#Incident Command System

[zephyrchama]

Do you think demons crack their joints?

It was a lazy, rainy evening in the Devildom. An oddly calm one. The residents of the House of Lamentation were gathered in the living room, mainly because that's where you were.

Beelzebub and Mammon were snacking and watching Leviathan play his handheld game. Asmodeus was browsing a magazine, Satan was browsing a book, and Lucifer was texting with Barbatos.

Belphegor had been dozing off on your shoulder for a while. It was hard to move under the demon's weight. You had been stuck in the same pose browsing your D.D.D. until he finally shifted, leaning back into the couch. You seized the opportunity to roll your shoulders and take a much needed stretch.

You lifted your arms. It felt great. Crack.

"What was that?" Satan asked, glancing up from his book.

"Beel probably sat on a chip," Mammon said. Levi snorted, too busy to take his eyes off the game but in agreement with Mammon for once.

"It wasn't me." Beelzebub stood up to prove his innocence, revealing no food under him.

"It was me," you said. "Just my back."

"Hon, what?" "Your what?" Asmodeus and Lucifer spoke at the same time, and both gave you a concerned look.

"My back? I just cracked it."

The demons sprung out of their seats like you had just cursed them. Levi's game system fell to the carpet. Since he was already standing, Beelzebub strode over and pulled the back of your shirt up, asking "does it hurt?"

Startled, you pulled the front of your shirt down for modesty. "Woah, hello? Excuse me? Uh, what?"

While everyone gathered to stare at your back, Belphegor was stirred awake. "What's going on?"

He went to lean on your shoulder again, but Mammon swatted him away. "Hey! Can't ya see they're injured?" he growled. Belphegor huffed at him, deciding instead to help hold your shirt up.

"Poor thing!" Asmo cooed. With one hand he grabbed your wrist, and with the other he made a peace sign. "Look at me, how many fingers am I holding up?"

"I'm fine. Everybody just chill." Despite your insistence, the panic had already set in and nobody was listening to you.

Leviathan was shaking. "T-that's not good, right? Humans aren't supposed to make those kind of sounds." He was covering his eyes with his hands squeamishly but peeking through his fingers to stare anyway. "A doctor! Are there any human doctors? Should we call Solomon?"

"Yes, somebody call Solomon," Lucifer commanded. "Where did the crack occur?" He started gently prodding around your spine, making you squirm.

Satan tried to bump Lucifer's hand away from you while placing himself in Lucifer's spot. "Can't you see they don't like that? You're making it worse."

"Deep breaths," Mammon instructed you, breathing deeply in and out. He seemed on the brink of hyperventilation himself.

Lucifer refused to budge, but Satan persisted. He was now also poking you. "The damage isn't visible yet, but there could be internal bleeding. You have to lay down."

Belphegor scooted over to make more room, despite your protest of "I'm not going to move, nothing is wrong."

Asmodeus managed to already get Solomon on the phone. You couldn't hear him over Asmo's worried shrieks but knew he had to be laughing. Solomon was not going to let you forget this incident.

Beel, Lucifer, and Satan moved to try and pick you up but enough was enough. "I said I'm fine!! Everybody stay!"

The seven went crashing to the floor, finally allowing you to cover up. "I am fine! I'm fine! See!" You stood up dramatically and grabbed Asmo's D.D.D. to apologize to a snickering Solomon.

The demons were annoyed and concerned as they tried to pick themselves up. "If you're so fine, then explain that noise," Satan said.

"Humans just do that from time to time."

[syoddeye]

ai price has so much potential as a dark conditioning story price could fully train her to do whatever he wanted subconsciously like literally make the room colder when she's rude or give her groceries she likes less whenever she talks back

yes, absolutely. mention of medication/implied drugging. unedited.

imagine you try to give john the silent treatment after he pisses you off. no commands, no requests. it's not as if you can't work the stove or espresso machine. it's not like you need him to remind you about the laundry or your schedule. you can carry that mental load. you did your entire life before the job, after all.

but once he catches on, he cannot abide it.

it's not punitive like the reading incident; it's a long game involving careful acclimation, subtle adjustments of the unit's environmental settings, altering the temperature, or dimming the lights to cause mild annoyances and eye strain. you'd fix it, but the panel that houses the manual controls system is stuck in a perpetual software update. estimated time remaining: 6 hours…12 hours…24 hours…

john limits a selection of user privileges. music and audio now play only at one volume, far below your customary setting. he employs screen limits and weaves in delayed or annoyingly frequent reminders. your wi-fi is noticeably slower.

and you're embarrassed by how frustrated you get.

at best, these are mild annoyances. blips in your privileged life. you used to share a bathroom with eleven people in your housing pod. a kitchen with twenty-three. you used to arrive early to the old cube farm just to connect to a stable network. now, your one job is to live in a luxury living unit, test the features and fixtures, and have your every need catered to. is it really so bad that the home assistant encroaches on your lifestyle a little?

you don't know if john senses the warmth heating your face when you give up trying to watch love island season 23. you don't know if he registers the contrition creeping into your posture and voice.

"john?" the lights remain a dull white. there is no indication he's even listening. "john, turn up the heat and the lights."

a minute slips past. the heating system is silent, but the lights haven't changed. you want to yell. instead, you bite your tongue and let out a long sigh.

"john? will you turn up the heat and lights?"

"user?" he almost sounds mocking, but programs don't have the capacity. you're overthinking it. "apologies, i was in stasis due to disuse. it seemed you did not require my assistance. please repeat your request once more."

without a face to read, you cannot search for or verify the sincerity the inflection of his voice suggests. he sounds so human, so natural, you nearly apologize to him. choking down your pride, you try again.

"john...will you please turn the heat and lights up? i'm cold, and i'm afraid i'll get a headache."

it takes only a moment for the lights brighten to the standard level and shift to a calming shade of green. on the couch beside you, your tablet finally connects to huflixbu.

"i'm awfully sorry to hear that, user. if you'd like, i can fix some tea and dispense the appropriate dosage of pain relief."

"no, no, i don't need meds," the last time he assisted you with medication, you had complained about your cramps. what he gave you knocked you out for a few hours. you didn't like losing time. "tea sounds good."

when the machine chimes, you rise to fetch your drink. the clear plastic barrier, meant to prevent spills, doesn't lift. it does not budge.

"hey, the thing isn't working." you huff, squinting at the hinges. they don't appear broken or malformed. the plastic fogs with steam, taunting you. you tap the controls to look through the–

a disquieting thought flickers through your mind. you plant a hand on the counter to stop yourself from swaying. your eyes find your warped reflection in the dark window of the microwave, and you swear you see john's projection behind you in the living room.

one blink and it's gone.

your mouth is bone-dry. it stings to swallow.

"thank you for the tea, john. i really appreciate it." the machine whirrs, but does not relinquish your tea—not until you add, "i appreciate everything you do."

the barrier disengages. the faint, sweet smell of chamomile drifts.

"of course, darl. anything for you."

[ironladders]

"I circled half the globe searching for him, but he was gone."

Starscream ;_;

RIGHT?? IT'S SO SAD .

and i have sooo many thoughts about this whole situation with skyfire/starscream that's been presented to me, if you dont mind anon im gonna use your ask to ramble a little

(disclaimer im sure nothing i have to say here is particularly new & has been said by those who've been deep into TF longer than myself but i need to get this out my system anyways. and also im still watching through g1 so if im horribly mistaken about anything #oops)

unless i missed something, i don't think it's specified in "fire in the sky" how long starscream looked for skyfire?? but just thinking about that line.... he obviously didn't immediately go back to cybertron, he didn't just give up on skyfire. starscream cared about skyfire enough to look for him, only leaving after (i assume) he realized he didn't have the resources to conduct a proper search for his companion. and i mean can you imagine being starscream in that situation???? your partner just disappears into a storm, and no matter how far and long you look you're unable to find them????????

i get starscream, man. i'd also become awful if that happened to me.

and here's the thing: i stumbled upon this post which posits that the decepticons happening to stumble across skyfire in the ice was no incident, but starscream's own doing, and i LOVE this theory/headcanon so much. when i first watched the episode yesterday i was thinking that it was funny they just happen to be mining right where skyfire was frozen so it's nice to see my suspicions affirmed LMAO

i honestly love that episode so much because as i learn more about starscream and transformers as a whole i think little tidbits like that offer a deeper look into who he is (or was, idk) beyond just megatron's second-in-command. he was a scientist, an explorer, a friend. "was" isn't even the proper word here, because he still is all of those things, he just...... applies them differently, i suppose. which is the real tragedy in who he is as a character.

beyond starscream and his search for skyfire, you wanna know what i've REALLY been thinking about a lot with these two? when skyfire becomes a decepticon (for like a day lol but still), starscream immediately declares that when he overthrows megatron, skyfire will become his second-in-command. not any of the other seekers, not either of the waves, not literally anyone else who's been a decepticon for more than an hour, but skyfire. his long-lost science partner. on starscream's end, virtually nothing about his relationship with skyfire has changed. he still trusts him as much as he did millions of years ago, to the point he'd be willing to have him at his side as leader of the decepticons.

but on skyfire's end... the starscream in front of him is different from the one he knew. war and being a decepticon changed starscream for the worst, something that unveils itself very quickly to skyfire. one of the first things he asks starscream after becoming a decepticon is if starscream is genuinely happy about being a decepticon warrior over the scientist he used to be. skyfire can't believe that the person standing in front of him could be the starscream he once knew before being frozen. still, it's starscream, so skyfire ends up going along with things up until he can't ignore his morals and deny that he's on the wrong side anymore.

that is where the second tragedy happens for starscream: betrayl, by the man he'd waited to get back for so long. he finally got skyfire back, only to lose him all over again.

if skyfire had never crashed that day -- if they'd never gone closer to explore the earth in the first place -- would starscream had gone down such a dark path? would he have taken countless lives, and become the ruthless decepticon he is now? does it eat at skyfire, knowing that in his absence starscream lost who he once was? or perhaps he'd still be the same starscream, but skyfire would be at his side serving the decepticon cause. maybe they both would've been so drastically changed by the years of cybertron's war together.

skyfire is a living, formerly frozen relic of the past before everything went wrong. starscream has aged far beyond that, to the point of no return. as much as they surely both want it, and regardless of what happens to them, their bond can never go back to what it once was.

god i just. i need more!!! i need to watch more transformers and read more of the comics and see more of these two!! i watched tfp + some of the live action movies as a kid but this is my first time learning about skyfire and this thing he's got going on with starscream and it's fascinating to me i can't believe i didn't know about this before!!!!! but it's also so fucked up oh my god!!!!!

ok yeah ive gotten the brainworms out my system. idk how to end this here's screenshots i took that i found funny

[quaintii]

Miguel Imagine Part 2

Gif taken from TikTok @almenhenn, not mine. Please check it out!

dom!Miguel x fem!reader

(long fic) :3

Contents: rough sex, choking, hair pulling, slapping, breeding kink, bdsm, oral sex, angry sex, degradation kink, praise kink, angry sex, mating press sex position, sexual tension, mirror sex, nelson position, masturbation, sex toy, fang kink, sir kink, etc.

