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[feyburner]

This is part of a longer thing I may post on ao3 at some point but here’s some silly little Jaytim texting AU. I use this format as a writing warmup.

EDIT: This has been posted on AO3.

[Unknown] »

Hey. This is Jason. 

I have a favor to ask. You can say no.

« tim

uh

1. i’m aware of how favors work  

2. what is it?

« tim

?

« tim

hey are you like. good

J »

Yeah fine 

Sry. Rethinking this maybe

« tim

what, do you need a kidney or something?

i can’t give you a kidney.

i don’t have any organs to spare.

J »

What ? 

« tim

what’s the favor?

J »

I wouldn’t ask if it wasnt important

I’d ask Roy but hes in star city 

or Kori but shes off world

I tried dickhead but hes in haven. Cant get away tonight

« tim

yeah jason i get it lol

J »

So Im currently in the cargo hold of a private yacht

« tim

what >?

J »

We’re caught in the storm thats hitting the city its a whole thing. 

« tim

are you in the cargo hold of your own volition or did someone put you there

J »

So I dont think I can get back t

No its on purpose

« tim

hang on. you’re in gotham bay right now? in a boat?  

jason this storm is really bad.

it’s already sunk a houseboat and a fishing boat at the marina

J »

I dont think I can get back totown toni

Christ you type fast 

Shut up for a sec. Clam down

Clam*

*Calm fuck me

Thought I was gnna be back tonight but bc of storm its not looking great.

Can you feed my sourdough starter 

« tim

what

J »

4511 overhill apt 6D 

Key under the neighbors mat. 6H

« tim

hey to clarify. “its not looking great” ← what does that mean

J »

Starter is on counter. in glass jar 

Should just need one feeindg. Maybe 2. depending 

« tim

on???

J »

On wwhen I get back?

« tim

so you do plan on coming back

J »

Yeah timothy I’m in a boat not the heart of Mount Doom

« tim

yeah? vaders not there? so that means everything’s fine? 

J »

Did you

jst say Vader

As in Darth

« tim

??? 

J »

Oh my god

« tim

jason are you in peril or what.

J »

No im not in “peril” lol.

Did you see the thing I said about my sourddough starter

It needs to be fed

« tim

wtf is a sourdough starter

nvm i googled it

J »

Its a live bacteria colony you use to m 

Oh ok

Yeah so it just needs 50g lukewarm water + 50g flour

Theres a scale next to the jar

Stir until it looks like hummus

Put lid back on

The end

« tim

the internet says if you put it in the fridge it doesn’t need daily feedings

J »

Sure. But that would mess up my bread schedule

« tim

your bread schedule 

J »

Man are gyou gonna fuckin feed Breadie Mercury or should I find someone else

« tim

im already en route. 

J »

Oh

Ok

Thank you.

Wtf dont text and motorbike  

« tim

how about you dont text and Sinking Boat

J »

Hey its not like I’m gonna cause a boat crash

« tim

i was stopped at a red light 😐

anwyay i’m at your place.

1. why do you not have a security system. when you said key under the neighbor’s mat i thought you were joking. 

2. how warm is lukewarm

J »

1. I’m the security system

« tim

just rolled my eyes so hard it actually physically hurt

J »

God youre annoying

2. ? Its lukewarm

« tim

ohhhhh thanks! that’s so helpful :) here i am trying not to murder your incredibly important bacteria colony that i just drove across town for but no thats great jason very descriptive thanks :) 

J »

Like warm but not too wram, nothing you’d want to take a bath in

Can you fucking

I TYPE SLOW.

« tim

ok.

[Image Attached]

he is fed

J »

Thanks man.

Sincerely.

« tim

so hows the cargo hold going

still intact i assume? 

J »

Mostly ya

« tim

pardon? 

J »

Slight leakage. Nothing major

« tim

oh? are you a boatologist now? 

i dont think you’re qualified to judge that?

J »

Moving right past “boatologist” out of the goodness of my heart.

Chill lol. If it was rly bad thered probably be some sort of alar

Hm.

« tim

did an alarm just start going off

J »

Dont worry about it

« tim

im not. 

did it though

also which yacht? im in the marinas scheduling dtabase

blue miracle, serendipity, carp-e diem? which one

« tim

jason?

« tim

if this is a joke it’s not funny

oh cool you’re not on comms either. great.

hey if youre dead again and i just fed your stupid starter for nothing im gonna be soooo mad just fyi

« tim

ugh.

*

J »

Hey

Thanks again for the

I’m not gonna say “save” bc I was doinf just fine on my own.

But thanks for the backup.

Lmk when youre home

Nope sorry lol you dont have to do that.

Night.

« tim

home

J »

Also I just saw your messaages from

Ah. 👍

From earlier. 

« tim

you mean from when you said “huh, this boat seems to be filling with water” and then disappeared? those messages? 

J »

Those were not my exact words.

« tim

right. your exact words contained somehow even less information 

J »

Shut up

I just wanted to 

You know. Youre the only one who jokes about it

The only one in the family I mean

your family, I mean

The bats.

« tim

? 

the only one who jokes about what

J »

Me being dead

« tim

oh. 

ok. well

its not like. actually funny to me. i was just annoyed. sorry i guess

J »

No thats not 

Tim. Shut up.

I dont mind. I like that one of you does. 

Its better than people talking around it. Like its this big shameful thing I did.

One of many

If I mention it in front of dickhead he does the face

the :~{ face

« tim

wow its uncanny

uh. for the record. 

i don’t think that’s the reason people talk around it

if im correct in thinking that by “people” you mean “one specific person whose name rhymes with Rat Can” 

 

J »

Yeah well

I just

Christ never mind. Im sorry. You are not the person to be sayign this to.

Im gonna shut the fuck up I think. 

Goodnight.

« tim

oh what, you can’t talk to me about being dead bc of that one time you tried to kill me? 

and failed btw :/ 

J »

Tim

Not to be so unchill

But you know how me being dead isnt actaully funny to you

« tim

…got it. sorry

J »

No. don’t apologize to me

Ever

I’m serious 

« tim

like for anything? 

what if i killed breadie mercury 

J »

You didnt. He is thriving

« tim

he is?

wait. really?

you can tell?

J »

[Image Attached]

Hes doubled in size since you fed him.

« tim

whoa

J »

Yup. Thanks again for thattoo.

*that too

Its stupid but hes kinda my son.

« tim

wouldn’t he technically be like, 10 billion sons

J »

He is my 10 billion sons.

« tim

lolol

wow. why am i so pleased hes thriving lol 

J »

Right

« tim

jeez

i was so worried about the water temp

google said lukewarm is 98-105 so i did 98 to be safe

J »

You used a thermometer? 

« tim

your instructions were vague!

i didnt want to kill your bacteria colony!

J »

Thanks Tim.

« tim

? you already said that lol

i gotta pass out btw

glad you didnt die: the sequel in a yacht

that would have been so cringe

night jason

J »

Night

*

J »

You up?

« tim

obviously

why

J »

Could use your eyes on something.

[Image Attached]

« tim

morse code but the dots and dashes are reversed and its spelling backwards in russian, ASTITP AYALEB AVD RTSIRP → PRISTR DVA BELAYA PTITSA → PIER TWO WHITE BIRD

J »

Bc it looks like morse but its not, its kind of scrambl 

Ok jesus christ . 

30 seconds? Seriously? Fuck me

Can I hire you? Jesus lol

« tim

that depends. do you pay more than batman?

J »

The fuck? Does he pay you guys now?

« tim

no.

J »

Then yes. I do pay more than batman.

« tim

how much more

J »

One coffee per codebreak? 

« tim

:\

J »

Two coffees per codebreak

Two and a loaf of sourdough

« tim

sourdough from breadie mercury?

J »

Ya

« tim

done

J »

Damn. I feel like you should have higher standards

« tim

i mean i was already gonna do it for free

now i have successfully negotiated coffee & sustenance 

im on a roll. nothing but Ws 

J »

Ws?

« tim

its young people slang you wouldn’t get it ❤️

J »

I am barely 3 years older htan you.

It could be argued, considering certain events, that we’re basically the same age.

« tim

and yet you text like an old, old man

J »

I do not

Would you rather I texted like “idk brb lmao roflcopter”

« tim

ROFLCOPTER?

oh my god. ohhhhhh jason. oh my god

that is absolutely not what the kids are saying these days. oh my god

J »

Ok you know what. At least I know Mount Doom isnt a Star Wars thing

« tim

? 

oh, is it star trek? 

J »

I’m 99% sure youre antagonizing me on purpose

But have you seriously not read or watched Lord of the Rings

« tim

no i have not.

J »

Hm.

« tim

what

J »

Nothing.

« tim

……….what

*

« tim

did you NARC on me

to BRUCE

about LORD OF THE RINGS?????

J »

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

« tim

WHY DO I NOW HAVE 3 SEPARATE SUNDAY AFTERNOON “HOUSE MEETINGS” BLOCKED OFF IN MY CALENDAR, JASON? 

WHY ARE THEY EACH 4 HOURS LONG?

WHY ARE THEY LABELED “CULTURAL EDUCATION (MANDATORY)”? 

J »

I can’t pretend to know what goes on in B’s mind.

That said, I have reason to believe he and Alfred take lotr pretty seriously.

« tim

its a TWELVE HOUR MOVIE

about GOBLINS

J »

I’m not gonna respond to that bc I know youre just lashing out.

« tim

if youve sentenced me to 12 hours of a movie i hate i’m gonna hack everything you own. 

im gonna mass text the entire cape wearers community the footage of that time condiment king kicked your ass so bad he felt guilty and offered to personally help you out of the mustard pool 

J »

What the fuck

How do you fuckig know about ?????? that???????? 

Not that ithahpened 

What hefuckk ??

« tim

ooooooooo you better hope i love these goblins!

J »

Why are you?? evil??

« tim

you should have killed me when you had the chance!!

sorry.

J »

Its ok. That one was pretty funny tbh.

Oh hm shouldnt have laughed just then. Bad timing on my part

Brb

« tim

uh

« tim

ok…….. getting reports of a “disturbance” at pier two…….. 

« tim

sorry were you texting me *mid-standoff* with the russian mafia

« tim

ugh.

*

« tim

you know tracking your location would be so much easier if i didn’t have to hack into your comm sys every time

luckily your encryption is garbage but still. its 2 minutes of my life i wont get back.

J »

Not sure I recall giving you permission to track my location?

« tim

oh i’m sorry. next time i will simply leave you to go down with a texas oil magnate’s incredibly tacky yacht, or get swiss cheesified by mobsters 

J »

Hey I wrapped up the russians myself 

« tim

yeah? 

J »

…

Yeah….

« tim

so you thought the 12-minute universal signal jam was the act of a benevolent god? 

J »

:-|

« tim

im just saying it would be significantly more efficient if you agreed to a tracker

just one little tracker. you wouldn’t even notice it’s there.

think of all the time and energy you’d save me

J »

I feel the need to point out that you don’t have to repeatedly hack my comms system.

« tim

i mean it’s that or monitor sightings on the gocitizen app

i have an algo that texts relevant pings to me, which is super helpful for when i want an inbox full of random people talking about how hot you are. less helpful for literally every other circumstance 

J »

Uh

What

« tim

how hot *red hood is. to clarify

in their opinion

the people’s opinion

J »

?

« tim

the people of gotham city

J »

The people of Gotham city do not think Red Hood is hot lol

« tim

wait 

i cant tell if you’re being serious

J »

Uh? Yeah Im being serious? Lol tf

Why would they think hes hot 

They dont think Batman is hot 

« tim

o…kay…

huh.

how to… hmm

J »

Like nightwing sure

And the girls. Bc of objectification of women

« tim

oh wow

J »

Red Robin. If i had to guess

But when people see Hood its definitely not… that kind of response lol

« tim

what kind of response, exactly

J »

You know like saying “Hey Hood youre hot” 

« tim

oh, wow. 

okay. ummm

hmm. one sec.

