uniform. Your hands slow as he stays silent, just looking at you. Are you imagining the way his eyes rove over your frame? Surely you must be. He looks up, sees how you’ve stilled and straightens up a bit. Shaking his head a bit, he nervously motions his hands in your general direction. “I’m sorry, it’s just that-” he pauses again, and you watch him with bated breath. “Your uniform isn’t on right.” Oh. 

Now you’re looking down at yourself in a frenzy, trying to right whatever mistake you made. He seems to take pity on you after a few minutes of not having located what it is. “I can,” he clears his throat, trying to rid it of the anxious growl it held, “Can I help you?” 

Your hands fall to your sides, a brief nod is all you can manage. He steps forward on the balls of his toes, like he anticipates you’ll run. The problem was in your collar, the back folded awkwardly within itself. You try not to think about how close he now is to you, enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him. Here you are, observing him again. Except you notice everything you couldn’t see from a distance. There’s a slight stubble across his chin and his eyelashes curl more than you thought. 

His nimble fingers fix it quickly, withdrawing from their previous position quickly. This action causes his hands to graze your neck. The sensitive skin there reacts, sending electric shocks all throughout your body and you jolt back. His reaction follows within the next few seconds. Before you can say anything, he’s already disappeared through a back door of some kind, into the sights and sounds of the crowd. 

...

You should have known not to carpool with Jack tonight. Unfortunately, he was the only one on the crew tonight who lived in your general vicinity. Also unfortunately, he got a salacious call from his girlfriend. Before you could even comprehend his words, you were dumped on the sidewalk. 

The night wasn’t ready to be over, it seemed. 

Following the bright blue line of the GPS on your phone, you began the trek to your home. Chilly air bit at your ears and you wished something warmer was between you and the elements. Hugging the thin jacket to yourself, your attention was tunnel visioned to the path directly in front of you. ‘Right, left. right, left’ you repeated, hoping this rhythm would get you through the 45 minute walk that lay ahead of you. Having just acclimated to your situation, something collided with you. Pushed to the ground, your heart didn’t have time to race before you were pulled upright again. The arms steadying you felt … familiar? Lo and behold, James Buchannan Barnes was before you, equally shocked to see your face. “Hello,” you said, rushing to get the words out before you lost the courage. Seeing him in the glitter of high profile parties while you worked was one thing, but running into a person of his stature out in the regular world was another thing. The suit he had been wearing a few hours before was now semi deconstructed. The top two buttons were undone, giving you just a hint of the skin beneath. His tie lay around his neck, the jacket (which you were sure was too expensive to be) slung behind his shoulder, hanging precariously from one finger. You tried not to stare at his forearms, exposed by how he rolled up his sleeves. You just ended up staring at his face then, which really wasn’t a good idea if not getting flustered was your goal. His eyes were now squarely on you, the heat your body was so deprived of earlier now beginning to grow in your chest. “I hadn’t been able to say this earlier, but thank you,” you began, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze. “I would have probably been stuck with my arms over my head trying to get out of that shirt if you hadn’t helped me. If I ever need to change again, I’ll call you.” What the fuck? It’s ok, you can ride it out if you don’t start rambling. 

There was silence for a few minutes, so obviously you started to ramble. 

“Not that I can’t take my clothes off myself, just that you might be better at it.” Bad. “Not that I want for you to take my clothes off,” that’s a lie, you do, “I mean that it’s definitely not your responsibility, that's what I meant you know. And that definitely doesn’t happen usually, it’s just cause the shirt was wet. But yeah, it’s my responsibility. And I’m sure you have much more important things to do…” Oh god.

“No problem.” he said, his voice just barely at an octave the human ear could comprehend. The previous silence fell back onto you both, your embarrassed gaze affixed on the ground. Decorum be damned, you were just going to turn around and start running away. While contemplating this, you felt something heavy rest itself around your shoulders. Lifting a hand to touch it, you felt silky fabric overlaid by wool. Looking up, you saw how close he was to you now, arms encasing your sides while laying the jacket onto you. After adjusting it to make sure it didn’t slip, he drew his arms back, slipping his hands into his pockets. His scent, which had intoxicated you the entire night, pervaded your senses. By reflex, you snuggled into fabric before realizing how it may look. “You were shivering.” he said.

 “I wasn’t planning on walking home tonight, so I didn’t layer up right,” you said after a brief pause. The tilt of his head prompted you to recount your night’s woes. After regaling him, his demeanor shifted. “ If you would allow me,” he said, “I would like to walk you home.” 

You tried not to look too shocked. Your night was veering into fiction. Then the truth of your situation hit you. New York at night was not kind to anyone, you had to have some kind of protection. What was better for the job than a fucking Avenger?! The words were caught in your throat for a few seconds, but you eventually managed to speak, “Yes I, uh, thank you. That would be - that would be great.” For the next few seconds, you both just stood. “Oh, right,” you had forgotten he didn’t know what direction to go. Neither did you, really, but google maps said northwards so that’s where you continued to go. 

Silence was right there beside you two, in the middle. You didn’t know how to cross that gorge, or if you even should. Then you remembered. 