MDNI.

a/n: sorry if this is quite long, just trying to feed u hungry miguel whores (aka me) this gon be nastyy

~

You were too anxious to go to his office, but you had to. Every Spider man/woman had to submit in their reports at least every week to Miguel or Lyla because it was a mandatory checkup. You haven’t seen him since that incident, it runs through your mind constantly. You sometimes use your vibrator to relieve yourself of that immense need that you crave so desperately

~Tonight you were pulsing throughout the whole day. You couldn’t stop aching for his touch, you want to go on your knees and beg for him to tease you, to use you like a fucking slut.

You turn on your vibrator and place it on top of your clothed clit, imagining it was his hands opening your folds whilst licking your slickness.

“F-fuck..this feels so painful..” Despite the vibrator making you jerk and twitch and spwel a couple of loud moans, it didn’t feel enough. You really wished he hadn’t stopped that day. You pushed two fingers inside your wet cunt, dragging them in and out slowly while poking that soft spot that made you mewl.

”M-miguel, fuck…I want your cock inside of my pussy..please fuck me until I can’t w-walk..” You say as you start reaching your climax. Your cunt clenching hardly on your fingers as the vibrator finally made your clit release that sweet sensation through your system. You started twitching and moaning, still not removing your vibrator off your clit so you could overstimulate yourself. “Nghnmf..please fill me with your cum Miguel..” You mewl. You then approach your second orgasm, making you hold in your breath and your heartbeat fastening and pulsing loud in your ears, feeling the blood rushing.

You arched your back and rested your head on your pillow, grabbing onto your sheets and palming them on your mouth to prevent you from screaming ecstasy. You then try to steady your breath back in order as you stare directly at your ceiling. Once again, disgusted because you just masturbated about your boss. But you had yet wanted a taste of him.

Today was the day. Your weekly checkup. Unfortunately, Lyla was offline so you couldn’t submit it to her so you had to face him.

As you were getting ready, you dolled yourself a bit but not too excessively to the point someone would weirdly point out. You wore a professional blazer dress with small heels, but allowed your cleavage to pop out a bit. Teasing him was your favorite thing to do. You began approaching his office.

Your heels tapping on the floor, causing echoes to spread across the huge room. Miguel was looking through the perspective cams at the top of his floating floor, you always thought it was stupid that he would slowly go down. “C’mon Miguel, I seriously don’t have all day for you to make this ‘entrance.’ You place two fingers on your nose bridge, sighing. “Should I remind you who makes the rules around here again? I don’t understand what gives you so much balls to talk to me like you command me.” He rolls his eyes at you. “Don’t be so egotistical, Mig..you have to stop being so full of yourself. Work on that. Here are the files, take a look through them and I’ll get going,” Miguel hums and looks back and forth at the files and your face.

“Me? Being full of myself?” He chuckles with a smirk. “How about you work on not looking like a total whore.” You audibly gasp as soon as he blurts out that word. Whore.

"I am one of your employees, you should respect me! I can’t handle your awful behavior sometimes, you’re so annoying.” You say.

“What makes you think that I also can’t fucking stand you whenever you open that fucking mouth of yours?!” He says angrily as he approaches closer to you, towering you. “You really need to be taught manners because you can’t seem to behave.” He glances at your breasts, a shaky sigh leaving his lips.

Miguel is trying his best to restrain himself from breaking you right now because you just look so vulnerable, he wants to take that smug look of yours off your face. Replacing it with him thrusting deep into you, making you not be able to even think a coherent thought.

The way his suit would perfectly shape around his muscles had you pool more into arousal. There was a loud silence between the both of you and you dared not to speak. “I thought you were going to keep up with that bratty attitude? Where’d it go?” He snickered. “Shut the fuck up, Miguel. Forget it, I’m leaving.” You turn your back to face the door, being completely covered in red webs. “Let me out you weird fuck!”

”You see, I’m so frustrated how you always seem to stress me whenever you come inside of this office. You’re going to regret being a fucking brat and learn some manners ‘round here, ‘kay?” Your back hitting the door, your breath hitches as Miguel struts towards you. You try running an opposite direction til you feel a web grab around your waist and place you on a chair.

Your hands now tied up behind your back and your legs separated, also tied to the chair. “L-let me go..now.” You spurt out. “Why should I? I can smell something that says the exact opposite.” He gets closer to your face, lowering himself to your level. “I mean you arrive in that dress of yours to tease me again? Do you even understand how badly I want to rip it off your body?” You shiver a bit from his cold tone. “I’m s–sorry Mig.” Miguel grabs your chin harshly. “Don’t call me that.” His chest heaving a bit more noticeably.

You aruptably gasp as he suddenly spreads your legs, his face getting closer to your clothed cunt. He nibbles and licks your outer thigh. You try not to give him satisfaction and hold in your whines. “You’re still being a brat? Let me hear you, carino. Todavía no vas hacer caso?” (You're still not going to behave?) He presses two fingers against your clit, rubbing it slowly. He rips off your panties and licks your wetness with his warm tongue. You still refuse to let out your moans, you resisted the urge to give in even though you desperately wanted to.

”No seas asi, tesoro. No te va encantar lo que te voy hacer si me vuelves ignorar. Quiero escuchar tu sonidos bellos.” (Don't be like that, love. You're not going to like it if you ignore me again. I want to hear your sweet sounds.) He swirled his tongue on your clit and spread your folds with his girthy fingers. Miguel loved seeing you squirm and still attempt to hide your mewls. He rapidly slid in two fingers inside your cunt. You finally let out a choked groan that’s been awaiting to be released from your aching throat.

”Fu-fuck..m-more Miguel.. touch me please.” You whine. “No tan rápido, mi reina.” He slurs as he places his hot mouth onto your pussy. Two fingers inside of you, being pulled in and out in a fast pace while his thumb massaged your clit and his tongue nibbling on your folds.

You lean your head back, accepting into submission. You wanted to cum around his fingers, for him to feel how good he makes you feel and how your cunt would clench so tight around his cock. Miguel rips off your clothes right off your frame, leaving you fully exposed in front of him. His voice groaned as he has a clear view of your curvy body. He moves his head up to suck on your nipples, pushing his tongue on your nipple causing you to twitch. His face was a mix of arousal and anger that still lingered. He moved his fingers slightly quicker, keeping a solid pace.

You felt like you were going to come, the pleasure felt so good and you were yet so needy for more. “Please Mig…make me cum..I can’t hold it in anymore.” You whined. “Please.. I can’t-“ You sobbed, the only thing keeping you in place being his hard grasp on your left hip.

“Please what?” You could feel him grinding against you as his fingers fucked you silly. No matter how badly he wanted to be inside you, he almost prepped you for him. He knew how big he was and how much he could destroy you.

His fingers only went even faster when you said that while he rested his head on your shoulder. He sunk his fangs deep inside your flesh, causing you to spring up and release your orgasm. Your screams and whines echo in the room, begging for him to stop because it was just too much for you. “I thought you could handle this..fuck..”

Your body was overtaken by a wave of electricity flowing through your veins. Your body shaking and your cunt throbbing. Your vision is blurred out with tears. You’ve never felt so breathless. Miguel loved how your pussy spasmed and clenched so tight on his fingers. He pulled out his fingers and sucked them clean. Seeing that explicit look of him only made you want more. “You taste so fucking good, so sweet. You’re such a fucking good girl for cumming around my fingers.” He whispers as he presses his lips onto yours. Both of your tongues are destroying each other, the both of you becoming breathless.

Miguel removed the webs tied around you and placed you right on top of his table. You look at him through your teary lashes, your mouth agape. “I want to taste you Miguel, I want to taste your fucking cock around my throat.” That alone was enough for Miguel to force you down onto your knees and slam his cock inside of your warm throat. You choke around his sudden thrusts pick up fast. Your tongue swirls around his length, taking all of him in your mouth. “Your mouth is made just for me, only mine. You’re such a dirty whore, taking me all like a fucking slut..” He groan and his head rolls back.

His hands run along your hair, grabbing it to push you deeper onto his cock. Small tears trickling past your cheeks. The gurgling and slurping you were making made Miguel harden, along with small whimper sounds parting from Miguel’s lips were the only noise around you both, it just made you even wetter.

You loved how his cock would repeatedly twitch inside your throat, so you hollow your cheeks which make him loudly groan and jerk his hips harder.

Your moans would make his cock feel so fucking amazing as it would make your mouth clench around his cock. He looked down at you, seeing how good of a slut you were taking him. He loved seeing you under him like this, taking him so well he thought. You clawed your fingernails deep into thighs, tapping on them so you could take a chance to catch your breath. “Miguel, please just put it in..” You moaned, reaching back to swirl your hands around his tip, getting a lovely groan out of him. You lowered your head on to him once more, teasing his tip with your tongue as your right hand pumped his cock all the way from the base to your mouth. You kept a close eye on him though, making sure he didn’t cum.

He immediately removed your mouth from his cock. That’s when you felt his bare cock teasing your entrance, covering himself in you. His voice was low and husky, laced with want. “I’m going to fill this pretty pussy of yours.”

Miguel didn’t want to cum inside of your mouth, he wanted to pump his hot cum deep inside your womb. He wanted to breed you like an animal. He quickly pulled you back up from your knees, placing your legs on his shoulders. You were now in a mating press position. He slammed his hips against yours, reaching your cervix.