J »

?

« tim

check your email 

J »

Ok…? 

J »

Oh my fucking god.

« tim

yeah

J »

Oh my god?

« tim

yeah

J »

This document is fucking 45 pages long?

« tim

its everything from the past 30 days yeah

J »

The past

Whaht the fuck

Ok some of these people definitely got hit by Poison Ivy.

This is . Tim wtf. I havent even heard of some of this stuff. 

« tim

oof are you on page 14

J »

Im on page 3???

« tim

oh my god

J »

What the fuck

Please please tell me its not like this for Batman too

Tim

« tim

its not like this for batman :)

J »

Ok. Jesus. I would genuinely have to move cities.

« tim

its worse :)

J »

Oh what the fuck

Oh my fucking god page 14.

You get this shit TEXTED to you?????

Ohm ygod. You read this?????

« tim

i mean

no

i glance at it

for security purposes.

i dont like, read it read it

anyway did you seriously not know? haha

J »

No??? Again its not like people tell me

« tim

yeah but

like

theres a certain level of objectivity involved, here

yknow

sorry im trying to find a non awkward way to be like “have you looked in a mirror lately” 

« tim

sorry

that was in fact awkward!

nvm

just let me know if you’d be ok with the tracker. its fine if not

i was mostly joking about the hacking

J (From Work) »

No you weren’t.

« tim

no i wasnt

i dont mind though. its like a brain teaser

anyway im going dark for patrol, later

*

J (From Work) »

[Screenshot Attached]

[Screenshot Attached]

[Screenshot Attached]

[Screenshot Attached]

[Screenshot Attached]

Question. why is the average Gotham citizen a raging horndog 

« tim

oh my god

you know i can tell you searched “red robin hot” right

J (From Work) »

Figured it was only fair

[Screenshot Attached]

This persons got some mad zoom lens skills

I’d think it was you, if it wasnt, yknow, you

« tim

wow. that is certainly a photo of my ass

…a stellar photo of my ass. wow. 

do you have a direct link? i gotta send this to steph

J (From Work) »

goctz.app/user/3824973/post/29348230df3

Haha

I kinda thought you and blondie broke up

back on again?

« tim

no lol we are very much just friends

she has a thing going with someone who shall remain nameless but suffice to say it’s Going

anyway we just send each other gocitizen vigilante ass shots 

its a whole genre

they’re like trading cards

J (From Work) »

Guess everyone’s got a hobby?

« tim

the only rule is no nightwing

J (From Work) »

Do I want to know why

« tim

he accounts for a frankly overwhelming percentage of vigilante ass shots

so its too easy

you’d THINK we’d have a no-batman rule, because ew, but due to the cape and his sixth sense for cameras pointed at him, a qualifying shot is actually extremely rare. 

← only guy who ever managed to take quality photos of batman 

anyway, we put it to a vote. i lost.

J (From Work) »

A vote between you and Steph? 

You lost a 50/50 vote?

« tim

i dont wanna talk about it.

J (From Work) »

Right. 

So what I’m getting from this is you have Red Hood ass shots in your phone.

« tim

no

J (From Work) »

No?

« tim

well

J (From Work) »

Yeah?

« tim

we don’t like, save them

that would be weird

we just notify each other. professionally, as colleagues 

and keep an ongoing points tally

thats all

so i do not currently have photos of your ass in my phone. thank you

J (From Work) »

How many points is my ass worth

« tim

i hate everything about this conversation

J (From Work) »

Its 100% your own fault, answer the question

« tim

if you must know. 

points are awarded based on a series of objective scoring criteria.

J (From Work) »

Uh huh. Like what

« tim

technical excellence

composition. lighting and color balance. 

dynamism 

J (From Work) »

Dynamism…

« tim

creativity

umm

emotional impact

and 

subject matter

J (From Work) »

I see.

« tim

ok i know it sounds bad

J (From Work) »

It sounds fucking hysterical Im near tears 

« tim

but if you think abou

oh

okay, well, great

J (From Work) »

I’ll let you know if I stumble on any more. 

Or is that cheating

« tim

its totally cheating

please do

J (From Work) »

You got it red. 👍

« tim

:)

[hmmarble]

HMMARBLEDESİGN - DRAGON+ (2)

Marble Bathroom Sink

When it comes to home design, few materials evoke a sense of luxury and timeless beauty quite like marble. A marble bathroom sink not only serves as a functional wash basin but also elevates the overall aesthetic of your space. The elegance of marble exudes sophistication, turning an ordinary bathroom into a serene oasis.

Marble Bathroom Sink

A marble bathroom sink is not just a functional component of your bathroom; it is a statement piece that adds elegance and luxury. Marble, known for its unique veining and rich texture, brings a timeless charm to any space. When choosing a marble bathroom sink, there are several factors to consider to ensure it complements your bathroom design.

First, consider the style of your bathroom. Whether you are going for a modern, classic, or rustic look, a marble sink can fit seamlessly into any theme. The color palette of the marble also matters; white and cream marbles can lend a fresh and airy feel, while darker hues can create a dramatic effect.

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Ultimately, a marble bathroom sink is an investment in both aesthetics and functionality. By choosing the right type, color, and maintenance plan, you can enjoy the beauty of marble in your bathroom for years to come.

Wash Basin Sink

A wash basin sink is an essential fixture in any bathroom, offering both functionality and style. When selecting a wash basin sink, it is important to consider various factors such as size, design, and material.

One popular choice among homeowners is the marble bathroom sink. Known for its elegance and durability, marble sinks can elevate the aesthetic of your bathroom. Their unique veining patterns ensure that no two sinks are alike, providing a one-of-a-kind centerpiece for your space.

When choosing a wash basin sink, you will encounter various types including undermount, vessel, and pedestal sinks. Each design has its own benefits and can enhance the overall look of your bathroom. For instance, vessel sinks are often mounted on top of the countertop, making them a stylish option that complements modern decor.

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Lastly, don't forget to incorporate additional features such as stylish faucets and accessories that complement your wash basin sink and add to the overall design of your bathroom.

Ancient Roman Baths

The Ancient Roman Baths were an essential aspect of Roman culture, reflecting the importance of hygiene, social interaction, and relaxation in ancient society. These baths, also known as thermae, were large public bathing complexes that served as a social hub for citizens of all classes.

Typically, the layout of a Roman bath included a series of rooms with varying temperatures and functions. The caldarium (hot bath) heated the water through a sophisticated system of hypocaust, allowing steam to rise and warm the space. Next to it was the tepidarium (warm bath), which served as a transitional room, and the frigidarium (cold bath), where bathers would plunge into cooler waters to invigorate their bodies.

In addition to hygiene, these baths featured amenities such as libraries, gymnasiums, and gardens, encouraging a sense of community and leisure. Romans often visited to socialize, conduct business, or simply enjoy the art and architecture that adorned these luxurious facilities. The decorative mosaics and grand columns were not only functional but also represented the wealth and sophistication of the society.

The significance of the Ancient Roman Baths can also be seen in their architectural innovation. The Romans mastered the use of concrete and arches, allowing for grand open spaces and intricate designs. These structures have inspired modern spa designs, embodying the idea of relaxation and wellness.

Despite their popularity, the fall of the Roman Empire led to the decline of these spectacular sites. Many were repurposed, and their intricate plumbing systems fell into disrepair. However, remnants of these ancient baths still surface in archaeological sites, offering a glimpse into a fascinating aspect of Roman life.

Today, while we may not indulge in the same communal bathing practices, the legacy of the Ancient Roman Baths endures. Their emphasis on hygiene and social engagement continues to influence how we design our own spaces for relaxation and community interaction.

[hoe4hotchner]

Extra Credit | [A.H]

Pairing: Professor!Hotch x fem!Reader CW: 18+, MDNI, coerced sexual activity, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, dubious consent, degradation and humiliation, age gap, student/professor, dom/sub dynamic, praise, (L/N) used once, no use of (Y/N). The smut in this is "just" a blowjob. WC: 2,9k

My dumb ass had to look up the american grading system cause we use a 7 point grading scale of numbers where I'm from. ---- Also alsoalso, i feel kind of evil with this one 😅

@ssamorganhotchner my love I will dedicate this fic to you cause your scream into the void made me finish it. 🤭🤭

           The lecture had been another brutal session, his lectures were always hard to get through, and you could still hear Mr. Hotchner’s voice echoing in your mind, sharp and cutting. His presence dominated the room - a force impossible to ignore - and it rattled you in a way no other professor ever had. Every question he posed felt like a challenge, every glance in your direction seemed to monitor your every move. The pressure in his class had been mounting for weeks now, suffocating and relentless as you tried your hardest to keep up with your studies.

           The other students had already packed up and left, the sounds of hurried footsteps and rustling papers fading as they filtered out of the lecture hall. You were just about to follow when his voice called out, stopping you in your tracks.

           "Miss (L/N), a moment, please."

           His tone was steady. There was no warmth, only command - one you couldn’t ignore, no matter how much you wanted to. Swallowing thickly, your pulse quickened as you turned to face him. Mr. Hotchner stood at the front of the room, his eyes locked onto you, persistent and unreadable. You’d seen that look before - the one that pierced through you, as if he were dissecting every inch of your character, sizing up your worth.

           "Come to my office," he continued, already gathering his notes. "There’s something we need to discuss."

           You nodded, a knot forming in your stomach. You knew exactly what this was about: the last test. The one you felt like you'd bombed so spectacularly, despite staying up all night cramming. Panic twisted in your chest as you hastily grabbed your things, every step toward his office feeling heavier like you were marching to your doom.

           When you arrived at his office, he was already seated behind his desk, his posture straight, his face calm yet calculating. His office was an extension of him - neat, organized, cold - the only warmth coming from the mahogany furniture decorating the room. You hesitated at the door, but when his eyes met yours, pinning you in place, you stepped inside without a word.

           "Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair across from him.

           Your legs felt weak as you obeyed, sinking into the chair. The room seemed smaller now, the silence oppressive. The only sound was the rush of your own panicked heartbeat in your ears.

           Mr. Hotchner reached for the paper on his desk - your test - and slid it across the table toward you. Your eyes dropped to it, the red ink scrawled across the page like a string of wounds, culminating in the bold, unforgiving "F" circled at the top. The sight of it made your stomach drop.

           "Care to explain this?" His voice was low and direct, but there was an edge to it: disappointment, authority, judgment maybe.

           You opened your mouth, but no words came out. What could you say? You had failed. There was no excuse, no way to justify how badly you’d done, no matter how hard you’d tried.

           "I... I’m sorry," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. "I really did try, I-"

           His sharp gaze cut you off before you could finish. His expression hardened. "Trying isn’t enough, Miss. In this class, you’re expected to succeed. Effort without results means nothing to me." He leaned forward slightly, his eyes boring into you. "You know that, don’t you?"

           You nodded quickly, your throat tight with panic. "Yes, Professor. I just... I don’t know what happened."

           Mr. Hotchner sighed, sitting back in his chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the desk as his eyes flicked over you, assessing your every reaction. "This isn’t the first time your performance has been subpar," he mused, almost to himself. "But I’m not inclined to hand out second chances freely. You understand that, don’t you?"

           Your pulse quickened, and you grabbed the edges of the chair, trying to steady yourself. You needed this class to pass. Your entire academic path hinged on it. "Please, Sir," you blurted out, the words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them. "I’ll do anything to make up for this. I just..."

           Hotch raised a brow, a faint smile tugging at his lips, though it held no warmth. "Anything, Miss?" His tone shifted, becoming darker, more sinister. He leaned forward again, his elbows resting on the desk, fingers steepled in front of him, his eyes locking onto yours.