“I tried to change the policy,” you said, before you could stop and consider your words. His steps faltered for only a second till returning to normal. That was too vague a statement, what were you thinking? “The water glasses, I mean.” He now paused for more than a second. “You remembered that?” he sounded puzzled. You couldn’t understand why he thought you wouldn’t. Did he really not know how memorable he was? “Of course, I had a lot more to say that I couldn’t get into.” He gave only a nod and you thought it was the end. “Why?” he said, clearing his throat as if to get the words out. “Why couldn’t you get into it?” 

You considered this, but eventually just shrugged. “I guess I’m quiet when working.” 

Silence threatened to fall back into place so you asked, “Do you like them? The parties?” 

It had always been something you were curious about, seeing as he had never participated in the fanfare and festivities of the numerous parties he attended. Not all of them were galas and fundraisers, some were your regular end of the week party for people rich enough to rent the building regularly. He would drift in with a few people (sometimes the faces you saw on billboards after they saved the city and sometimes others), stay with them for a little before they went to the dancefloor and he stayed at the table. Sometimes, he would get prompted to the dancefloor or into conversation with a beautiful woman. Still, there seemed to be a string drawing and holding him to the table. 

He remained quiet for a while, weighing his words like he was trying to find the right number of kilos to match his budget. When he spoke, you were shocked to hear how solemn it sounded

“I’m trying to find someone.” The longing was apparent in his voice. You had the distinct feeling that you were currently privy to something few people had ever even caught a glimpse of. You didn’t say anything, hoping to allow him the space he needed if any other words came out of hiding. 

He struggled with the following ones that did, “Before it all happened,” it was obvious what it all was, “I loved parties.” Clearing his throat, he probed further. “Seeing people and being seen, meeting others for the first time despite having been introduced last week, letting a few hours escape from a dull week.” He paused again, clearly struggling. There was something akin to wistfulness in his eyes, made glassy by past memories. “I’m trying to see if I can love them again, I guess.” He sighed and you tried not to pay too much attention to its musical quality, “It doesn’t seem to be coming back.” 

“Maybe that’s ok.” You don’t know if that’s the right thing to say. However, the pain he felt was so apparent in his words and you just wanted to alleviate it in any way possible. “Even if you don’t like parties now, are there new things you like?” you said. He paused to consider this. “I guess I read more.” he said with a slight chuckle. You grabbed the chance, “What books have you been reading?”

...

Along the way, your task to cheer him up dissolved and all that was left was a deep desire to get to know him better. You don’t know what prompted you to do it, whether insanity or pure genius, but you asked if he wanted to join your book club. 

To your surprise, he asked when the next meeting was.  

Your apartment building reared into view as you told him. With a nod, he escorted you to the wire gates leading to the central courtyard. “Oh, here.” you tried to shrug off his jacket, but his hands landed on your shoulders to stop you. “Keep it for now. You can return it during the next book club meeting.” Your shock at his acceptance of your invitation dissipated after seeing the mischievous smile on his face. “You don’t even know where it is.” you said, with mock exasperation. A sly smile lifting the corners of your mouth, you took out the pen from tonight’s shift. “Arm?” You said, motioning the drawing of the pen as you said it. He brought up the right one. The feel of his skin on yours was intoxicating and you tried to ignore the tension hanging in the air as you began to gently write the digits of your phone number. “Text me with this number and I’ll add you to our group chat,”. You both looked at each other, his arm still in your grasp long after you had finished. “I really hope to see you,” you said, before letting his arm drop and going inside. 

You, unfortunately, didn’t get to see the shy smile he walked with for the rest of the night.

[pop-punklouis]

Since it Home's anniversary. How do you view Louis' action of leaking/releasing it? In terms of him and his closeting contract/ his restricted position as being in a band, do you think it was rebellious or (or simultaneously) it was normal for ultimately it is just a song. Like you know how the gp's take on music is very far way from the way we introspectively view it. I never came across any of my real life friends who noticed how a song like Home is, for instance, about same sex relationships

i think there’s a reason why Home, a song that they were all proud of and really challenged the mold of sound they’d circulated for a few years, didn’t make the cut of the album when songs like infinity or perfect did. from a general standpoint, Home is a track that i know i’ve had many people listen to and be stunned that it was a 1D song. it would’ve definitely been an audience market break if it had a wide-sell release with the official album instead of a “leak” with minimal exposure for it as the rest of the tracks on that ep were acoustic covers/remixes. so, in that respect, i don’t believe it was handled like any other song.

tbh most of the GP listen to mainstream songs with media speculation in mind— the same way lights up was misconstrued straight from its visual release. they’re a goldfish swimming in a too small fishbowl where their attention is only caught for a moment before it flashes to something new. no one went in to Home with that same-sex speculation in mind because it was fandom chatter and featured in the subtext and between the lines more than it was in your face. Louis is clever in that regard when you look deeper into how he writes or how he constructs himself. unless you spoon-feed the GP an idea, theyre usually not gonna pick up on it (and maybe not even then). which is why i think it got a release bc there wasn’t a fear as it didn’t have “blatant pointers” to the subject. so, i do think louis writing the song was rebellious in the fact that he knew he could downplay it in a way where the label would release it routinely even if it wasn’t on the full-length album.