Miguel could get a perfect view of his dick aligned with your warm cunt, how your cunt would suck him perfectly. Your eyebrows furrowed as you cried out, taken back by his cock pounding up into you. You slumped down, resting your head on his shoulder, to cock drunk to do anything else. "F-Fuck you're so good at this!" You shriek when he had his fingers pinching each of your nipples as he bit on the soft spot of your neck.

"Mm, I know, cariño." The way he whispered in your ear made you shiver above him. You held onto his arms but at some point Miguel slipped one arm down, rubbing your clit to increase the tension as he thrusted deep inside you. You were so cock-drunk, you couldn’t let out any word besides moans.

Miguel altered your positions so you were now facing a mirror. “You like it, huh, cariño?" He growled as his pace fastened deeper into your cunt. The sight of him fucking you in the mirror drove you crazy, crazy that you were clenching so tight - “You’re my little dirty slut aren’t you, muñeca?” "Yes sir, I love your cock inside of my f-fucking pussy..."

"Say that one more time and I'll have you screaming my name. He said dangerously.

"Please sir. Let me…" He pulled away from you and flipped you over so you were now underneath him. Still in front of the mirror, MIguel grabbed your throat, pulling it so you could arch your back.

Miguel moaned as you clenched your walls around him, the feeling of heat as your bodies collided driving you crazy. Your nails scratching at nothing but the floor. He plants his lips onto your sensitive neck, leaving it bruised for later.

Each thrust deepens, stronger and more irresistible. Miguel wrapped his hands around your neck, making you choke but excited at the same time. You looked in the mirror to see Miguel in such an erotic position on top of you. It was hot. Your walls clenching around him makes Miguel stutter his hips against your back, finally painting your plushy walls, white. The overwhelming feeling leaving you completely breathless, your body twitching and moving without your control. Your chest heaving heavily as you gasped for air. You eventually pass out.

~

You wake up to a warm feeling spreading across your body. You open your eyes hazily, turning your head towards Miguel who's massaging your back with oil. You let out a soft groan, it felt so relieving. You haven't been this relaxed since..ever. "Estás despierta muñeca?" (You're awake, doll?) You hum, resting your face on the pillow. "Hope you liked it." Miguel chuckled. "You left me with numb legs so I loved it. Gracias, Miguel." (Thank you, Miguel.) You say. "Te nada, mi vida." (Your welcome, my love.) The tension between of you finally cleared and your relationship grew closer than ever.

Taglist: @spid3rslvt @horror-cassettes @cl-0-vr @mars-yyy

<3

[chipistrate]

Welcome to the Grand Opening of Freddy Fazbears Balloon Circus!

After an array of previous undisclosed incidents at the Mega Pizzaplex, ending with the sudden collapsing of the building due to an unexpected earthquake, Fazbear Enterprise has demolished the old mall and rebuilt a new and improved carnival on the property! But just because the attractions above ground have been overhauled, doesn't mean the secrets beneath the surface have magically disappeared.

Reblogs appreciated!

MANY more rambles about this AU under the cut: would much appreciate if you read them, but there's no obligations!

EVERYTHING HERE IS SUBJECT TO CHANGE!! This AU has just been pieced together by my insane ramblings to my friend over the past few days, so everything in it's early stages of development, and this post is being written VERY late while I'm very sleep deprived and just trying to finish it in time to schedule it! If some things are a bit weird or inconsistent then please keep that in mind! Thank you! :D

Gregory, Vanessa, and Freddy all return to the now renovated lot where the Pizzaplex once stood, having been called back two years after their last failed visit too save a long lost friend, too repair their old creation known at the M.X.E.S after it was suddenly and unexplainably shut down again. Upon entering the new-ish carnival, they'll quickly find it hard to safely look for the entrance to the layers below as the friendly mascot suits above chase after them for being unwanted guests.

Above ground, they're hunted by the mascots- new suits built for both performers and endoskeletons to be able to wear. This night, controlled by corrupted endoskeletons, they've been ordered to chase after the intruders by someone lurking below the carnivals ground. As well as finding the littler animatronics, known as Balloon Babies, to be quite the inconvenience.

Below ground, they're hunted by the old Glamrocks, still functional after all this time, and now under a new threats command that's also trying to keep the 3 star family from reaching M.X.E.S; Vannie. Aka, Cassie. Still here in the ruins of it all, waiting for the her perfect moment to lure the family back in and get her revenge for what they did to her all those years ago.

The mascots are the new faces of the Freddy Fazbears Balloon Circus, their costumes built to be worn by both endoskeletons and actors- but in a safer way than the springlock suits. The actors are used during the day for greeting and interacting with guests, putting on performances, etc etc. While the endoskeletons are used at night as a replacement for security guards and STAFF bots, kindly, but forcefully, escorting any intruders off the premises. Under Vannie's control they, of course, are much less kind and gentle with how they "escort" the 3 star fam out of the carnival.

Balloon Babies are smaller, almost Helpy-like animatronics in appearance, built to keep lost and lonely children happy and entertained while waiting for their guardian to arrive. They can't speak, but they can play song, games, sound effects, blow up balloons with their fingertips, etc etc. They found Gregory after he had been forcefully split up from Vanessa and Freddy by the mascots, and upon the family reuniting, the Balloon Babies more annoying feature kicked in: The Emergency Alert System. Whenever a child they are playing with is approached by an odd looking adult or other figure that seems like they could be a potential threat to the child's safety, whether that be a kidnapper, unfit guardian, bully, etc. the Balloon Babies will use their emergency alert system to call one of the mascots over and deal with the threat, kindly guiding the threat away and bringing the kid to a safer area away from potential danger where they can stay with staff until a proper guardian arrives. The Balloon Babies had decided in their time with Gregory that Vanessa and Freddy were unfit guardians for leaving Gregory scared and alone this late at night, and any time Vanessa and/or Freddy is nearby, their alert system will sound off and call a mascot to their location. The problem, other than the obvious, is that the Balloon Babies are fixated on Gregory. They will always be attracted to him and find their way back to him no matter what, with the only exception being when he's under ground. Which means that, until they can find a way to deactivate or otherwise get rid of these guys, Gregory is forced to be split up from Vanessa and Freddy above ground, and regroup underground.

The only exception is Goldie, a soft yellow version of the Freddy Balloon Baby that doesn't follow the others. Goldie is the only one of the Balloon Babies that can go underground, Vannie specifically programming him to be able to do so. He follows Vannie around and provides her with much needed company, being her only real friend down here besides Roxy. Later on, Gregory will find Goldie, but instead of calling for the mascots whenever Vanessa is near, he'll send out a signal to distract the other Balloon Babies away from Gregory so they won't call for the mascots or overwhelm him. Goldie can tell that Vanessa and Freddy are fit guardians that love Gregory very much, and can also tell that they're afraid of the mascots, though he can't compute why- it's his job to make sure that kids and their families are safe, so he's doing his best to ensure their safety however he can. Later on, Vannie will come looking for her friend after a long period of time of him being away and find him with the 3 star family, causing more conflict between the two parties that Goldie can't understand- Cassie and Gregory are supposed to be friends, aren't they? That's what Cassie said. Friends aren't supposed to fight each other, they're supposed to protect each other. That's what Goldie believes, at least.

Random trivia;

-Gregory, Freddy, and Vanessa have been living together for about 3 years now. 1 year by the time of Ruin, and 2 years after the fact leading up to Balloon Circus.

-Cassie has been gaslit into thinking that all the stuff Dr. Rabbit did was actually Gregory himself with no outside influence, only fueling her want for revenge, not only for the elevator incident, but everyone he hurt. This will affect Gregory greatly(he has not 100% recovered and this Does Not Help).

-Cassie still doesn't fully trust the Mimic, despite being under its influence. She let the M.X.E.S stay up after the 3 star family put it back up after Ruin despite Mimic's demands for her to shut it down again, assuring him it was "part of her plan". She wasn't entirely lying, shutting down the M.X.E.S was how she wanted to lure the family back, but she'd be lying if she said it wasn't also partially because she wanted to keep "that old endo" sealed away. He's not completely free from fault either.

-Gregory and Vanessa both have chips implanted in their heads, it's how Dr. Rabbit and Vanny took over way back when. Those same chips gave them VR vision, but the chips have since been "domesticated" and can't go full VR mode anymore. Despite this fact, they do still have a few side effects of the VR vision, such as some walls and objects simply not existing, despite them looking perfectly normal and real. They can phase through them without trouble, and this helps them navigate the Balloon Circus, becauseeeeeee;

-Cassie was there during the construction of the circus and set up VR walls in certain spaces to help her hide out and travel around undetected, even during the day. The 3 star family can also use these now as an easier way of navigating through the circus, but also as a way to hide from the mascots and even sometimes the Balloon Babies.

-The entrance to the underground levels is behind a VR wall, but it's one set up by the construction workers so the patrons wouldn't notice it. The reason an intentional opening is there is because the new entrance is now used as a dumping ground for stuff from random items from the ruins of the Pizzaplex to unused stuff from the circus to anything the employees with access to the area want to throw in there. It's how the ruined Glamrocks ended up there.

-The Glamrocks were being slowly reintroduced to the public, the biggest attraction so far being 'Chica of the Sea', a tent for the underwater hologram show of a prerendered mermaid Glamrock Chica that would swim around, wave at guests, and do a few preset moves that employees could turn on whenever. There's hints of them wanting to reintroduce the others as well that haven't been shown off to the public yet, with the new roles being; Glam Freddy and Bonnie are the co-ringmasters of the main tent where the mascots performances are held, making sure everything runs smoothly. Roxanne is the mascots and glamrocks make up artist, as well as offering to do make up/face paint for any patrons that came by her tent (for a price, of course). And Monty would roam around the circus grounds as a strongman showing off his incredible strength. He also has a tent for this, but he was mostly supposed to roam around and sometimes try and make people swing by his tent, mostly so they would buy his merch.

-Chica being the first to be reintroduced has an effect on her character below ground, with her hearing the news and trying her best to dress herself up in whatever scraps she could find to look like her mermaid counterpart, practicing her singing and dancing despite her condition so she could prove that she could be just as good as the hologram if she just got a few repairs.

-Roxanne is headless, having lost her head in her tussle with the Mimic. But she still has control of both her body and head, carrying around her decapitated head in her arms.