           You froze, the weight of that single word hanging heavy in the air between you. Something in his gaze made your skin prickle, a cold realization settling over you, though you still didn’t fully understand what he meant.

           "There are ways," he said, almost absently, his eyes never leaving you. "To improve your grade. But... no, you wouldn’t want to do that."

           The soft, almost indifferent tone only made the tension worse, as if he were toying with the idea, considering something dark and unspoken. His eyes - steady and determined - never left yours, trapping you beneath the weight of his scrutiny. A shiver crawled up your spine, the walls of the small office seeming to close in as his stare held you in place, daring you to speak, to challenge the unspoken hint buried in his words. The air thickened, stifling, and at that moment, you realized you were no longer sitting across from your professor but a man who held all the power - and he knew it.

           "Please, Sir... anything." Your voice lingered on the verge of tears. Your stomach churned as you began to realize the gravity of the situation, the dark current running beneath his words. But it was too late. You’d already sealed your fate.

           The tension in the room thickened as Mr. Hotchner leaned back in his chair, his eyes eyeing you, estimating just what he could get you to do. His silence stretched, but you felt the shift - something in him had clicked, and it set your pulse racing with a mix of fear and something unnameable.

           He moved slowly, deliberately, pushing his chair back just enough to make space. He gestured to the small gap between him and the desk. "Come here," he said, his voice low, the command unquestionable.

           You hesitated, your legs trembling slightly as you stood, heart pounding so hard you swore he could hear it. He didn’t rush you, just watched as you took one small, uncertain step forward, then another, until you were standing directly between his legs. His proximity sent a jolt of awareness through you, your body hyperaware of the heat radiating from him - too close.

           Mr. Hotchner's hand reached out, his fingers brushing the fabric of your skirt before settling on your hip, guiding you into place with a firm grip. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice a quiet rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. You felt trapped, pinned between him and the desk, with nowhere to escape as his other hand came to rest on the small of your back, pulling you even closer. The space between you vanished, and you swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat.

           You could feel his gaze, assessing, waiting for you to protest, to pull away - but you didn’t. Something about the smoothness of his words kept you intrigued. His control was absolute, the imbalance between you undeniable, and yet… you found yourself rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to think of anything but him and the way his hands felt against your skin.

           "There are certain things you’re willing to do," he said softly, his voice carrying a darker edge now. "Aren’t there?"

           You nodded, barely able to find your voice, the room spinning as his hand slid lower on your back, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. The intensity in his gaze was overwhelming, suffocating, and you realized with a sinking feeling that you were already too far gone to turn back now.

           Mr. Hotchner's gaze remained fixed on you as he maneuvered you with practiced ease. His grip on your hip tightened slightly, guiding you down until you were kneeling on the floor before him. The cold tile pressed against your knees, sending a shiver through you, but Mr. Hotchner's presence was a warm, commanding contrast.

           “That’s it,” he said, his voice rich with approval as you settled into the position he directed. “You’re doing well.”

           The praise made the tension more bearable yet, it came with an edge of something darker, something that made you shiver despite the heat pooling between you. You glanced up at him, meeting his eyes, and saw the way they softened just a touch, but only enough to keep you vulnerable.

           His hand moved with deliberate care, stroking the length of your hair. The soft, almost caressing touch was a strange contrast to the authority he exerted. “You’re very obedient,” Mr. Hotchner said, his tone almost gentle now, but there was an unmistakable command in his words. “And you know, I do appreciate that.” The warmth of his hand was soothing but carried with it an undercurrent of power, leaving you both comforted and apprehensive. “I can see you’re trying to do what it takes to improve.”

           He shifted slightly, his chair creaking as he leaned forward a bit, the fabric of his suit brushing against you. “You’re very dedicated,” he said softly, his eyes roaming over you with a mixture of satisfaction and something else you couldn’t quite place. “And I have to admit, it’s not something I see in my students very often.”

           Your breath quickened as his praise continued, his words a strange mix of encouragement and control that made you feel simultaneously uplifted and trapped. It confused you. The power he held over you was noticeable, his authority unchallenged as you knelt before him, feeling the weight of his gaze.

           “You’re willing to do whatever it takes,” Mr. Hotchner continued his hand now gently stroking the top of your head. “That’s very impressive. Most students wouldn’t go this far.”

           The air between you was thick with his dominance, the atmosphere heavy with the unspoken promises and threats that lingered in his words. His praise was both a comfort and a chain, binding you to him in a way that left you breathless and anxious for what was to come.

           Mr. Hotchner guided you to unbuckle his belt, watching as you hooked your fingers through the loop, carefully removing it and unzipping his pants. You kept looking up at him for reassurance, waiting for a nod of approval to continue. You gently grabbed the elastic waistband and slowly pulled his underwear down, revealing his thick, erect cock. It sprang free, long, and veined, with a bulky head already glistening with pre-cum. You couldn't help but let out a soft gasp at the sight of it.

           “Go on,” he urged. “Show me how much you want that grade.”

           With a slight nod, you leaned forward and extended your tongue, delicately licking the tip of his cock, tasting the salty sweetness. Mr. Hotchner let out a soft groan, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. Encouraged by his reaction, you opened your mouth and took just the head into your warm, wet mouth, swirling your tongue around it.

           “Fuck, that’s it,” he whispered, his hand gripping your neck, guiding your movements. “Suck it, take it deep.” He growled.

           You obeyed, slowly taking more of his length into your mouth, your lips sliding down his shaft. You moaned softly around his cock, the vibrations driving him wild. Mr. Hotchner's hand moved to the back of your head, gently holding you in place as he began to thrust his hips, fucking your mouth with slow, deliberate strokes.

           “You’re doing so well,” he praised, his voice hoarse with desire. “But I want more. I want to feel that tight throat of yours.”

           Eager to please, you relaxed your throat and took him deeper, your nose pressing into his pubic hair. You felt his cock hit the back of your throat, you gagged and coughed around him. Mr. Hotchner stilled for a brief moment as he let you adjust to the new position of his cock in your throat.

           As Mr. Hotchner's hand started gently caressing your hair once again, his other hand slowly shifted, a deliberate movement that drew your attention away from the soothing strokes. He let you take over, expecting you to continue pleasuring. His fingers, initially tender and reassuring, began to trace down the side of your neck, brushing lightly against the fabric of your blouse.

           “You’re doing very well,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. The praise seemed to be more about control than genuine encouragement, keeping you bound in a trance by his spell. The warmth of his hand became more insistent.

           You felt a shiver run down your spine as his hand moved with purpose, sliding along the curve of your shoulder and then lower. His fingers grazed the edge of your skirt, teasing the hem as they explored the fabric. The contact was both alarming and electric, the smoothness of his touch in stark contrast to the pressure of his gaze.

           “Such dedication,” Hotch continued, his tone almost contemplative. His fingers lingered at the edge of your skirt, the touch becoming more deliberate as he traced along the hem. “It’s rare to find someone so willing to go above and beyond.”

           The way his hand inched closer to the soft material of the front of your skirt, it made you acutely aware of the shift in the atmosphere. His touch, though light and seemingly casual, was charged with an intensity that left you on edge. The skirt felt suddenly like a barrier between you and him, a fragile line that he was now exploring with calculated movements.

           He pushed his fingers past the waistband; they were cold as they brushed against your stomach, slowly moving down toward your clothed heat. Mr. Hotchner tutted as he brushed his fingers against your folds, the soaking wet fabric leaving a slick trail on his fingers.

           “You naughty girl,” he mocked. “Do you feel that? The way your body reacts to my touch? How long have you been aching for this kind of attention?” He grinned, his fingers expertly drawing out mewls from you as you tried to keep your focus on the task at hand.

           You felt the way his cock twitched against your tongue, convulsing with every movement, every lick and suck. Mr. Hotchner could feel it too, his climax nearing. He moved his hands to the back of your head, holding you still as he flexed his muscles. You whined around him at the sudden loss of touch on your pussy.

           “Don’t be greedy,” he hissed through gritted teeth, fucking your mouth with such force that all you could do was stay still and relax your throat, trying your best to keep breathing through your nose.

           “Yes, that’s it, take it all,” he grunted, his hips moving faster now, driving his cock down your throat with each thrust. “Oh fuck, I’m close,” Mr. Hotchner groaned, his hips jerking as he came, emptying himself down your throat. You swallowed around him, taking every drop, your eyes never leaving his, a satisfied smile on his face.

           “Look at this mess you made,” he tutted, pulling his cock out of your mouth. The few drops of cum mixed with your saliva glistened under the light. “Now, clean it up.” He scooted his chair closer to the desk, effectively caging you in. “I have papers to grade.”

           You slowly started licking the shaft with small kitten licks as you made your way from the base to the head. You were scared he wouldn't pass you if you didn't follow his orders. Mr. Hotcher paid no attention to you whatsoever. You felt humiliated as you sat under his desk, his thoughts elsewhere as you mindlessly followed his demands. The sound of your tongue mixed with the slight scratching of his pen scribbling on the papers in front of him were the only sounds in the room.

           When you finished, the room seemed even smaller than when you'd entered, the walls closer than before. You sat back on your haunches, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps as you tried to process what had just happened, your mind swirling in confusion and shame.

           Mr. Hotchner leaned back, his expression calm, his eyes glittering with a smug satisfaction that made your skin crawl. You were about to ask what he would change your grade to, feeling you had at least deserved a D for the effort. But Mr. Hotcher sensed your question before you even opened your mouth.

           “Don’t think so fast, dear,” he said smoothly, his voice like ice on your skin. “Good grades cost more than that.”

           Your stomach twisted painfully, and you glanced up at him, unsure how to respond, your voice catching in your throat. You wanted to believe this nightmare was over, that you’d somehow paid your dues and could walk out of his office with your dignity intact.

           But Mr. Hotchner wasn’t finished with you. He regarded you coolly, one brow arching as he tilted his head slightly, watching your every reaction with dark amusement.

           “Same time next week?” he asked, though it wasn’t really a question - it was an expectation, a demand disguised as a polite inquiry.

           You nodded, the movement slow and uncertain, the weight of his gaze making you feel trapped, cornered. “Okay… sir,” you whispered, your voice small and fragile.

           His smile deepened, satisfied, and gently patted your cheek. “Good girl.”

[mediumgayitalian]

“I’d pick you up at the airport.”

“What?”

“If we were normal. I would — have one of those signs, you know. When you came back from your adventures.”

“Oh.” Nico snorts. “I’m still fucking off all the time when we’re normal? And you’re not coming?”

“It is woven within your very soul to fuck off as you please,” says Will sagely. “You get antsy. You know, like a house cat.”

He laughs when Nico shoves him. Less when he loses his balance and rolls into a tree, but he crawls back, anyway, kicking Nico’s ankle as he lies back next to him, folding his hands over his ribs. Nico watches him for a moment, tracing the round edges of his knuckles, until Will’s smile begins to twitch with him knowing, and he looks hastily back to the sky. It’s embarrassing, Will’s snorting huff of amusement, but more than that it’s electrifying, zapping a trail down Nico’s spine and making him shiver.

He can feel the heat Will is always throwing off, blazing every centimetre from his shoulder to his heels, a hair’s breadth away, a millimetre of distance.

“What else would it look like?” He clears his throat. “Our, um. Our normal?”

Will hums. “New York, probably. Big-ass penthouse with your trust fund.”

“I’m a trust fund baby?!”

“Hey, Nico, how much does dish soap cost?”

Nico opens his mouth, and closes it again. Will’s snickers get louder. Is it considered bad etiquette to banish one’s significant annoyance to the Underworld? Only permanently, probably. If he only keeps him there for a couple weeks it should be find. A couple weeks would be appropriately humbling.

“And what do you contribute?” Nico asks, instead of answering. (Not because he doesn’t know. Obviously. Because he is dignified, that’s why.) “Your dimples and boyish charm?”