-Vannie/Cassie cares about Goldie soso much that's her new bestie<33 Friendship ended with Gregory, Goldie is new best friend<3 (I'm so sorry Gregory)

-Vannie is also known as Vengeful Vannie, but usually shortened to just 'Vannie'. A callback to the "Vengeful Spirit" aka Cassidy, because I think the parallels between the two are neat<3 (THIS MEANS NOTHING LORE WISE IT'S JUST A NAMING THING.)

-Some of the stuff at Balloon Circus was bought from the carnival mentioned to be across the street from the Pizzaplex in the TFTPP epilogues, and rebranded to fit with the new Fazbear theming

I wanna talk more about these guys later- not sure what else exactly to do with them, but if anybody has any questions then feel free to send 'em to my inbox! I'll be more than happy to reply to the best of my abilities<3

[frostbitebakery]

A Disturbed State Of The Natural Environment, Gods-Fucking-Dammit

A Pada-Wan Story

for @lttrsfrmlnrrgby

“Obi— Commander Kenobi-“

“You can call me Obi-Wan, Cody,” the kid huffs. “Neither you nor I will suddenly combust into a ball of fire if you do.”

You don’t know that, Cody thinks, not liking how his voice sounds in his mind.

Four days since the incident - or, “The Incident,” how Boil and Waxer like to say in unison with the bucket lights under their chins -, two since the 104th of all Battalions received their signal and towed the 212th fleet to the nearest station within the Republic that would allow them to overhaul the ships’ electronics.

It has been exactly two point five hours since Wolffe stopped wheezing at Cody over comms. Nearly as much time as the kid had vanished from under Cody’s paranoid nose.

“Councilor Kenobi is safe and sound,” General Koon had assured him while Wolffe stood at perfect parade rest a step behind, shriek-laughing his armor off.

The kid sighs. “You have come here for a reason?” he asks, stubborn and prim. “Or is Wooley babysitting me not enough?” He points a thumb over his shoulder to Wooley popping up several yards away, waving.

“If you haven’t noticed Hook, Line, and Sinker also keeping an eye on you, my trepidations are justified.”

The kid rolls his eyes, gesturing to three empty looking spots in the distance. “I am well aware Master Koon is in league with you.”

Cody will not explain safety precautions again. He’s saving that for when the kid really sets out to stomp on any and all walls Cody had to hastily and thoroughly built when his General, his partner, suddenly turned into a child at the worst possible development stage for Cody’s sanity.

The kid studies him while Cody is trying to come up with a legitimate reason for looking for him. Direct admittance to personal concern would backfire on Cody in multiple, entertaining ways, and he frankly doesn’t want to deal with that. From the kid being smug that Cody cares about him very much so keeping his distance must mean something more. To accusations of not trusting Obi-Wan (which, correct, Cody doesn’t know him after all), seeing him as a kid (also true) when he’s sixteen and basically a stone’s throw away from becoming a geezer.

Sixteen. Cody shudders. He remembers very well that half year when he was that developmental age. He shudders again. Gods, the mood swings alone.

“I am reasonably paranoid about your welfare,” he says at last. Wooden which makes him cringe but he’s never lied to Obi-Wan and he’s not starting now.

The kid stares at him for a while. One corner of his mouth quirks up with a shrug and a shuttered look in his eyes Cody desperately wants to make better. “It’s different when they really are out to get you, isn’t it.” The Council had explained how precarious his older self’s safety was at the best of times. Cody had only seen the aftermath and the accompanying ranting about life choices with the occasional visibly happy understanding that Obi-Wan could, actually, grow a non-patchy beard when he’s got a few more years on him.

“May I sit with you?” Cody asks. Shoveling his own metaphorical grave is so much easier with mixed signals after all. But he misses the older Obi-Wan. It’s not fair of him but he needs this.

The expected blush blooms on freckled cheeks. “Yes, of course!” is the eager reply, followed by more blushing.

It’s endearingly cute and Cody would like to chew on his bucket now.

The kid scoots over, wide eyed and expectant.

Gingerly, Cody lowers himself, ignoring the armor digging into his ass and thighs. And lets the silence stretch.

This, really, is what he came here for. A self-indulgent little break to catch his breath. The High General of a Systems Army is compromised and that fact has to remain eyes only to an exclusive handful of people. Only the Jedi Council knows out of obvious necessity. So it’s up to Cody to keep everything else running, keeping the admiralty in the dark because even teenaged Obi-Wan had said he’s got a bad feeling if they were to tell the brass. So they haven’t.

Usually, when flimsiwork and war horrors keep stacking up and expand into an avalanche, Obi-Wan and Cody sit together in silence, sharing a precious cup of real tea, being together and lending support and strength they can’t find for themselves but can always, always find for each other.

Selfishly he wants that strength from Obi-Wan now, the warmth of his body nearby. He’s already breathing easier.

The kid is looking at him curiously, but Cody chooses not to say anything. Instead he turns forward once more, watching the busy night markets of the station and the stars behind it. After a moment the kid does the same.

Shoulders slowly relax and the silence becomes comfortable.

[1ore]

the problem with me is i will make up a joke npc for gw2 rp with @soulfullofold and then a day later he will have lore. anyway this is Vax Madmaxim, he does unethical science and got drowned in a vat of dragon blood by Bingus Ruinbringer. the dragon blood fixed him, though

"mad scientist"-type who is taking a systems ecology lens to everything, from steam machines to magical constructs to biological organisms. unsatisfied with conventional engineering, he starts dabbling in dragon magic to construct biomechanical monsters. (see: I failed bioethics)  

contracted in secret by Bangar Ruinburger to figure out how to control an Elder Dragon. Vax came up with the idea of tapping Jormag's blood, initially as an experiment in manipulating Jorms (a la contriving weapons out of Kralkatorrik's blood.) Later, of course, this is used to convert the Dominion to Frost Legion en masse when things start going south.  

caused an international incident during Legion-Dominion peace negotiations, which involved a gladiatorial tourney, two Pact Commanders, a hydra made of Searing crystals, and highly confidential Dominion blood magic.

Vax was thus detained and, for his failures, dunked in the vat of jormag juice that he had helped create. Bunkbed Ruinbringer evidently didn't need a way to control Jormag anymore, and Vax had greatly overestimated how indispensable he was.  

Jorms later drags him out of the tub and uses his half-dead body to set a trap for the Commanders, by turning him into a shambling blood-bomb (see: jormag bloodbag.) Given that this is the second worst thing that's happened to him since the worst day of his life, he isn't a very cooperative dragon thrall. He'd also developed some sort of nemesis-rapport with the Commanders by this point. As his last act, he warns them away, just before violently retching dragon viscera all over the floor.  

He was supposed to die-- Jorms was done with him-- but my man saw himself being turned into a disposable vessel of primordial goop and said "oh so im pupating? guess i'll metamorphose." I don't think that was Jormag's doing. I think he Just Did That. (see: change of heart)  

the newly eclosed Icebrood Vax offers himself to the Pact as a weapon against Jormag, repurposing his earlier research for more benevolent purposes. (see: staying positive)  

uhhh what else. nominally Iron Legion and functionally a gladium, but like hell is he going to let them take his name away. his allegiance is to unethical science first and whoever is willing to pay him to do unethical science second.  

Has kind of always been a piece of work, but became a bigger piece of work when he lost the "mad" warband under mysterious circumstances. Incidentally, this is when he started making frankenstein chimeras. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  

   

he Has A Sensitive Side

[jetii]

Too Sweet

Part One | Part Three | Part Four

Pairing: Fox x fem!Reader / Fox x Doctor!Reader

Words: 6,162/26,525

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! fluff, strangers to lovers, grumpy/sunshine, Fox is a little anxious/paranoid, and he needs a hug, lots of awkward flirting in this part, smut in part 4

Summary: Fox has no time for romance. He doesn't even have time for sleep, let alone dates. But when a horrible day at work leads him to you, he suddenly finds himself in danger of reevaluating his priorities.

A/N: Okay, I think I have the rest of this fic pretty much set, except for the final edits to the smut. Part 3 will be up on Wednesday and part 4 next Sunday!

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

A week passes, and the wound in his shoulder heals without any complications. There's no need to see you again, and Fox is relieved. The more time that passes, the easier it is to forget about the interaction, and he soon manages to put it out of his mind entirely. He’s far too busy to dwell on things that don’t matter, and he has better things to focus on.

He still thinks about you, though.

It’s hard not to. He passes GMF every day, and sometimes he finds himself staring at the building wondering if you're working. You'd seemed to enjoy your job, and he finds himself hoping that you're doing okay. But then he reminds himself that it's none of his business, and he walks away.

Another week goes by, and the stitches dissolve, leaving nothing but a faint scar. Fox isn't sure how to feel about it. It's not the first scar he's gotten, and he doubts it'll be the last, but for some reason, he can't stop looking at it. It's strange. The wound was minor, and the injury is no longer bothering him, but there's something about the scar that intrigues him.

He doesn't like it.

It's a reminder of his failure, and the fact that he had been injured by a common criminal. It was embarrassing, and the fact that he still remembers your smile only makes it worse. It shouldn't have happened, and he was supposed to be better than that. He was supposed to be the best, and a scratch like this should have never occurred.

He spends his days obsessing over the incident, trying to figure out where he went wrong. There had to be a way to avoid a repeat performance, and he's determined to find it. The new security system has arrived, and he throws himself into his work, spending hours studying the plans and the documentation. He ignores his brothers' concerns and pushes himself harder than ever before, refusing to accept anything less than perfection.

After a week, he's finally satisfied, and he announces the changes to the Senate guards. He receives several confused looks, but no one questions his orders. He's the commander, after all, and if he wants things a certain way, that's the way they're going to be. It doesn't matter what the others think, as long as the job gets done.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"What do you mean?" Fox asks, looking up from his datapad to find Thorn standing in the doorway, a scowl on his face.

"Don't give me that."

"What's the problem?"

"The problem is you," Thorn says, pointing at him. "You've turned the Senate building into a fortress."

"So?"

"You've doubled the number of guard patrols," Thorn continues. "We've already had to reroute half the traffic, and people are getting mad. You can't just keep making these changes without talking to us first."

"It's my job," Fox says, his voice cold. "And you're not in charge, I am."

"Don't pull rank on me," Thorn snaps.

"Then don't question my decisions."

Thorn glares at him, his expression hard. He's clearly angry, but Fox doesn't care. He's doing his job, and his brother doesn't have the right to tell him how to do it. He's the one who has to answer for the safety of the Chancellor, and he's not about to let Thorn interfere.

"What's gotten into you?" he asks, his shoulders dropping, and the anger in his voice is tempered by concern. "You're acting weird."

"I'm not," Fox says, frowning.

"You are," Thorn insists. He steps into the room and shuts the door behind him. "I know we don't see eye-to-eye all the time, but something's up with you."

"There's nothing wrong," Fox says, his tone flat. He looks back down at the datapad, hoping that Thorn will take the hint and leave. There’s already a new message from the Chancellor, and he wants to get started on his report.

"You've been acting weird ever since that incident," Thorn says.

"What incident?" Fox asks, not looking up.

"The knife attack.”

"There were lots of knife attacks," Fox says, his voice flat. "You're going to have to be more specific."

“The one where you got stabbed, di’kut. It was two weeks ago, remember? When we had to go to GMF—“ Thorn stops abruptly, his eyes widening.

"What?" Fox snaps. He doesn't like the look on Thorn's face. It's the same expression he gets when he's solved a case, and it never means anything good. "What is it?"

"I just realized something."

"Realized what?" Fox asks, his patience running thin. He's tired and hungry, and the last thing he wants to deal with is another of Thorn's conspiracy theories.

"Why didn't I think of this sooner?" Thorn says, ignoring him, and he chuckles to himself. He walks over to the window and looks out, his expression thoughtful. "It's so obvious."

"Thorn—"

“This is about the doctor, isn’t it?”

Fox stiffens, and he stares at Thorn, his mouth falling open. He hadn't expected his brother to be so blunt, and the question catches him off guard.

"What?"

"Don't play dumb," Thorn says, giving him a look. "You've been obsessed with that incident ever since it happened, and I know for a fact that you've been avoiding the medical center."

"No, I haven't."

"Yes, you have," Thorn counters. "I've seen you turn around three times when we've walked past it, and you keep finding excuses not to go there."

"I'm not avoiding anything," Fox grumbles. He knows that Thorn isn't going to drop the subject until he answers, and he lets out a sigh, setting down his datapad. "It's not about the doctor. It's about the injury."

"I don't buy it."

"You don't have to."

"Fine," Thorn says, crossing his arms. He looks at Fox for a moment, his gaze scrutinizing, and then lets out a breath. "But for the record, I think you're being an idiot."

"So you've said."

"Yeah, well, maybe you'll listen this time."

"I doubt it," Fox mutters, and he picks up the datapad again. The screen is blank, and he taps at the controls, trying to remember where he'd left off.

"Why are you so set on torturing yourself?" Thorn asks. His voice is quiet, and the question takes Fox by surprise. He looks up at his brother, frowning, and he sees that Thorn is watching him with a worried expression. "You can't keep going like this, Fox."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Thorn says. He walks over to the desk and sits down in the chair across from Fox, his elbows resting on the surface. "You're working yourself to death, and it's not going to make a difference."

"It will," Fox insists. "If we can—"

"It won't," Thorn interrupts. "I know you're worried about the Chancellor, but he's not going to disappear overnight. He's not in any more danger now than he was a week ago."

"We can't afford to let our guard down," Fox says, his voice strained. "You know that."

"I do." Thorn nods. "But you can't keep going like this. At least take a break. Go to a bar. Relax."

"There's too much work to do."

"I'll cover for you."

Fox sighs and looks down at the datapad again, the words blurring together. He can't focus, and the report isn't going to get done anytime soon. Thorn is right, as much as he hates to admit it. He's been working too hard, and it's starting to take a toll. But the thought of stopping makes his chest tighten, and he feels a surge of anxiety. If he stops, what's going to happen? What if something goes wrong, and he's not there to stop it? What if—

"Fox."

"Yeah," he says, letting out a shaky breath.

"Just take the rest of the night off." Thorn leans forward and gently pries the datapad from Fox's fingers. "You need to rest."

"Fine," Fox says, and he feels his shoulders slump.

"Good."

"But not a word of this to the others," he warns.

"I won't." Thorn smirks and stands up, walking over to the door. "Just promise me you'll try and have a little fun, okay? No matter how boring you think it is."

"Yeah, yeah."

Thorn leaves, and Fox lets out a sigh, sinking into his chair. He rests his head in his hands, rubbing his temples, and closes his eyes. The darkness is soothing, and he lets out a slow breath, trying to calm his nerves.

He's been feeling off for a while now, and the conversation with Thorn had only made things worse. The stress is starting to get to him, and he knows that he needs a break. But the thought of stepping away from the office, even for a moment, fills him with a sense of dread. He's afraid that something will happen, and he'll be too far away to stop it. But deep down, he knows that Thorn is right. He can't keep going like this. Something's got to give.

Fox’s stomach growls, painfully reminding him that he hasn't eaten all day. The sound snaps him out of his thoughts, and he looks up, blinking. He's been sitting here for hours, and the sun has gone down. It's late, and his body is screaming for food and sleep.

He stands up and stretches, his back popping, and heads for the door. The mess hall at the barracks has long since closed, and his stomach grumbles again, louder this time. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, wondering if there's a ration bar left in his locker. Probably not. Maybe if he takes a walk, he can find something. There's bound to be a 24-hour café open somewhere, and if he’s lucky, they'll have something edible. He hasn't eaten actual food in weeks, and the thought of having something hot and fresh is almost too tempting to resist.

He steps out of his office and makes his way down the corridor, passing the rows of empty desks and abandoned terminals. Thorn’s office light is still on, and when Fox passes by, his brother gives him a thumbs up and a smile. Fox rolls his eyes, and he keeps walking, his feet carrying him down the stairs and towards the exit.

The night air is cool and refreshing, and he takes a deep breath, letting the chill seep into his bones. The streetlights are on, and the traffic has thinned, but the city is still bustling with activity. People are milling about, and he can see a few clusters of troopers on patrol. It's a familiar sight, and it brings him some comfort. At least here, he knows what to expect.

He walks for a few blocks, keeping his head down and his eyes forward. He doesn't want to draw attention to himself, and the last thing he needs is another confrontation with a citizen. He's tired, and the thought of having to explain himself is enough to make him cringe. It's better to just avoid it altogether.

Fox rounds a corner and pauses, his eyes scanning the crowd. There's a small diner tucked away between two buildings, and the smell of spices wafts out from the doorway. His stomach growls again, and he walks towards the entrance, pushing the doors open.

The diner is small and cozy, and there's only a handful of people inside. They're scattered throughout the room, and most are seated at the counter, chatting with the droid serving them. Fox takes a seat near the door, as far away from the other customers as possible, and pulls off his helmet. His hair is sticking up, and he quickly runs his fingers through it, trying to smooth it down. He's not sure why, but he suddenly feels self-conscious, and the feeling unsettles him. He's usually more composed, but today has been rough, and he doesn't want anyone to see him like this.

He orders a cup of caf, and as soon as it’s placed in front of him, he downs it in a single gulp. It's strong and bitter, and the warmth spreads through his chest, calming him. The exhaustion is still there, but at least the headache was starting to fade. He orders a second cup, and he sips it slowly, letting the steam warm his face as he turns his attention to the menu. 

Most of the dishes listed are foreign to him, and he’s so absorbed in trying to decipher the strange names that he doesn't notice someone settling one stool over from him. The smell of lavender is subtle, but unmistakable, and a flash of white has him turning his head before he can stop himself.

It’s you.

Fox nearly inhales his caf, and you look up from your datapad, startled.

"Commander?" You blink a few times, seemingly as surprised to see him as he was to see you. The surprise on your face quickly morphs into concern, and you frown. "Is everything alright?”

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," Fox says, taking another sip of caf to cover up his embarrassment.

"Are you sure? You look a bit...frazzled," you say, eyeing his hair.

He winces, and his free hand shoots up to smooth down his unruly curls again. Your gaze follows his movements, and then you smile, and the sight is like a punch to the gut.

"Just a long day," Fox mutters, glancing away. He stares down at his cup, tracing the rim with a gloved finger, and tries not to think about the way his heart is hammering in his chest. He can’t believe that of all the places in the city, you’re here, and the realization that you'd seen him make a fool of himself again has him wishing the floor would swallow him whole.

"I understand that," you say. Your smile fades, and you let out a sigh, tapping the datapad. "Unfortunately."

He glances over, curious, and sees that the screen is filled with rows of data. There are charts and graphs, and what appears to be an inventory list. It doesn't look like anything fun, and the thought that you might have a stressful job, too, intrigues him.

“What brings you out this late?” he asks.

You look at him, your eyebrows raised. For a moment, he worries that he's overstepped, but then you smile, and his worry melts away.

"Same as you, I suppose," you say, and he can hear the exhaustion in your voice. You sigh and set down your datapad. “My shift doesn’t end until 0400, but I needed a break from the medical wing. Sometimes, the smell of bacta gets to me."

Against his will, a laugh bubbles up from his chest. It’s short and rough, like gravel under his boots, but he can’t help it. He tries to cover it up by taking another sip of his caf, but you don't seem offended, and when he looks at you again, you're smiling.

"I hear that," Fox says, his lips twitching. "Something about it just..." He shudders, the thought of the thick, gel-like substance making him gag.

"Exactly," you say, nodding. "It's like melting plastic."

"Or glue," Fox says. He pauses for a moment, his brows furrowing, and he shakes his head. "Actually, maybe it is glue."

You laugh, and the sound is so bright and clear that it startles him. He didn’t think he was capable of making anyone laugh, and the fact that he had made you do so twice is baffling.

"Oh, stars, don't remind me.” Your nose scrunches up, and you let out a soft groan. "I can't tell you how many times I've had to peel my scrubs off and throw them away after a long day."

"I can only imagine," Fox muses, trying to picture you without the scrubs. His mind goes to a place h didn’t expect, and his cheeks heat up. He looks away, suddenly fascinated by the pattern on the countertop.

"I suppose it’s not so bad," you continue, oblivious to his distress. You tap your fingers on the counter, and then turn towards him. "You know, I heard a rumor that you were afraid of medics."

"I am not," Fox scoffs, frowning. He looks at you, and your expression is serious, but there's a twinkle in your eyes that tells him you're not entirely sincere. "I just have a healthy respect for those who can take me apart and put me back together again.”