“Yes, obviously.”

Well.

“…Okay, fair.”

Will snickers triumphantly.

“You still a doctor?”

“Mhm.” Will shifts, mouth curled in amusement. “Paediatric in Mount Sinai. We live close, by the way. You said it’s cause it’s close to Central Park but really you like to hide my lunch in the mornings to have an excuse to come see me.”

“Sounds like you forget your shit a lot, actually.”

“That, too.”

He looks over and smiles at Nico and for a moment he is convinced, wholly genuinely and truly, that the sun that’s been hiding behind the clouds all day has finally peeked out, because he can actually feel his whole body warm, in that slow-rising, penetrating way; he can actually smell the surge of sunshine in the air, feel the red glow in the backs of his eyelids, taste the brightness of the light. Every one of his neurons sinks into his system, sighing, cells reacting to thousands of years of memory of the gentle warm of the Earth’s closest star.

But the sun is not shining, and there is only Will, and his too-big teeth brush against the bottom of his lip, and his dimples show, and his eyes crinkle, and he is more radiant in even his old stained camp shirt and fraying jean shorts than his father has ever been and could ever hope to be. A thousand planets could thrive under a hundred blazing stars and none could come close to him. He knows it, how those ancients felt, the drunken surety as they stood and challenged the gods, swore up and down that their beloveds outshone Venus, Diana, Juno; Will does, Will does, and Nico understands intimately the hubris in a way he scoffed at as a child, because the words bubble and boil and threaten bursting inside of him now. What claim have the Olympians? Over sunlight? Over beauty? Over Will?

“We’re happy?” he says instead, choking hoarsely over the veneer words, over the blocked desperation, truth. “In our normal, we’re happy?”

“Always,” Will whispers. He twists onto his knees, crawling the two inches over to press close, close, closely, hand gentle on Nico’s stomach when he tries to sit up, and presses his lips to Nico’s cheek, dry, twitching with his smile, shaking with his laughter. Nothing is funny, and he isn’t joking, but Nico can feel the giddiness bubbling up and out of him the way sadness flows out in tears; when Will is giddy he giggles, constantly, hiding it barely in his hands, and now he presses it into Nico’s skin, because he knows how Nico aches to hear it, how he watches him like he’s burning it into the ridges of his brain. “I am always happy with you, Niccolò.”

“I love you,” Nico says, fiercely, and it will never be enough, not in English, not in Italian, not in Greek, but he will try. “Te amo. Capiscimi? I love you, Will, I —”

“I know.” The tiny little vibrations of his laughter are — intoxicating; Nico is drunk, ascending. “I know, di Angelo. Sap. I love you, I know.”

He dissolved into giggles into the crook of Nico’s neck, and Nico is lying, still, facing the clouds, and he is warmed, and he is warmed, and he is warmed.

[sadgi]

compiling information about the kineema, because I'm normal

hi. you may remember me from this post talking about how the kineema doesn't have a hood. I've decided to compile all the *other* info I can get on the kineema and comment on it. hopefully this is okay to read

---

let's start with what I could find on fayde

INTERFACING - With its air-cooled, rear-mounted twelve cylinder compression ignition engine driving the rear wheels through a four-speed manual gearbox, the Kineema is able to reach 100 kilometres per hour in 13.5 seconds. And go on to a top speed of 180 kilometres an hour. YOU - Won't it roll over in the first sharp corner? INTERFACING - The high centre of balance is offset by a large battery bank mounted at the bottom of the cabin, feeding all the auxiliary systems and making the Kineema effectively a mobile power plant.

air-cooled: no radiator. I assume this is what those big heat-sink looking things on sides of the engine are for

compression ignition engine: diesel, no spark plugs (diesel engines are named after a guy, rudolph diesel, so I guess in elysium they didn't do that)

rear wheel drive: this is pretty obvious just looking at the thing

100 kilometres per hour in 13.5 seconds: not very fast acceleration compared to modern cars, but the history of cars in elysium is obviously very different to irl

battery bank: this is the only thing keeping the kineema from tipping backwards onto its ass as soon as you accelerate

YOU - "What's it packing there?" (Point to the engine.) KIM KITSURAGI - "Hundred-and-thirty." INTERFACING - I reckon that's a seven-litre V12 there. ENCYCLOPEDIA - Man, that's got to be a major advancement over the KR18GU engine on the old Coupris 40. YOU - "Wait, hundred-and-thirty what?" KIM KITSURAGI - "Kilowatts," the lieutenant replies laconically.

130 kilowatts: ~174 horsepower

YOU - "That's what..." (Rub your chin.) "... a seven-litre V12?" KIM KITSURAGI - "Seven-point-two. Supercharged." The lieutenant is trying to suppress a smug smile. Unsuccessfully. EMPATHY - Saying these words brings him immense joy.

7.2 litre engine: space inside the cylinders. 7.2L/12 = 600cc per cylinder

supercharged: has a supercharger. forces more air into the engine, powered by the crankshaft (as opposed to turbochargers which are powered by the exhaust)

YOU - Run your fingers over one of the steering levers. COUPRIS KINEEMA - The white suede feels luxurious under the touch and the metal clutch handle so very familiar in your palm... INTERFACING - Your fingers waste no time closing around the handle. Clutch disengaged. Release the handle -- clutch drops -- right foot yearns for the familiar touch of the accelerator pedal. You have synced with the machine's mechanical circulation.

YOU - "A *driver* would wear down their right shoe before the left -- the accelerator is on the right. And remember that abandoned lorry cabin we found?"

steering levers: instead of a steering wheel. not exactly sure how they'd work. I *really* don't want it to have differential steering like a zero-turn mower looking at this video of kim driving it looks like the front wheels are the ones steering

clutch handle: instead of a pedal, the clutch is a handle on one of the levers. seems that accelerator and (probably) brake are still pedals

accelerator is on the right: does everyone left-foot brake??? I guess if the clutch handle is standard then that would make sense

ABANDONED LORRY - The glass on the side windows is tinted and covered with dust. You can barely make out the shape of a seat and two steering levers. [...] YOU - Check the pedals. ABANDONED LORRY - You wedge yourself under the steering-wheel to get a better look. Seems like the few tools lying around here -- a hammer, a pair of pliers, a rusty wrench -- have been casually thrown there by the disorganized driver. ABANDONED LORRY - But one odd detail does catch your eye: A piece of sandpaper has been glued to the throttle.

STEERING WHEEL TYPO

---

alright, let's actually take a look at this thing

two door: the kineema has a single driver's seat and two seats in the back. looks like you'd need to move the front seat forward to let anyone else in

suspension: the back wheels look like they have some sort of spring (the axle is connected to it, so how are the wheels being driven??? same with the coupris 40). I assume the front arms also act as a spring

rear view mirror: looks like there's no rear view mirror, since you wouldn't see shit

aerodynamics: bad

seat belts:

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[ross-hollander]

Take a moment and think...

...about the waste. The junk, the scrap, the wreckage. Have you seen how much of it there is? Nobody ever has: it's scattered across dozens of systems, pockets here, pockets there. Landfills, junkyards, recycling plants, old battlefields that nobody was alive to clean up after. If you took it all together, swept it all up into one great heap, you could probably melt it down and armor-clad an entire planet, an entire solar system with the sheer amount of metal that's been poured into the war machines.

Have you seen a man fishing out of a boat made from an autocannon cut in half, relaxed as though it were the most mundane thing in the world? Seen gardens where flowers bloom in missile pods, each slot packed in with dirt for the roots to sink into? Have you ever seen a roof patched with armor plates, the shell puncture providing just the place for the chimney to fit through?

After all, there's so much of the stuff. And for some people, for the class of people who can't afford to think about shuttles offworld and prices for salvaged components, it can't go anywhere. So they build it into their lives. The battered frame that once held the glass of a cockpit becomes a rack for draping laundry over. Tactical panels, displays long dead, mounted on walls to serve as simple shelves.

They construct their lives around, or within, intertwined with these titanic war machines. We all do, really: sometimes it's just harder to see.

[thatsdemko]

they want us to be - m.mount

masterlist

pairing: Mason mount x fem!reader

warnings: angst + me having a lack of knowledge of the transportation systems of Europe

a/n: yeah I’m sorry about this one..

the train ride in from London to Manchester was long and brutal. you’d think somewhere along the lines you’d just move half way in between your best friend and your current job, but moving in this economy was proven to be rather difficult. so the train it was.

the cities and empty towns pass by you in a whirl and before you know it you’re the next stop: Manchester. you’d gathered an overnight bag that feels weightless as you pick it up and move out of your seat towards the exit. you thank the man who helps you off and find his car. it doesn’t take long, it’s the most expensive one in the parking lot.

“hey!” his head snaps up from his phone, whatever it was becomes completely irrelevant once you’re in the warm car and tossing your back in front of your feet.

letting out a long sigh you take a look over at him. his hair still has patches of blond showing and the buzz cut is much shorter than you last had seen it. “hey,” you let out finally. leaning over the center counsel you wrap your arms around him, “why’d you cut your hair?” you gently run your finger tips over the rough ends of his hair before he quickly pulls away, a blush creeping to his cheeks.

“you don’t like it?”

“I’ve expressed my dislikes for it many times.” you’d recall for him the last time he’d cut it short, you couldn’t look him in the eyes without laughing and you’d think he’d learned his lesson that the look wasn’t meant for him, yet without your supervision Mason still went ahead and did so.

“yeah well you’re not my girlfriend so you don’t make the calls.” his bitter tone shuts you up. you result back into looking out the window much like you did the whole train ride here. was this how it was going to be?

LAST TIME | Manchester

“come on, come on! say it again, please.” you laugh, your body leans forward against the wooden table tops as you wait for masons giggle fit to end before he turns serious and does his best impression of his coach on the sidelines.

“you’re getting really good at it.” you lie, or maybe it was flirting. the alcohol in your system had you looking at Mason differently than normal, and it’s not you to blame when he wears a tight black shirt and grey sweatpants that could have any girl swooning in admiration of his biceps.

“am I? I only learn from the best impersonator myself.” he gestures to you in front of him, “give me your best Ben impression, I forgot what he sounds like.”

“you chatted with him on the phone two hours ago!”

it’s his turn to lean in, his hands pressed against the cool table tops as he watches you take a swig from your pint of beer, “and I’ve seemingly forgotten what he sounds like! come on, do it!”

rolling your eyes you give him what he wants and a roar of laugher escapes from him. the sound fills your heart and makes your chest feel fuzzy and your head starts to spin. was this what it felt like to fall in love? was the feeling of falling supposed to be this intoxicating?

“is it crazy I miss London?” he looks up from the empty pint in front of him, his hands awkwardly cup the glass trying to find anything to occupy the numbness in his chest when he mentions his previous home. while Manchester was beautiful and different, you didn’t live here. you lived a train away and that killed him.

“I don’t think it’s crazy, mase. this was a big change— and may I mention a good change.” you reach across the table, your sweaty palm touches the back of his hand and pulls his attention away from the table.

“I guess I just miss you.”

oh. you feel a tightness in your chest as you pull your hand away and sink against the back of the chair.

“I shouldn’t of said that I’m sorry—“

“no. don’t apologize.” you cut him off, “I miss you too.”

a relief washes over his face to hear the words back. there’d been plenty of new friends and faces for him to kindle a connection with, but no one could hold a candle to what you two had. there was an undeniable chemistry that sparked since your teen years and carried on, it’s what made you two inseparable despite the commute.

“I’m sorry, I’m being like the worst drunk ever.”

you shake your head. reaching your hand across the table again, “don’t say that. come on, let’s just go to bed? maybe we just need sleep.” you suggest and he agrees. he trails behind you into his master bedroom that’s practically untouched. the space is so clean and barely lived in, it’s almost uncomfortable to look at.

“will you sleep with me? I don’t think I can be alone right now.” his finger tips grab a hold of your hand, the warmth sends a shock wave through your body making you turn in his direction. he’s standing in the doorway of the bedroom, his large body blocks you from seeing the rest of the room as his eyes plea for your attention.

“mase, that’s dangerous.” you warn. the last time you’d slept in the same bed was the same night he’d gracefully taken your virginity and ever since then you could never see him naked without your ovaries having a reaction to him.

he wets the bottom of his lip with his tongue, his beautiful brown eyes are glassy and convincing, you press your lips against his for a brief second, “I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

“can’t you stay with me forever?” he whispers half jokingly but half serious. you pretend you don’t hear him and just climb into his bed while he undresses himself.

“I mean what I said. I want you with me forever.”

NOW | Manchester

“pint or glass?”

“glass.” you say setting your things down into the living room and waiting for Mason to come back in. you stare out the large floor to ceiling windows out at the city. the grey clouds and dark skies feel different here, in London you felt safer from the storms, but here? there was something chilling about the look.

“how’s Ben? anything new happening with Chelsea?” he moves into the living room and sets your glass down on a coaster. he takes the seat closest to where you’re standing and watches your eyes move from cloud to cloud and person to person.

“joão left.”

“so I’ve been told.” he says making your head turn in his direction and offer him a small smile before taking the seat next to him.

“but Bens good, he just moved into my building.”

a shocked expression lights his face making you snort, “what? you’re surprised we get along now?”

he nods his head enthusiastically, “yes! it took months for you two to get along!”

“months?! I’d say weeks, he always had a problem with me.”

it’s masons turn to snort making you give him a look of surprise, “he just had a thing for you and then he realized you only like me so he gave up.”

you fight the urge to tell him it wasn’t true. you fight the urge to tell him the reason Ben moved in was because he was with you. the reason you couldn’t stay with Mason forever was because Ben chilwell was your idea of forever.

“well I think he still has a thing for me.”

Mason rolls his eyes whipping out his phone from his pocket, “you want me to tell him off? I can tell him you still have feelings for Christian—“

“no! oh my god one time! I said one time I liked Christian for a week!” you launch your body onto his and try to fight him for the phone while he types and clearly whoever it was, it wasn’t Ben. because the person on the other end responded faster than your boyfriend actually would.

“who are you actually texting?” you press, a cheeky grin on your face, “come on, I know it’s a girl none of your mates respond that fast!”

he puts his hands up as a white flag and admits from start to finish about the new girl he was talking to. he’d mentioned how she was awfully similar personality to yours and how he really liked her, but he fails to admit she’s not you. he likes her enough to keep things going, but she lacks the personality you have.

“I’m so happy for you.” you whisper, voice sounding breathless and a mixture of emotions settled into your chest. you’re happy for him, and this is exciting news, but why did it hurt? Ben was your boyfriend who you so dearly loved, but why was Mason moving on the worst thing you could ever hear.

you guess it’s true, maybe you two were meant to be but you’d never know until you stop loving others and love each other.

[knightprincess]

No Matter What (Crosshair x Reader) - Platonic

Words: 1.3k Warning: Fluff with a little bit of hurt/comfort. Synopsis: After settling on Pabu with Clone Force 99, (Y/N) goes on a self-given mission with Crosshair to bring their lost brother home. Standalone Sequel: Silence

After the assault on Mount Tantis and the death of Hemlock, things had been different for Clone Force 99. Echo had refocused his efforts on helping the build Clone Rebellion, taking with him Emerie and some of the clones rescued from the Advanced Science Division, among them Comet. Omega had seamlessly adjusted to life on Pabu once more, happy to be just another kid, growing up peacefully until she was ready to join the fight once more if she did.

Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair would take care of Jax, Bayrn, Eva, and Sami until they could be returned to their families. Each had decided it was time to retire, to discover who they were outside of being soldiers, and to find out what adventures life had in store for them now. However, they’d always be on call if Echo ever needed them.

(Y/N) on the other hand, would use her skills as a bounty hunter to help provide for the people of Pabu and help clones across the galaxy find their way once they were freed from the empire. Although she loved the peace Pabu offered and the small family unit she had gained with Clone Force 99, she wasn’t ready to settle down completely. Not when she still had questions that needed answering. Not when she still needed to find closure.

“I miss him too,” said Crosshair, picking up Tech’s broken goggles from the dashboard of (Y/N)’s ship. Seconds later, a sigh escaped him, hidden within it, regret and grief. The last time he’d spoken to Tech was on Kamino; once again, they’d gone their separate ways. If only he’d chosen differently. “You have to let him go (Y/N). He wouldn’t want you to hold on like this.”

“I can’t,” whispered (Y/N), stopping what she was doing and allowing Crosshair’s words to sink in. “I have to bring him home, even if I have to say goodbye one last time,” she added, admitting she knew there was a chance Tech was truly gone, but she couldn’t allow herself to believe it, not until she found him. “He never gave up on me when I was lost. Neither of you did. I won't give up on him now until he’s home.”

“Then I’m going with you,” said Crosshair, putting the broken goggles back on the dashboard, moving to sleeping racks, and setting another up, if only to make his point clear.

“Omega and the kiddos need you here,” commented (Y/N), attempting to protest. Although she already knew it was pointless. Crosshair was one of the most stubborn people she knew. Once he made up his mind, there was little that could change it.

“Hunter and Wrecker can handle things here until we get back,” declared Crosshair, turning to face (Y/N) before crossing his arms over his chest. “Right now, you need me more,” he added, although he did not admit he’d thought about going out there to look for his brother. Something didn’t sit right with him, leaving Tech out there.

“I’m not going to win, am I?” asked (Y/N), sighing as she walked the length of her ship. Filled with memories of the past, her life as a Jedi Knight that felt like a lifetime ago, and her new life as a bounty hunter and protector.

“Nope,” simply responded Crosshair, “You’re stuck with me this time Shortfire.”

The moment Crosshair entered the cockpit, he pushed the red button, activating the com channel. He spoke to Hunter, Wrecker, and Omega there, informing them of his impromptu decision to join (Y/N) on her journey. Framing it to make sure she had backup and would come home again.

“It wasn’t your fault (Y/N),” said Crosshair when (Y/N) entered the cockpit, following the routine she’d once taught Tech, checking over all the systems. There’s nothing either of us could have done to stop him from using Plan 99.”

“If I was there, I could have stopped him from falling,” admitted (Y/N), finally opening up about the guilt haunting her. When her family needed her most on Eriadu, she was across the galaxy, hiding from her past and the Jedi Hunters that had seemingly appeared overnight.

“You were protecting them. No one could have predicted Saw being on Eriadu, and no one could have predicted Tech sacrificing himself. Blaming ourselves won’t change the past (Y/N). It will only prevent you from finding peace and happiness, whatever that looks like.”

“For what it’s worth, Fortune Cookie, I’m glad you’re coming with me,” admitted (Y/N), bestowing Crosshair with a new nickname, replacing the old one of Snarky Sniper. “I don’t think I could do this alone.”

“We’re family until the end,” Crosshair replied, pulling (Y/N) into himself and wrapping her in a warm embrace that seemed foreign but familiar to them both. “Where do we start?”

“Where our fight ended,” responded (Y/N) with a shakey voice, recalling when she’d gone to Eriadu, risking everything to follow the monorail track in search of Tech. She’d found the car's wreckage but no sign of Tech. If there was any blood, the rain had long since washed it away; there was no body to be found or any trace that he was even there, just what remained of the car.

“Tantis?” questioned Crosshair, confusion evident in his quiet voice as he took up the co-pilot’s seat.

“Hunter said Hemlock was the one to return Tech’s goggles; there’s got to be some trace, a lead to follow somewhere,” replied (Y/N), a slither of hope present in her otherwise whispered voice. She dared not speak louder in case her fears grew stronger and became her cruel reality.

“Setting course for Tantis,” worded Crosshair as (Y/N) piloted the ship safely away from the small island. As per tradition, the people waved goodbye, Hunter, Wrecker, and Omega among them.

“Take good care of them, Gonky,” spoke Omega through her com, receiving a simple gonk! in confirmation.

“We’ll see when you come home,” added Hunter, his voice filled with acceptance as if he knew the day would come when (Y/N) went in search of answers. As if he knew one day she’d go on the self-given mission to bring Tech home. “Stay safe out there.”

“You got it, Havoc #1,” replied (Y/N).

“I’ll make sure she comes home in one piece,” declared Crosshair, resting the stump of his wrist on his lap, grabbing onto the handle beneath his seat as he prepared for the rough climb out of Pabu’s atmosphere, “Our family’s been through enough. None of us can handle another loss.”

“We’re not losing anyone this time. We’re bringing our lost brother home,” replied (Y/N), determination alight in her voice. One way or another, the small family unit was going to be reunited again, no matter how long it took.

“Remind me again,” started Crosshair, fiddling with Tech’s broken goggles; now they’d left Pabu’s atmosphere. A smirk appeared across his lips as he remembered Tech’s hobby of recording everything—even the little things. “What you told us before we went into our first battle.”

“No matter what, I’ve got your back. I’d take a bullet for you if it comes to that. In the bitter end, we’re gonna be the last one standing.”

The holoclip appeared before the two, glowing blue and fuzzy. Of course, Tech had recorded it. They were so young back then, naive to what would happen when the war ended, unprepared for the cruel galaxy they lived in.

“Looks like Tech knew you were going to ask,” commented (Y/N); the smallest of grins appeared across her lips as she launched them into hyperspace. “Do you think Omega knows it?” she asked, curious if the boys would have shared the almost promise with Omega, the brave little girl growing up far too quickly, growing up to be a fighter no less—the best of all of them.

“She knows. Hunter would have made sure of it,” replied Crosshair, hope flooding his voice despite the uncertainty they both faced. “No matter what, Shortfire, I’ve got your back until the end.”

KnightPrincess Masterlist

[boinkingbattlemechs]

Rifleman

The definitive anti-aircraft 'Mech, the Rifleman was first fielded in 2505, making it among the earliest 'Mechs ever built. Designed as a medium fire-support platform, the Rifleman was plagued with a variety of problems since its debut and was ill-suited as a front-line combatant. However, its combination of long-ranged weaponry, including rapid-fire autocannons, and its excellent targeting and tracking system ensured it would remain a viable battlefield unit through half a millennium of combat.

Kallon Industries built the first RFL-1N Rifleman for the Hegemony Armed Forces, but chronic overheating problems forced a return to the drawing boards, with an improved RFL-2N introduced fifty years later. Kallon's engineers still believed the 'Mech suffered too much from overheating, and tried to fix the problem with the definitive RFL-3N by replacing some of its heat-intensive energy weapons with autocannons. Although a marked improvement, the engineers were still not satisfied with the end result and tried to produce a 'Mech which would address the issues of heat management, protection and endurance which continued to plague the Rifleman. Their response, the JagerMech, featured several improvements over the older 'Mech but did not wholly replace it, instead complementing it whenever the two served in the same unit together.

With the collapse of the Star League and start of the Succession Wars, the Rifleman was scattered amongst the militaries of the Successor States. House Davion fielded the largest concentration of Riflemen and used them to good effect in their battles with House Kurita. Unfortunately, combat losses increasingly forced many Riflemen to be deployed directly on the front-lines, where their deficiencies in close combat against similar-mass 'Mechs were apparent. After the recovery of the Helm Memory Core, rediscovered lostech was used in an attempt to improve upon the venerable Rifleman, with manufacturers deploying a number of new variants around the time of the Clan Invasion.