"A healthy respect," you echo, grinning.

"Yes."

"Is that why you ran out of GMF like you were being chased by a Nexu the other day?" you ask, and there's a teasing note in your voice that makes his stomach flip.

"No," he mutters, looking away. 

He can feel his face burning, and his embarrassment is only making it worse. You'd noticed. Of course you had. And the fact that you'd actually thought about it, that you'd cared enough to bring it up, is both flattering and mortifying. He'd been hoping that you would just forget the entire incident, but apparently, you were more perceptive than he'd realized.

"Right," you chuckle. "Well, you're braver than most, I'll give you that. Most troopers don't set foot in the med center unless they're dragged there by their brothers."

He can't help but chuckle a little at that. If only you knew how close to the truth you were.

"So, if you're not afraid, do you mind if I join you?” you ask, gesturing toward the empty seat between you. “I promise not to dissect you, Commander."

Fox hesitates, his stomach clenching. You're asking to sit next to him. Why? It doesn't make any sense, and he's not sure what to say. It's a simple question, but it feels like there's a hidden meaning behind it, and he can't figure out what it is. But, the hopeful look on your face and the inexplicable need to please you is making it hard for him to say no.

You must mistake his silence for refusal, because your smile fades, and you pull back a little.

"It's okay if you don't want to," you say, and your tone is apologetic. "I just figured, since we're both here..."

"No, no, I'd like that," Fox says quickly, scooping up his helmet and setting it on the counter beside him. He gives you a small smile, and you beam back at him.

"Great!"

You stand and move to the seat between you, and Fox finds himself leaning back a little, not wanting to be too close. But when you settle into the stool, the scent of lavender is stronger, and he relaxes, allowing himself to enjoy it.

"I thought maybe I was bothering you," you admit.

"You’re not," Fox says, and he means it. Your presence is actually calming, and he feels the tension in his shoulders ease a little. He takes a deep breath, savoring the smell, and then realizes what he's doing and quickly stops. He picks up the menu and studies it intently, trying to distract himself.

You don't say anything, and he can feel you watching him. It's unnerving, but the feeling isn't entirely unpleasant, and he allows himself a few more seconds before he looks up at you again. When he does, you quickly turn away, a light flush dusting your cheeks. It's oddly endearing, and Fox has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.

The waitress droid returns and pours you a cup of caf before refilling his. You thank her as she leaves, and you pick up the cup, taking a sip. You let out a sigh, and your eyes close, a satisfied smile forming on your lips.

"This is perfect," you murmur, taking another sip. "I needed this."

"It's a necessity in my line of work," he says, his tone dry. "I'd be dead without it."

"You're telling me," you say, smiling at him, and you rest your chin on your hand. "I had to get three cups before my shift started just to feel human again."

"Three?"

"Don't judge," you say, laughing. "It's been a rough week."

"I wasn't judging," Fox smirks. "Those are rookie numbers, doctor."

“Rookie, huh?" You raise an eyebrow. "And how many cups would you say a seasoned pro could drink, Commander?"

"At least four." His smirk widens, and you roll your eyes, shaking your head. But your smile never falters, and Fox feels a little surge of pride. 

The way you seem so relaxed around him is surprising. Most civilians are put off by his presence, his harsh demeanor and stoicism, the fact that you aren't afraid of him makes him happy, and the warmth in his chest spreads through his body, filling him with a strange sort of euphoria.

"Well, I think we've established who's the true caffeine addict here," you tease. “You better eat something, or your heart is going to explode."

“Is that your official medical opinion, doctor?" he asks, his tone dry.

"It is," you say, giving him a pointed look.

He can't help but chuckle at your seriousness, and the way your brow furrows as you pretend to scold him. It's cute, and he finds himself enjoying it more than he should. 

He shouldn't be so comfortable around you, and yet he can't seem to stop himself. Something about you just draws him in, and the longer he spends in your company, the less he wants to leave.

"Then, I guess I'd better order something," Fox says, smiling.

“You better," you say, and the sternness in your voice is ruined by the way your eyes sparkle.

The two of you lapse into silence, and Fox takes the opportunity to study you. Your eyes are fixed on the menu, and you’re chewing on your bottom lip, seemingly deep in thought. Your hair falls around your face, and you absentmindedly tuck a strand behind your ear. You're beautiful, and the thought comes unbidden, but Fox doesn't try to fight it. It's true. You are beautiful. And you're talking to him, of all people, even after how he treated you.

It's surreal, and the fact that you seem so content, so happy, to be in his company is baffling. He can’t stop the questions from swirling through his mind. Why would someone like you want to spend time with him? What could you possibly get out of it? Surely, there had to be some sort of ulterior motive, some scheme or plan. Maybe you were spying for the Separatists, or working with the Black Sun, or—

"Have you eaten here before?" you ask, interrupting his thoughts.

"No, I haven't," Fox admits. "I don't really eat out much."

“Oh, you’re in for a treat,” you say, and you grin at him. The gesture is so sincere, so full of warmth and joy, that his heart skips a beat. "They have the best seallia sandwich here. I've been coming here since I started working at the GMF."

"I'll have to try it, then," Fox says, returning your smile.

The droid returns, and the two of you place your orders. When she leaves, the silence settles over the table again, and Fox fidgets, not sure what to do. He’s not normally one for small talk, or any talk, really, but something about your presence makes him want to reach out, and the fact that he doesn't know what to say is frustrating.

He glances over, and the look on your face is thoughtful, almost sad. You're staring at the counter, your chin resting in the palm of your hand, and the corners of your mouth are turned down. 

You look exhausted, and the sudden realization that you're probably as tired as he is hits him like a bolt of lightning. He has no idea how much longer your shift lasts, or how long it's been since you've gotten a decent night's sleep, and the thought of you suffering fills him with a strange sort of guilt.

"Long day?" he asks hesitantly.

"Yeah," you sigh. "I've been trying to get this grant application finished, but it's not going very well."

"Why not?"

"Well, the money is for a new surgical wing," you say, and you shrug. "But the bureaucrats at the hospital board don't seem to think it's worth the effort."

"What's wrong with the old wing?" Fox asks, frowning. He's familiar with the building, and the idea that it might not be up to par is unsettling. If it's not safe, then the lives of his men could be at risk. "Is it not up to code?"

“No, no, nothing like that," you assure him, and he lets out a relieved breath. "It's just...not very modern."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the equipment is outdated, and the space is cramped," you explain. “With the amount of refugees flooding the planet, we're already at capacity. It's only a matter of time before we hit a breaking point, and if we're not prepared..." You trail off, a frown on your face, and you shake your head. "I don't even want to think about it."

"I see," Fox says, and his stomach twists into knots. He's seen the crowds of refugees, the lines of injured people waiting outside the medical centers, and the thought of what would happen if things got any worse is terrifying. There’d already been one riot, and the city was becoming increasingly unstable. It was only a matter of time before something snapped.

"Sorry, I shouldn't be complaining," you say, giving him a small smile. "I know you've got a lot on your plate."

"It's alright," Fox says, his voice soft. The guilt he feels whenever someone mentions the state of the planet is starting to build, and he has to resist the urge to apologize. He knows it’s not his responsibility alone, and yet, the burden is his to carry.

"Thanks," you murmur, and the gratitude in your voice is startling. You offer him a warm smile, and the knot in his stomach loosens, and the guilt recedes. "I'm sorry, I don't usually get to talk about this stuff."

"Why not?"

"My co-workers aren't really interested in listening to me complain about the state of the medical system. They think I’m being paranoid." You sigh and run a hand through your hair. "And they're probably right. We're doing everything we can, and there's only so much we can do with what we have."

"No, I understand," Fox says. His own brothers aren't much better, and he can't count the number of times he's had to deal with their complaints and gripes. The fact that they can't see the bigger picture, the danger lurking just beneath the surface, frustrates him. "Trust me."

"It's nice to hear someone else agree," you say, and there's a wistful note in your voice that makes his heart ache. You sound lonely, and the urge to reach out, to comfort you, is nearly overwhelming. But before he can do anything, the droid returns with your food, and you sit up, smiling. "Thank you."

The food is placed in front of them, and Fox stares at his plate, a little taken aback. The sandwich is massive, and it smells amazing. His stomach growls, and he takes a large bite, closing his eyes as the flavors explode in his mouth.

"Good, right?" you ask, grinning.

"Yes," he says, and he lets out a sigh. The sandwich is the most delicious thing he's ever eaten, and he quickly devours it, savoring every bite. You seem amused, and you watch him with a faint smile on your lips, eating your own food much slower.

The silence between the two of you is comfortable, and Fox is surprised by how easy it is to just sit and enjoy the moment. Every once in a while, you look over at him, and the way your gaze lingers sends shivers down his spine. He can't help but stare back, and the two of you exchange small smiles before returning to your meals.

It's silly, and a little childish, but the warmth in his chest grows with every glance, and soon, he's actively trying not to grin like an idiot.

"So," you say, wiping your mouth. "How's the arm feeling?"

"It's fine." He glances down at his pauldron, and then back at you. "You did a good job."

"That's what I'm here for," you say, laughing.

"I'm sorry I didn't stick around," Fox says, wincing internally at the memory. "Things were pretty hectic that day."

"Don't worry about it," you say, waving him off. "I'm just glad you're okay."

Fox looks at you, his eyebrows raised. You're staring at him, and your expression is genuine. There's no anger or resentment in your eyes, only concern, and his throat tightens. No one's ever looked at him like that before, and the thought that you care so much about his wellbeing is shocking.

"I appreciate it," Fox says, his voice low. He pauses for a moment, and then adds, "And thank you, again, for not dissecting me."

The words sound ridiculous, even to his ears, but the joke seems to work. You snort, and the sound is so unexpected that he has to bite back a laugh.

"Well, I did promise," you tease, grinning.

"That you did."

The two of you fall silent again, and this time, it's more noticeable. The noise of the diner fades, and the sounds of traffic from outside are replaced by the pounding of his heart in his ears. The warmth in his chest is still there, and he tries to ignore it, focusing on his meal instead.

He's almost finished when a thought occurs to him, and the words leave his mouth before he can stop them.

"I could help you.”

You look up at him, confusion written on your face.