By the time of the FedCom Civil War, new prototypes of Rifleman variants were still being worked on, but the aging 'Mech had since acquired a poor reputation due to its weak protection and bad heat management. The 'Mech experienced something of a revival though when Kallon's factory on the moon Talon was subjected to a blockade by the 7th FedCom RCT, disrupting production of the newer JMS-7 JagerMech. The company brought up their experimental RFL-8D Rifleman to full-scale production as just a temporary measure, but the improved 'Mech wound up being fielded by both Loyalist and Allied forces during the civil war. Additional variants were introduced since then, with both the Free Worlds League and Word of Blake making use of advanced Riflemen during the Jihad.

The Rifleman's focus on fire-support and anti-aircraft work dictated a heavy load of long-range weapons to the exclusion of everything else. It carried a particularly heavy battery of two Magna Mk. III Large Lasers paired with two Imperator-A medium autocannons, one of each mounted in each arm. Two Magna Mk. II medium lasers were split between the side torsos to provide backup. One ton of autocannon ammunition was carried in the center torso, enough for short, sharp engagements but not enough for extended periods of combat. The 'Mech's ten heat sinks were grossly inadequate for constant fire, but in an anti-aircraft role, the Rifleman was expected to have time to dissipate heat while the target aircraft turned for its next pass.

The Rifleman suffered from a miserly amount of armoring - just seven and a half tons total - with its rear torso particularly thin. It also lacked hand or lower-arm actuators, hampering it in a melee confrontation, and was not particularly fast, with a cruising speed of 43.2 km/h. When operating in its intended role of providing overwatch for other 'Mechs, these deficiencies were not terribly noticeable, and it could still overpower lighter opponents by dint of its size. These drawbacks did mean that a commander would only commit their Riflemen in a head-on confrontation with heavy enemy forces as a last resort.

An exceptional piece of electronics, the Garret D2j targeting-tracking system allowed the Rifleman to maintain an accurate lock on swift-moving aerial targets and achieve excellent accuracy. The Garret T11-A was equally impressive as a communications system, although its distinctive wing-shaped design tended to draw the enemy's attention...and their fire.

The Rifleman was limited to turning its torso 40° to either side, seemingly presenting a significant blind-spot in the rear to exploit. However, its ability to flip its arms over and use those weapons to target enemies behind it presented a nasty surprise for an enemy attempting to come up and engage the 'Mech from the rear.

[eksvaized]

[ Previous ┃ Next ] [ All In One ] part 7, MDNI

You awaken early in the morning with warm sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting a soft, dappled glow across the room. As you sit up and stretch, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep, your feet bump into something soft. You draw your knees back to your chest. Simon has also fallen asleep in your bedroom. He is curled at the foot of the bed. His fingers are wrapped around your shin and your sock is rolled down to your ankle. In his other hand, he is clutching a knife. You can't help but wonder how he managed not to cut himself while sleeping.

You try to pry the blade away from his clenched fist. But your touch stirs him up from his unconscious state. His fingers tighten around the handle of the knife. Simon yanks your arm towards him. His movements are rapid and forceful. The confusion swirling in his eyes is tangible. Yet, upon seeing your face, his frantic gaze softens, and he relaxes. He releases his hold on the blade, allowing you to slide it out of his hand. His body sinks back onto the mattress. As he blinks groggily, trying to adjust to the bright light, he wipes the corners of his mouth with his thumb.

For a few hours, an uneasy silence hangs between you both, heavy and palpable, like a thick fog. It's clear that you and Simon are teetering on the edge of voicing your thoughts. The only question is who will dare to shatter the fragile stillness first. After breakfast, consisting of nothing more than stale bread, a slice of aged cheese, and a shared large cup of tepid tea, you summon the courage to speak. Your words cut through the mounting tension.

"Are we going to talk about what happened last night?"

"Do we have to?" Simon replies without looking at you. He smokes while leaning against the window that's barely ajar. The half-finished cigarette that dangles in his fingers, somehow, has survived the night. After falling to the floor, it had miraculously avoided being crushed under your feet.

"Yes," you say, moving towards him. You press your shoulder against the cool wall. The chill seeps through your clothing and sends an icy shudder skittering down your side.

You refuse to forget about yesterday's event. You need answers to the questions that have been plaguing you since you saw the light flashing at the end of the street. The harsh realisation that those people who you thought were your family coming home were, in fact, just strangers, is a bitter pill to swallow. But you are certain that Simon knows who they were and where they came from.

"Fine," he says through the gritted teeth. His fingers race through his hair, messing it up. You notice it has grown out and make a mental note to ask him later if he wants you to trim it. "Before the disease spread and everything went to hell, I was a soldier in the Special Forces."

His confession fills in the gaps that have been puzzling your mind since the day you met him: his muscular physique, his proficiency with firearms, and his combat skills that could only come from years of experience in the battlefield. It also explains his fearlessness and recklessness, which now appear not as erratic traits, but as the hardened exterior of a soldier.

Simon recounted how the dead attacked him and his team during what was supposed to be a routine mission. Upon returning to the base, they discovered they had been bitten. Likely during the chaos of the attack. His teammates' skins were littered with scratches and bruises. During the incident, Simon was separated from the group. As a result, when a small horde of biters cornered his squad, he managed to evade any injuries.

Rumours of a deadly disease began to circulate, amplified by the constant news cycle. The media showed footage of people in a rabid state. They behaved like wild animals and attacked everyone with a pulse and a beating heart. As the situation deteriorated and communication systems collapsed, the severity of their predicament became starkly evident to Simon and his team. The world as they knew it seemed to crumble around them. His team, once confident and composed, had to face the grim reality of their fate.

The final blow came when a group of outlaws attacked their base. Simon was faced with a decision that still haunts him to this day. His captain, bitten and doomed, like the rest of his teammates, ordered him to leave, as he was still unharmed. Torn between guilt and duty to his team, Simon was reluctant to abandon his friends and leave them to face the outlaws alone. But his captain didn't give him a choice. He packed Simon's duffel back with a few spare guns, some food, and then basically pushed him through the gates.

"I'm tired of fighting, of constantly putting my life on the line because I believe it's the right thing to do," he sighs. His shoulders slump, bearing the invisible weight of his internal struggle. His body folds inwards. "I didn't understand it before, couldn't comprehend it, but after meeting you... now I do. Even though part of me yearns for revenge, I can't risk dying because of you."

A sudden fluttering sensation fills your chest, like the delicate wings of a butterfly trapped within your rib cage. You swallow, but your throat feels parched, as if no amount of water could ever quench the dryness.

"I-I don't know... what — Do you think those strangers will return?" You find it hard to form a coherent sentence. There's so much you want to say right now. But you struggle to find the right words.

"If we are lucky, we won't see them again."

Throughout the rest of the week, you are on a constant edge. You are afraid that at any moment someone will march down the street, knock on the front door and when you open it, after aiming a gun at your head, will put a bullet through your skull before going to track Simon. A part of you wants to confess your dreadful thoughts to Simon. But you hold your tongue back. You don't want to add to his worries. Because even if he says nothing to you either, you see the pain in his eyes each time you look at him. Talking with you brought back a lot of awful memories to him. But the main reason you say nothing is because you don't want to appear weak in front of him.

Supplies are dwindling at an alarming rate. When Simon addresses the need to venture outside in search of more before you have a chance to ask if you can tag along, he makes the decision for you.

"You are coming with me. I don't want you to be alone in the house while I'm gone."

* * *

You are curled up in a bed, buried under a pile of heavy blankets. The harsh, biting cold from outside has seeped into the room. It turns your breath into small clouds of vapour that dissipate into the frigid air with each exhale. The chill is so pervasive that sleep becomes an elusive entity. Despite being swathed in layers of clothing and having your feet tucked into not one, but two pairs of socks, your teeth still chatter. The end of summer is near, and you can feel it as each night grows colder and colder.

Simon is downstairs. The distinct sound of his pacing reverberates through the silence of the house. Driven by the need for warmth and company, you extricate yourself from the mountain of blankets, leaving the relative warmth of your bed behind, and descend the stairs.

Upon entering the kitchen, you find Simon perched on the wooden table. His attention is engrossed in his blade. The faint moonlight filtering through the closed blinds illuminates His silhouette.

"I'm cold," you say, causing his focus to shift to you.

He looks at you. His gaze is so intense that you feel as if he's trying to read your mind. For a moment, the silence settles in. You half expect him to order you to go back to bed. Instead, he slides off the table and intertwines his fingers with yours. After leading you to the living room, he sits down on the couch and pulls you into his embrace. Your body tumbles on top of him. You bite the inside of your cheek when you feel your face turn bright red.

Once you stop your fidgeting and get comfortable, he swathes both of you in a soft blanket that had been draped over the back of the couch. You snuggle up to him, burying your face into the crook of his neck. When the icy tip of your nose presses against his skin, he squirms a little, causing a low giggle to slip past your lips. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you even closer to him. His body is like a furnace, so it isn't long before you feel the warmth seeping into your bones, driving away the chill.

"Thank you," you mumble, the words barely escaping your mouth as you feel the sleep tugging at your consciousness. Your eyelids grow heavier with each passing second.

Just before you close your eyes — Simon thinks you are already asleep — he presses his lips to your forehead. You try to suppress a smile, but the corners of your lips betray you, curving upward involuntarily.

TAG LIST: @randointhecloset, @lurkinwbreexy, @breadpitt69, @browtfyoudoing If you want to be added, let me know!

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: cowboy to the rescue

pairing: nash hawthorne x reader

synopsis: you’re having a panic attack and losing control but nash is there to help you through it

warning: mentions of a panic attack

a/n: thanks for reading 🤍🤍 and sorry it’s a little short, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather - a very special thank you to you all for wanting to be on my tag list :)

No this couldn’t happen, not here and not now. But it was happening here and now. Your chest is tight and you could feel your palms sweating. Breathe. You try to tell yourself. Just breathe. But you couldn’t. It was like your lungs had lost the ability to and your brain wasn’t functioning as it should. You sink to the floor, now unable to keep yourself up straight, the panic seeping into every pore and cell of your body. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Your heart was thumping loud and fast and out of control. Any faster and you thought it might explode. Your ears begin to ring and you’re aware you’re shaking. Colours and sounds are all blurring into one merged mess and you’re petrified because you can’t get back to normal. You’re begging your brain, sobbing and praying, for normal to arrive again but time and time again your system fails and gives in to an overriding panic.

You felt a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around you and you’re guided onto someone’s lap. As soon as you smell the blend of smoke, leather and cologne you know exactly who it is and your heart rate slows just a tad. Nash takes your hand into his and gently draws spirals on each of you palms, methodically, rhythmically. He hums a recognisable but undefined tune rocking back and fourth slowly.

“Breathe darlin’,” he whispers in your ear, “I got you.”

But you couldn’t. It wasn’t that easy. Breathing was now seemed the equivalent of climbing Mount Everest.

“C-can’t,” you manage to say, through heaving breaths.

“I know, I know,” he soothes, “I know it’s hard but you have to try, for me okay?”

You nod shakily.

“In,” he instructs, squeezing your hand, “and out,” he says loosening his grip, “your turn now.”

You look into his eyes, showing him the fear and vulnerability written in them. His face softens and he delicately traces a thumb across your jawline. You exhale slowly and take his hand.

“In…. and out. In… and out.”

You squeeze his hand and let go, in a pulsating manner. For every breath in and out, for every hand squeeze, your heart slowed just a little, the knot in your chest loosened slightly.

“You’re doin’ so good darlin’, keep goin’,” he replies, stroking your cheek.

You keep doing the same, little by little. One baby step at a time. You stay in Nash’s strong arms, your hands in one another’s.

“You’re doin’ so well,” Nash tells you, kissing your temple gently, “feeling any better?”

“Yeah,” you say quietly.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs, “I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you.”