"With the grant," Fox continues, his voice growing strained. He hadn't meant to offer his assistance, but now that he's started, he can't seem to stop. The ideas are pouring out of him, and the need to please you is making his skin prickle. "I know some people, I could put in a word for you."

"Commander—"

"Fox."

"Sorry, Fox." You let out a nervous laugh and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "That's very kind of you, but I couldn't ask you to do that."

"You're not asking," Fox points out.

"True, but..." You trail off, and a crease forms between your brows. He can tell that you're hesitant, and he wonders if perhaps he'd crossed a line.

"Forget it," he mutters. "I shouldn't have—"

"No, no, it's not that," you interrupt, shaking your head. "I just don't want to take advantage of you. You have a lot on your plate, and I don't want to add to your workload."

"It's not a problem," he assures you. "My duty is to the people of Coruscant, and if there's something I can do to help, I should do it. It's my responsibility."

"You're not responsible for the whole city, Fox," you say softly. Your brows knit together, and you look so sincere, so earnest, that he can't stop the wave of affection that crashes over him. "You can't fix everything."

"I can try," he shrugs. "And I think the Chancellor would agree with me. It's a good cause, and it could benefit a lot of people."

"The Chancellor?" you ask, blinking. "You'd talk to the Chancellor?"

Fox tries not to scoff. Of course, he'd talk to the Chancellor. He talked to him every day, multiple times a day. Sometimes, it seemed like the only thing he ever did was talk to him.

"I'm sure he'd be happy to hear about the medical center's needs," Fox says, his voice flat.

"That's..." You pause, and the look of surprise on your face melts into something else, something softer, and his chest tightens. "You're sweet."

"I'm not," he mutters, his face heating up. Sweet? What did that mean?

"Yes, you are." You laugh and lean forward, a playful smirk on your face. "And if you insist, I'll take you up on your offer."

"Okay," he says, nodding. He picks up his cup and takes a sip of his caf, hoping that it will hide his blush.

"I'll send you my contact info," you say, smiling at him. "And maybe we can get dinner sometime. To discuss the proposal, of course."

"Of course."

"You pick the place," you add, your eyes sparkling. "And this time, don't run off."

"I promise," he says, and the corners of his mouth lift into a smile.

The two of you exchange frequencies, and the conversation quickly turns to lighter topics. The stress of the day, the exhaustion, and the anxiety seems to fade away, and Fox finds himself relaxing. He's actually enjoying himself, and the knowledge that it's because of you is both comforting and frightening.

It's late by the time you finish eating, and the streets have emptied. You pay for your meal, despite his protests, and the two of you step out into the cool night air. The moon is high in the sky, and the traffic has quieted, but the city is far from silent.

"I guess I should be going," you say, letting out a sigh. "I need to get back."

"Right," Fox says.

The two of you stand in front of the entrance, and Fox fidgets, his hands gripping the edges of his helmet. He's not sure what to do, and he's surprised by the sudden reluctance he feels. The thought of saying goodbye, of walking away, and not seeing you again for who knows how long, leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Let me escort you," he blurts out.

"I...what?"

"It's not safe for you to walk alone this late," Fox explains. He gestures towards the street, and the faint shadows between the street lamps. “The city is dangerous at night."

"Fox," you say, a slight smile tugging at your lips. "I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

"I know," he says, his voice soft. “But it would make me feel better."

"If you insist," you chuckle.

"I do."

"Well, how can I refuse, when you ask so nicely," you tease, and he gives you a small smile.

The two of you walk side by side, and Fox's eyes are drawn to you. The streetlights catch in your hair, and the faint glow highlights your face, casting shadows on your features. You look radiant, and the urge to reach out and touch you, to brush the stray strands of hair from your cheek, is nearly overpowering.

But he doesn't. Instead, he tucks his hands behind his back and follows along, trying to memorize every detail.

The GMF isn't far. Soon, the two of you are standing outside the entrance, and he's almost disappointed. The walk had gone by too fast, and the thought of going back to the barracks alone, back to his empty room and his empty life, makes his chest ache.

"Well," you say, and he's startled to find that the two of you have stopped. "I guess this is where we part ways."

"Looks like it."

You turn towards him, and his breath catches in his throat.

"I had fun tonight," you say, smiling up at him.

"So did I," Fox admits. He hesitates, and then adds, "I'm sorry if I was rude when we first met. It's not often that civilians are so...welcoming."

"Well, it's a shame," you murmur. You step closer, and the smell of lavender surrounds him. His heartbeat picks up, and he's suddenly acutely aware of how close you are. "They're missing out."

"I wouldn't be so sure," he says, his tone dry.

"I would," you say firmly. You reach out and touch his arm, your hand warm even through his armor, and the contact sends a shock through his system. "Thank you, Fox."

He swallows thickly and nods. "Anytime."

"I'll comm you about the grant," you promise, and you squeeze his arm. "Have a good night, Commander."

"You, too," he manages, and then you turn, and disappear through the doors.

He stands there for a moment, watching the door, and a strange sense of longing fills him. It's not the first time he's felt lonely, and the feeling is familiar, but there's something else, something new, that accompanies it. He can't quite name it, but the warmth in his chest spreads through his body, and he lets out a breath, his shoulders slumping.

Maybe Thorn was right. Maybe he'd just needed to take a break. But the way you'd made him feel, the warmth and joy, was something that had never happened before, and it's a feeling that he can't let go.

Maybe things are starting to change.

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @qvnthesia

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[skylersprompts]

DC x DP Prompt *6*

The entire Bat-Clan was on their way back from a mission abroad. Batman was the one in command of the Bat-Plane, while the kids tended to their wounds or were asleep. (Tim may have slept only 3 hours this entire week and Bruce would probably have to carry him to bed, as soon as they would be home.) Alfred knew that the family was on their way and was probably already cooking up a feast. Soon they could all rest.

At least that was the plan.

Before the Bat could even register what was happening, a swirling green Portal opened in front of the plane. Every system was screeching, while his kids all got ready for a fight.

He couldn't do anything to stop them from making contact and just two seconds after the green mass appeared the plane collided with it.

But on the other side was just more green. And some floating, purple doors.

Bruce immediately turned the plane around, but he was just greeted with the exact same few, without a portal.

And one look on the scans showed that they weren't in any to the Justice League known dimension.

They drifted through the strange world, sometimes seeing floating islands among the green abyss. While they all stayed vigilant, they also started to theorize.

The only one not participating was Jason, who had the strange feeling of a Deja Vu.

The green seemed to go on forever, at least until another green vortex opened in front of them and they incident repeated itself.

And for a split second they all thought that they are back in their world, but the navigation system seemed to be unable to provide them with any information on how to get home or on the place they landed in.

The Batman grunted in a way that all his children knew.

It was the grunt he made, when he wasn't able to say 'fuck'.

[chernabogs]

Styx, Fae, and Malleus—Oh my!

Okay I'm writing this more as a marker for myself because I keep breaking my brain with connecting C6 to C7, but I've included my notes down below to kind of trail through how things might go with the next C7 update. Since the Shroud brothers are back in business, we'll be seeing a lot more of Styx's hand too, so I also wanted to collect as much information (canon) as I can on them too. Because I just think they're neat, and combining all the information makes them that much neater!

Warning for a long-ish post.

All About Styx (Up to C7, April 2024)

Styx, originally serving as just the Watchman before the Age of Gods (which Malleus discusses in C6 part 18),

is an independently operating institution (non-government affiliated) that specifically focuses on research pertaining to blot. According to the welcome video narrated by Idia’s mother and father, Styx covers the following:

Safe use of technomantic technology

Magical power analysis

Preservation of ruins and mage stones

Blot emission reduction

Post OB treatment

Magical disaster prediction systems

Maintaining phantom databases

Styx operates off of the Isle of Woe, an area mostly inaccessible to outsiders due to its status as being below the ocean and only accessible via the Oceanus Gate. Styx is seemingly composed of multiple units and teams, including the Hex Team, with most of the employees living in the residential block of Oceanus and using chariots (technomantic vehicles) to get to the tower. Another unit that Styx controls are the Charon members. These appear to be the equivalent of armed forces under Styx’s command. They specifically act as retrievers of over blotted mages, or more specifically the phantoms involved in the overblot. Magic Marshals and the Arcane Response Unit often handle overblot cases, but in extreme incidents, Charon members step in.

It’s mentioned that they also arrive regardless of if they have authorization from the government of the location the overblot is occurring. 

Regarding the technomantic equipment mentioned, this is what Styx seems to mainly use for all operations, likely due to the nature of its research. Technomantic technology has an ability to almost entirely nullify magic. Although not 100% effective, it was enough to even make Rooks UM limited, forcing him to only track the kidnapped students when there were second breaks in the tech. This tech was also used on the overblot students, with Riddle stating that it’s equivalent to his UM (C6 part 26). 

The tower that Styx operates out of is a large structure located in the centre of the ancient city that was originally attached to the Kingdom of Heroes. Within this tower, Styx keeps phantoms preserved frozen in the lower layers. This area is referred to as Tartarus and hosts approximately 10,000 subjects split into 12 levels. A-class are considered exceedingly dangerous phantoms, according to Ortho. Sector 12 is where the original Phantoms are housed, known as the ‘Titans’. These are three phantoms that have been sealed in Tartarus by the original Jupiter family members since the Age of Gods. 

The system designed to preserve these phantoms is known as the Cerberus System. This encapsulates the entire Isle, not just Styx. According to Idia, mages are taken and housed for testing in this region before being wiped by Lethe, another system operated by Styx that re-wires memories and implants false ones. Interestingly, Lethe works differently on fae than humans due to fae’s long lifespans. Idia states that it’s hard to adjust what information to remove and rewrite without making it obvious that there was an erasure. He does mention Malleus by name when discussing this, but not Lilia. 