His voice was so soothing, so calming.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

He puts his palm over your racing heart, and presses firmly. Not so much as to hurt, but enough to let you know he was there. That he wasn’t leaving. And that’s what you needed. Someone to stay.

a/n: credit to @strangergraphics-archive for the divider

if you want to find more stories like these, why don’t you check out my TIG masterlist ??

[vexwerewolf]

hey, I’m a friend of @bulletkin on discord and I was wondering if you have a good Enkidu build in mind. We are a team of five, with a risky close range (me, enkidu) a support (swallowtail) a long distance big guns (deaths head), a mid range NHP and pilot duo (Pegasus, it’s complicated but I am happy to elaborate) and a tech attacker (hydra). you may have noticed that I am the only (full) close range mech, and unfortunately I am really good at exploding. Do you have higher level Enkidu routes/suggestions? I’m trying to get my movement up and be more debilitating when in close combat. Thanks!!

-- HA ENKIDU @ LL6 -- [ LICENSES ] HA Tokugawa 3, IPS-N Tortuga 3 [ CORE BONUSES ] Reinforced Frame, Heatfall Coolant System [ TALENTS ] Nuclear Cavalier 3, Hunter 2, Skirmisher 2, Combined Arms 1, Duelist 1 [ STATS ] HULL:4 AGI:2 SYS:0 ENGI:2 STRUCTURE:4 HP:28 ARMOR:0 STRESS:4 HEATCAP:10 REPAIR:5 TECH ATK:-2 LIMITED:+1 SPD:4 EVA:10 EDEF:8 SENSE:5 SAVE:13 [ WEAPONS ] Integrated: Plasma Talons Integrated: Fuel Rod Gun FLEX MOUNT: Torch FLEX MOUNT: Assault Rifle [ SYSTEMS ] Personalizations, HyperDense Armor, Deep Well Heat Sink

I call this one War Without Reason. It might not hit your "movement up" goal, but it will hopefully fix your exploding issue.

The maths works out like this: frames with 0 or 1 Armor don't benefit as much from the +1 Armor that Sloped Plating gives as much as they do from the +5 HP given by Reinforced Frame. We're going to pump Hull to 4, which in addition to +8 HP gives us that sweet +2 Repair Cap as well, and stacked with the +2 HP from Personalizations and the +3 HP you get from Grit, that takes us up to a truly absurd 28 HP.

Then, we use HyperDense Armor from the IPS-N Tortuga. This gives us Resistance to both damage and heat from all sources beyond Range 3 - which is the effective range of our Plasma Talons. Against enemies who don't have a way of Shredding us or otherwise bypassing Resistance, we effectively have twice as much HP. Sure, it leaves us Slowed, but once we get into the Danger Zone we have Speed 7 so it barely matters. It also protects us from heatgun enemies trying to slag our reactor.

Speaking of which, once we get into the Danger Zone - which we can do reliably and safely given that we have a Torch and our Overcharge never goes above 1d6 - our build really gets going. The first two ranks of Nuclear Cavalier turn on, we gain access to Plasma Talons and if we start a turn still in the Danger Zone, we gain Resistance to heat from Deep Well Heat Sink, meaning we can overcharge on the cheap and our Torch only gains us 1 heat.

We have two reliable sources of soft cover: whenever we're engaged with an enemy, we gain it, and whenever we take a turn without harming anyone, we gain it. This increases our survivability against ranged attacks.

We have Hunter 2 for one specific reason: you can now throw your fucking Plasma Talons at people, effectively extending their range by 2 spaces. Since Thrown weapons are still melee attacks, this doesn't violate the prohibition on ranged attacks from All Fours.

[ariiiiih]

Usually, we think He Xuan became the Supreme because of his hatred for Shi Wudu, which was also told by Xie Lian(“Hatred was what made Ship-Sinking Black Water”). However, the plots do not actually support this. And I think the contexts that MXTX created for the blackwater arc had some contradictions, or at least made the analysis of He Xuan’s character hard.

He Xuan became the Supreme before he went to the Upper Court (a ghost in a good disguise must be a Supreme—like XL checked HC’s hand and hair), and he went to the Upper Court to investigate what Shi Wudu had done. So, he had no idea about the fate alteration that Shi Wudu did when he went to Mount Tonglu. Then, how could his hatred for Shi Wudu support him to become the Supreme?

Therefore, other things supported him.

I have two possible ideas (one is more abstract, and one is more personal/specific):

First, his hatred for the unfairness and injustice existed in the society.

This was derived from his life experience (chap 53, pp.27-28): the officials hid his test scrolls and exchanged them for blank ones; fiancée and sister were forcibly taken and died; he was unjustly imprisoned…We could see his tragedy was caused by the powerful malevolent officials who bullied and oppressed the common people for their benefit, the unfunctional social system that couldn’t help the citizens seek justice. (Does this sound familiar? Yeah, that what was Shi Wudi had done, which makes me feel he was just a representative of the cause of this kind of tragedy among the common people in ancient China). Such injustice made him hate them, which made his soul unrested, like what Xie Lian said: “He died filled with murderous intent and resentment…I don’t think a soul hammered into shape by such means would easily rest in peace. Instead, he’d thirst for revenge.” (chap 60, pp. 135)

So, He Xuan went to Mount Tonglu to make himself capable of killing unjust people afterlife. 

There’s no direct description, but we could speculate it from the books.

First, each Supreme acted for their 执念(unshakeable and stubborn belief, the closest word I found in English is fixation, some translators will translate it to obsession, but it is not proper here). For instance, Bai Wuxiang hated mortals, so he created ghosts and monsters from Mount Tonglu. Hua Cheng loved Xie Lian, so he kept searching for him for eight hundred years and supported him no matter what happened. So He Xuan must act for his 执念, and killing injustice----the malevolent people who bullied and oppressed the common people for their benefit----is a reasonable action.

Second, in the Puji Shrine, when Hua Cheng looked through the scrolls that Shi Wudu had put for Reverend Empty Words, he pointed out the people he killed, and Xie Lian found they were all lawless malevolently evil tyrants, and he pointed out the people that He Xuan killed (chap 51). Implying by the type of people that Hua Cheng killed and the fact that Hua Cheng knew the people that He Xuan killed, it was highly possible that He Xuan also killed these types of people, just like what he did in the eve of Hanlu when he was alive.

(belike: Hua Cheng (threw a scroll): Have a look. He Xuan (quietly looked through the scroll, pointing to some names): I’ll take those. Hua Cheng (took the scroll back, casually glancing at the names left for him): Good. Half half this time. (they were splitting the kill list)

And why he decided to use “killing” as an approach to punish the unjust? Because the system in the society at that time didn’t allow him to get his just and punish the unjust fairly. For instance, when he tried to seek justice for his fiancée and sister, he got into jail. If the system is not functional, then he would be the one who executes the final judgment.

Second, his love for his family. While his love for his family is obvious, why this is a reason that he went to Mount Tonglu? He wished to bring the truth and just to his love, the innocent family. This is similar to the reason that Hua Cheng became the Supreme for Xie Lian: to be powerful enough to support and protect the ones we love. If He Xuan couldn’t be Supreme, he wouldn’t have any chance to investigate the truth of fate exchange and kill Shi Wudu in the end.

Then, how did his 执念 change as he realized the truth of fate exchange?

But before going into this, I want to talk about a “problem” in a plot that MXTX created.

The fate exchange could be speculated at the very beginning when He Xuan went to the Upper Court.

Let's see what information He Xuan needed to speculate fate exchange: the birth details of Shi Qingxuan; the fact that he has met the Reverend Empty Words; the time that Reverend Empty Words stopped disturbing Shi Qingxuan was close to the time that He Xuan met Reverend Empty Words; they died at the same time, but one became the god, one the ghost. Are those pieces of information hard to collect? No. Because Shi Qingxuan “is not one to hide anything” (chap 65, pp.241), and there’s no point for him to hide these from He Xuan and He Xuan even purposely being close to Shi Qingxuan to collect information about his brother. And is the speculation hard to make? No. See how Xie Lian quickly found the truth of fate exchange? He even didn’t have any information about He Xuan. And He Xuan is smart, there’s no reason for him not to have this reasonable speculation. 

Then, what is the reason let him take the revenge hundreds of years later?

The first thing I thought of was evidence.

We learned that Hua Cheng had speculated Jun Wu purposely controlled the time He Xuan took his revenge: when Jun Wu felt Shi Wudu was a threat to him (and when Xie Lian ascended, like another test for him: will he help Shi Qingxuan hide the truth of fate exchange because Shi Qingxuan is his friend?), he would “leak the fate-switching affair” to He Xuan (chap 119). Based on the analysis above, the truth was speculated a long time ago, so here must have the direct evidence. And we know He Xuan acted quickly when the evidence was found. Otherwise, there’s no way for Jun Wu to control the time of revenge.

However, if it is evidence, then it means He Xuan wasn’t a hundred percent sure that Shi Wudu did fate exchange. Then, his years of hatred for Shi Wudu didn’t hold up. Though it did make sense just based on the plots, it seems to make the story lack tension. From what Xie Lian had thought after the blackwater arc, we could see there’s a parallel he wanted to make as a contrast between He Xuan and Hua Cheng: If Hua Cheng’s love for Xie Lian didn’t change for eight hundred years, then He Xuan’s hate for Shi Wudu should be same. However, this is not the case according to the analysis above.

So, how to resolve this issue?

My first theory is He Xuan actually had the evidence a long time ago, but there’s another reason that stopped him from taking action quickly, some Jun Wu-like reason, you know he had to make sure He Xuan took revenge at the time he wanted.

My second theory is He Xuan’s hatred is more abstract, and Shi Wudu is just no more than another person who fits his framework of injustice, like the tyrants in Fu Gu. So, it doesn’t really matter whether he had the evidence of fate exchange.

So, did his 执念 change as he realized the truth of fate exchange? Not really. Also, it fits “the hundreds of years of hate contrast”.

(I now don’t have other ideas about the reasons that make He Xuan take revenge hundreds of years later now (there may be some beefleaf versions, but you know it is not the case). So, welcome to share your thoughts:)

Hate and love are just like the two sides of a coin, why we hate injustice and unfairness because we care about the people living in this world. Shi Wudu and He’ family is an instance/ representative of this framework. Why he didn’t disappear after killing Shi Wudu? One of the reasons is the unfairness and injustice would never disappear, is his positive attitude toward life. The resistance is an eternal subject, while the love for life is a great song.

People usually forget He Xuan was raised with love, and this family love is powerful. He Xuan himself is a person who fights for a living, and never gives up. He could once get lost, be affected, and suffered by his pain and hate, but in the deep side of his heart, I believe he still finds himself and his direction.

[agbpaints]

Thumbing thru clan Omnimech variants and I always love it when I get to the T configs.

For those who don't know- config T is a thing Catalyst has been doing in their recognition guides for the plastic omnis from Clan Invasion where the weapons load is visually identical to the Prime for WYSIWYG purposes but using whatever the designers want from out 'til the ilClan era. Some of these are pretty sound (the Mad Dog T downgrades the arm mounted pulse lasers to ER lasers, but adds extra ammo for the LRMs, slaps Artemis V on them, and adds an extra heat sink) but a lot of them are absolutely nutty. What do you mean the Nova T has 12 medium chem lasers. Who looked at the Adder and though 'hmm yes what this needs is the targetting computer removed and capacitors added to both PPCs so it overheats even worse!'. Why did the Crossbow T designers decide to interpret the rangefinding sensor clusters for the Artemis system as ER large lasers and then give it 40 god damn tubes of one shot SRM 2s and 6s??? Absolutely deranged behavior from the mechtechs.

[badbatchposts]

Quiet Corners of the Galaxy, Ch. 14

Fic Teaser: While on a routine mission for Cid, the Bad Batch encounter a woman fleeing from the Empire. Crosshair suspects her seemingly free-spirited, nomadic existence is actually a cover for something else, but struggles to keep his attraction toward her in check as their personalities and ideals clash.

Relevant tags/content warnings: Crosshair/Original Female Character, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Periodic Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use

Chapters posted 1-2x weekly!

Read the full fic so far on AO3

Read all chapters on Tumblr: Ch. 1 l Ch. 2 l Ch. 3 l Ch. 4 l Ch. 5 l Ch. 6 l Ch. 7 l Ch. 8 l Ch. 9 l Ch. 10 l Ch. 11 l Ch. 12 l Ch. 13 l Ch. 14

Chapter 14 summary: The squad makes their way through the villa. Everything goes according to plan, until it doesn't.

Tech was pleased with how things were going. Inside the villa, all was quiet: their surveillance had revealed that security was posted exclusively at the mansion’s entryways, in addition to one patrol circulating the perimeter at regular intervals, and the interior was monitored only by cameras and automated systems. With those disabled, they were able to enter easily through a darkened window and proceed entirely unmolested through the shadowy hallways, footfalls sinking quietly into the plush carpets. By the time the Batch had rendezvoused with Dara in the villa’s control room, the stunned workers were already expertly bound and propped securely in an out-of-the-way corner.

In fact, Tech allowed himself the brief luxury of privately celebrating how well this first phase of the plan had gone, even as he mentally catalogued the skill with which Dara had fulfilled her role, adding it to his mounting list of clues that, he believed, would ultimately aid him in deciphering the mystery behind the woman’s origins.

He was well-aware that, despite his expertise in many areas, others often believed him to be unable to read social cues, always distracted by his datapad and perhaps even ignorant of his surroundings. However, because these skills had so frequently been a challenge for him growing up, he had actually dedicated an extraordinary amount of effort to improving them. Crosshair and Hunter were both especially observant in their own ways, aided by their enhanced senses, but Tech, for all he might lack, equaled them by being attentive, thorough, and analytical. Even when others thought he wasn’t altogether present, he paid attention. He collected evidence. He formed hypotheses. He tried to understand.

At present, Dara remained largely beyond his understanding. He was not bothered by this. She had been an asset to the team thus far. He would continue to collect evidence.

Of course, he had one hypothesis that, by this point, he considered more or less proven: Crosshair was entirely taken with her.

If Crosshair’s reaction to their teasing, his obvious jealousy towards Hunter, and the bruise he had left on Dara’s neck had not been enough evidence for Tech, he would have been convinced entirely by the way Crosshair looked at her when he didn’t realize anyone was paying attention. Similar to most soldiers, none of the Batch were strangers to desire, and Crosshair, like all of them, had taken plenty of advantage of rest days between missions and their infrequent bouts of shore leave to find a happily willing partner for the night. Tech had therefore seen Crosshair look at pretty individuals of innumerable genders and species with lust, hunger, even charm—and sure, he had directed at least the former two toward Dara often enough. But more than that, Tech had noticed that, when watching their new traveling companion, his brother’s gaze frequently held a rapt fascination. So often solitary, Crosshair had even taken to hovering in their common areas more, keeping to the edges of conversation and pretending to focus on some task or other, but—especially when Dara appeared to be ignoring him—often eyeing her, as though he could find her secrets written somewhere on her face.

Tech knew that his brother was a difficult man. Whatever was brewing between Crosshair and Dara, Tech was certain that the sniper would be the last to acknowledge it.

In any event, Tech mused, perhaps he should speak with Hunter and suggest that he back off on the flirting, for the sake of Crosshair’s inevitably repressed feelings, and preventing a fistfight. Even now, as Tech was tapping away at the control room’s array to better evaluate the security measures protecting Prium’s private laboratory, Hunter and Dara were engaging in a playful banter that Crosshair was certainly listening to over the open comm channel and, Tech imagined, likely seething over.

“Ah,” Tech interrupted them. “It appears that security for the laboratory—and, we may presume, the archive vault—is maintained via a separate network than this control room.”

Echo sighed. “Are you saying that there’s another control room—somewhere not on the floorplan—that we need to find?”

Tech tapped his finger thoughtfully against the edge of his datapad. “Yes, I do believe that would be the wisest course of action. There may be more workers monitoring the laboratory from there. Additionally, in the event that a security measure is triggered, I would need access to the network to shut it down.”

“Make it quick,” Crosshair urged over comms. “Before the other guard comes looking for Dara.”

Hunter glanced around the room, assessing their options. “Tech, stay here. Look through the camera feeds and floor plans to see if you can identify where the secondary control room might be. In the meantime, the rest of us will conduct a physical search. I’ll take top floor, Wrecker, take this floor, Dara and Echo, check the basement,” he ordered.

The team set off to their tasks, leaving Tech alone. As he looked closely through the building schematics, trying to identify any areas that seemed architecturally inconsistent, where a space large enough for a concealed room might be located, he wondered exactly why Prium had such a deep distrust of droids. Echo would have been able to make much shorter work than himself of scanning through the camera feeds for clues, but the array here didn’t even have a scomp port. As such, he doubted that Echo would be able to help them access the lab or counter any further security measures. Hopefully the keycard that Dara had stolen would be enough to gain them access.

Fully capable of multitasking, Tech switched to a private comm channel with Crosshair to check in while he continued his work.

“What?” his brother drawled in answer.

Like usual, Tech chose to ignore Crosshair’s rudeness. “How are things outside?”

“Boring.”

“I am serious,” Tech chastised. “I am beginning to think that this may require more time than we have allotted ourselves.”

Crosshair sighed over the line. Tech could imagine him rolling his eyes.

“Guard is a bit antsy. He keeps testing to see if comms are operational again. Perimeter patrol just checked in with him. They seem relaxed.”

“And you?” Tech pressed.

“Just peachy.”

It was no surprise that Crosshair was being as taciturn as always. No matter—Tech had no trouble getting to the point.

“Are you concerned about Dara?” he asked.

Silence on the line. Then, “I don’t see how she could get away with betraying us here. Or what the point would be.”

“Ah,” Tech replied. “That is not what I meant. Are you concerned for her safety on this mission?”

More silence, silence that went on so long that Tech briefly thought that Crosshair may have gotten annoyed and disconnected. Finally, Crosshair asked, every word dripping with disdain, “Why would I care about that?”

The corners of Tech’s mouth twitched. “Well, I had presumed that perhaps your opinion of her had changed as a result of whatever events led to your giving her that hickey.”

Another pause. “That didn’t mean anything. Besides, she’s with Echo—there’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“Mmm,” Tech mused. “Yes, Echo will ensure that nothing happens to her. And I presume that you are tracking their progress through your infrared scope.”

Crosshair muttered something unintelligible that Tech, with a sense of smug satisfaction, could rightfully assume was a rude comment about him, before raising his voice again. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing something important right now?”

“I am, and I have successfully achieved it while simultaneously carrying on this conversation.” Tech switched to the open comm channel to inform the rest of the team. “I have pinpointed the location of the secondary control room. It is in the basement, two corridors away from the entrance to the laboratory.”

“Great work, Tech,” Hunter acknowledged. “We’ll meet up there.”

***

Echo and Dara’s search had begun at the lab, where they were able to confirm their assumption that the absence of a scomp port meant the cyborg would be unable to unlock the door himself. The basement was significantly more utilitarian than the rest of the villa. Gone were the lavish trappings of wealth; white tiles and gray durasteel replaced velvety red carpets and elaborate wall hangings, while functional, stark lighting panels stood in for warm wall sconces and crystal chandeliers.

As they combed the rooms and corridors, Echo examined Dara closely. It was the first time he’d seen her with her weapon drawn. She had a DH-16 blaster pistol—her small hold-out blaster, a CS14, remained safely hidden under her poncho—and was holding it correctly, with a secure, two-handed grip and good trigger discipline. That was a good sign that her skill in taking down the troopers the first day she had encountered the Batch was more than a fluke, which was something of a relief for Echo. While they rarely planned on getting caught in a shoot-out, every job the Batch took on for Cid did seem to have odds that leaned that way. He knew he’d be able to protect Dara if it came down to it, but he preferred her being able to defend herself.

Dara opened a door, letting Echo take point to clear the room. It was an industrial kitchen with gleaming appliances, completely empty. He motioned to her to enter so that they could check out another door leading off of the main area—likely a pantry and not the control room they were looking for, but Echo was always thorough.

“So,” he began, nodding toward Dara’s outstretched weapon as they carried on with their task. “You have some training on how to use that?”

The woman was aghast. “Of course. How irresponsible would it be to carry a blaster and not know anything about it?”

The cyborg chuckled. “You’d be surprised what you see with civilians. Where’d you learn?”

Dara relaxed, giving him a wry smile. “My fieldwork took me to some pretty hostile planets. The people I worked with were always agreeable. The fauna, less so. I took a training course.”

Echo nodded, satisfied with the explanation. He didn’t have Hunter’s ability to hear someone’s pulse jump when they were lying, but her story had a ring of truth to it. He was relieved; he had put himself on the line advocating for Dara to stick around, and so far it was paying off. Once they’d gained her trust enough, he was sure that she would come clean about the parts of her backstory that she was keeping quiet. And maybe then she would even be willing to help out with a few missions for Rex’s clone network. The clones couldn’t help having the most recognizable face in the galaxy, and they were all terrible liars as a general rule. They could use someone who could go where they couldn’t, blend in where they stuck out.

“Glad to hear it,” he replied. “Makes me feel better to know you won’t accidentally blast me.”

She laughed. “No. If I shoot you, it’ll be on purpose.”

“Well, that’s a comfort.” They exchanged grins as they exited the kitchen and moved on to the corridor. Echo decided to test out a more difficult subject. “Luckily for me, I don’t think I’m at the top of your list of people to shoot right now,” he continued.

Dara rolled her eyes. “Yeah. I don’t know if you’ve realized this, but your brother’s a bit of an asshole.”

The cyborg raised an eyebrow. “Which one of those assholes do you mean?” When Dara smirked at the joke, he gave a knowing shrug. “Listen, I can’t exactly say Crosshair means well. He can be pretty harsh, and he doesn’t let many people in. But for those he does, you won’t find a more protective or loyal clone anywhere. And that’s saying a lot—loyalty is what clones are all about.”

The woman looked like she was considering his words. She sighed and opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the comm from Tech, announcing that he’d found what they were looking for. They were only a corridor away, and so Echo led them down the hall to wait silently for the others outside the secondary control room.

Only minutes later, they were joined by Hunter, Wrecker, and Tech. Hunter signaled to the squad, who lined up on either side of the door as he took point. When it opened, a solitary, bored-looking worker with his back to them was staring, chin in his hand, at a datapad, ignoring the camera monitors on the wall in front of him completely. The Sergeant stunned him.

“Come on. That was too easy,” Wrecker lamented as he gently lifted the worker from his chair and tied him up in a corner.

“You just had to say that, didn’t you, Wrecker,” Hunter complained while Tech took the man’s place at the controls and set to work.

“This will take a few moments,” Tech informed them. “The rest of you should go and prepare to enter the laboratory. I will join you shortly.”

While Echo remained in the control room to watch Tech’s back, the others approached the door to the lab in the next corridor. Dara fished Raab’s keycard out of her pocket and waited. A few minutes later, the comm crackled to life with Tech’s voice.

“Security for the laboratory has been disabled. You may proceed.”

Dara swiped the card. The sensor blinked once, twice. For a long, tense moment, nothing happened. Then, suddenly, a blast door closed, hiding the entrance to the laboratory behind a thick wall of durasteel.

“Tech, what is happening,” Hunter growled over the comms.

The genius’s voice wasn’t exactly panicked, but it had lost its calm assuredness. “It appears that Raab does not have the type of access that he led Dara to believe. An alert has been triggered.”

Tech was no longer pleased with how things were going.

Next chapter

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