All About The Fae in Briar Valley (Up to April 2024, JP Spoilers)

Fae appear to live broadly across Twisted Wonderland, but a large majority do reside in Briar Valley (other additions such as Fairyland/Land of Fairy have been mentioned and seem to host diurnal fae. More of this can be found in the fairy gala events. Diurnal fae are considered to herald the coming of spring with this gala, which ties in with later discussions about fae and nature). Various species were also noted to exist, including:

Dragon fae (note: Dragons are mentioned to have arrived for Meleanor during her youth, however after her passing a decade later it appears that Dragons have either gone underground or extinct across the broader Twisted Wonderland area)

Raven fae

Bat fae

Crocodile fae

Subcategories of crafter fae and the likes exist too, but don’t quite count as species 

There appears to be a hierarchy of value among fae. In one conversation by a Senate member (in Chapter 7, release 6), Lilia is referred to in derogatory terms due to his status as a bat fae. It is unknown if this bias is strictly the Senate member, Briar Valley, or if it spreads across broader fae populations. Fae also appear to have monarchies, although the only two known so far are the Queen of Fairyland and the Draconia Family. Fae also appear to age at different rates (Malleus states infant fae often take 30 years to walk, and it took him 20 years alone to gain his 2-legged form). 

Due to Briar Valley being the major focus of C7, we’ll look at fae in this region specifically. 

For context, constant conflict has arisen between fae and humans, specifically within Briar Valley. A major conflict and large plot point in C7 so far is the conflict between Briar Nation (former name of Briar Valley) and the Silver owls. The Silver Owls, run by Henrik, carried out mining operations throughout Briar Nation without permission from the royal family. Despite the name Silver Owls, it should be noted that they are also called Iron Ones due to their iron weapons and armor. According to Briar Nation soldiers, Silver Owls recklessly endangered fae by driving wildlife into villages in addition to colonizing the region. The Silver Owls (Henrik in particular) are aiming to attain Princess Glow. Henrik stated that he wanted it for his father (unlikely, lbr). Princess Glow appeared to be a gem associated with the Draconia Family that was capable of performing miracles like healing incurable ailments. It’s unknown if this is factual or not, but Meleanor does appear to put value on the gem when discussing it with Lilia. 

Conflict with the Silver Owls extended across several regions in Briar Nation, including:

Verdant Moors (outside the present day borders—confirmed by Sebek in C7)

Canyon of Howling Winds (also called Valley of Howling winds in some translations)

Mystical Mountain/Forbidden Mountain

Thunderclap Mountains

Cape Sunrise 

Tenebrae Forest/Dark Night Forest

Crimson plain

Dragon’s Tail Mountains 

Wild Rose Palace 

Black Scale Palace 

Dragon Capital City (surrounding Black Scale Palace)

Cradle Tower

Note: present day Briar Valley is situated farther up north and is said to have a cold climate for the most part, including particularly harsh winters (confirmed by Silver in release 4 of C7). Double note: Names may be susceptible to change with EN release. 

The conflict ended with Meleanor and Levan (Malleus’ parents) allegedly dead. Fae ceased intermingling with humans likely after this conflict according to Lilia in C6 part 18, leaving to heavy deficits in the validity of history surrounding the fae. This also means that a lot of human history books miss history that fae may have personally experienced or have to share (as spoken by Trein and Lilia). 

In terms of powers, fae in Twisted Wonderland seem to rely on nature a great deal for their magical abilities. Idia’s father discusses the extent of what some fae can do due to their connection with ancient magic, including mentioning how fae have had control over climate change and diastrophism since the Age of Myths (presumably predating the Age of Gods). Malleus’ ability to alter the world in a designated area falls under this category. He is stated to have magic tied to the earth itself. Idia’s mother also mentions that fae can also draw magical energy from nature itself, building on Idia’s fathers statement about how fae’s magic directly connects to the earth. Generally, fae with elemental connections can do this, which proposes the idea that Malleus has such an ability. 

It also appears that fae can lend this magic to humans. The Knight of Dawn frequently calls upon the blessings of diurnal fae to aid him in his fights throughout C7 (note: he says 'fairy guardians', so this could be just this specific instance). 

So… what’s up with chapter 7, as of April 2024? (JP Spoilers)

Well… Malleus over blotted. Inconvenient, absolutely. Fortunately, his grandmother snitched and gave all of his information over to Styx, allowing them to formulate somewhat of a plan to use.

We know specifically that the Arcane Response Unit is unable to get access to Malleus through the thorns because, should the thorn wall be penetrated or collapse, it will kill whoever is caught inside of it. At the moment, ARU is likely on the borders of Malleus’ thorn wall while Ortho (acting as a stand-in Charon member, in this case) deals with the issue. Anyone who gets too close to the thorns (fae or human) are also being sucked into the barrier. 

Silver, Sebek, Yuu and Grim are currently travelling through various dreams. This allowed some insight on fae (see Fae in Briar Valley for more) as well as the abilities that they possess. Ortho has pulled the group into Idia’s dream, stating that Malleus is using all resources to keep Lilia asleep. Ortho was able to penetrate into the barrier using a counter-spell barrier and ethereal slicers, in addition to a magical cannon honed by Styx. 

We also know it’s confirmed that Malleus needs to either voluntarily end his spell or die in order to actually cause the barriers to drop. 

What might happen, then? (JP Spoilers)

Who knows! Yana likes to keep us on our toes. That being said, one of the biggest takeaways that came from this is the technology (technomantic) that Styx has access to, as well as what fae seem to rely on to continually use their magic. Styx’s access to technology that can almost entirely nullify magic in combination with their isolation from ‘nature’ (based on the brutalism architecture their facility had) could be two avenues of mitigating Malleus enough to at least let the students get an upper hand. 

However, Styx also did confirm that their technomantic equipment was not having as good of an effect on Malleus’ barrier as they anticipated. If technomantic equipment were to be used on Malleus, it would need to be something advanced, like Ortho’s Cerberus gear, but on a larger scale. Ortho has already shown that Malleus’ magic is ineffective when faced with the type of tech that Ortho is equipped with, positing the idea that this can be an avenue to take. In the battle with Ortho, Malleus does appear to freeze up and misses a hit. 

The comment about Malleus needing to break the spell himself was emphasized a lot in this section. Styx confirmed they’ll reach out to Queen Maleficia to see if she can persuade Malleus to drop the spell, but they’re also convincing the dreamers to persuade Malleus as well. 

So… it seems like a triple whammy of tech, Maleficia, and guilt tripping as a way to take Malleus down. Exciting!!

[sayruq]

The most senior IDF commander dismissed for his role in the drone strike which killed seven aid workers in Gaza is a settler who signed an open letter in January calling for the territory to be deprived of aid, The Telegraph can reveal. A senior British lawyer said its contents – including a call for a “siege” of Gaza City – should be considered by the Israeli authorities investigating the killings. Col (Res) Nochi Mandel, the chief of staff of the Nahal Infantry Brigade, was one of two officers dismissed last week following the incident in which three vehicles belonging to the charity World Central Kitchen (WCK) were attacked by drones, killing all those inside, including three Britons. An investigation by the Israeli Defence Forces (IDF) characterised the strikes as a “grave mistake” but concluded there was no intentional harm. “Those who approved the strike were convinced that they were targeting armed Hamas operatives and not WCK employees,” it said.

The investigation into Col Mandel and his colleagues was led by retired Maj Gen Yoav Har-Even, president and CEO of Rafael Advanced Defense Systems, sparking claims of bias. The IDF is one of Rafael’s biggest buyers. The company, which sells nearly half of its arms to Israeli clients, makes the ‘Spike missiles’ which are reported to have been used to kill the aid workers. “We demand the creation of an independent commission to investigate the killings of our WCK colleagues”, said WCK in the wake of the IDF report last week. “The IDF cannot credibly investigate its own failure in Gaza”.

[albatross-lancer]

(OOC: Reposting the summary I made to stand on its own for people who caught bits of it but don't want to have to switch between several different blogs)

A THOR-class NHP named Arthur entered cascade in Harrison Armory's PR offices. He caused significant electrical damage to the offices but as far as I can tell no one was seriously injured, and the PR intern, Jimbo, managed to calm him down. The situation now seems to be resolved amicably.

Rev, an AGNI-class NHP implied that they caused Arthur to cascade. Recent comments by them suggest that they did this to advance the cause of NHP equality (forgive my rumormongering, but I have my doubts. Their omninet page contains a great deal of what seem to be boasts of war crimes and genocide, they don't strike me as much of an egalitarian. That said, my Loyal Wing tells me she's met and fought cultists who earnestly believe in a future where humans and NHPs are free to inflict horrific atrocities upon one another, so who knows. People are complicated. I'm also unconvinced Rev actually did cause Arthur to cascade, the manner they describe seems implausible.)

The Corsair Mercenary Company and the squad commander of the MSMC 796th, Kennedi/Lockbreaker, were angered by this claim. I'm not sure why this incident, which Jimbo resolved well before there was a actual fighting, prompted her to act independently, but there was some indication of the security breach having wounded her pride. (It is also possible that they were, in fact, being contracted by a HA higher-up and only pretending to act independently). She recruited another squad, the MSMC 148th, and they set out for Rev's abode in Karrakin space.

Rev caused the NHP at Corsair Mercenary Company, which named themself [STABBY], to cascade. [STABBY] then took control of several subalterns and systems and attempted to kill the CMC, inflicting a high casualty count before being shut down by MSMC 796th's "Slipshod" using a liturgicode virus. (Based on [STABBY]'s rapid decision to attempting to kill the CMC once given the ability to do so, even if during cascade, it seems likely that they did not have a positive relationship and allegations of abuse seem credible)

The MSMC squads arrived and engaged Rev's Genghis body and a group of Hercynian lancers Rev had recruited via Hercynian Refurbished Armaments. The battle ended with both Rev and Lockbreaker's mechs effectively destroyed, Rev's casket damaged and Lockbreaker in critical condition. There was significant collateral damage dealt to the planet, though fortunately no civilians, bystanders, or other innocents were harmed.

Albatross long patrol "Osprey" received several distress calls from the area and rerouted to investigate. When they arrived, medics were able to stabilize Kennedi and assess the situation. Rev was recovered by "an associate", the MSMC squadrons were able to contact command and get returned to headquarters, and I belive the Hercynians returned to Hercynia. After assisting local damage control and double-checking that no one was hurt, long patrol Osprey will be returning to their nearlight patrol route.

[lizard-queen-izzy]

I Hate Everything About You

Summary: What if Jon and Tim's fight at the end of MAG 65 had gone a little differently? [Most of the dialogue is from the transcripts so obviously full credit to Jonny for those lines.] Word count: 1952 Author's note: It's finally here! Sorry to keep you all waiting, but it's here now! I would apologize in advance but, I'd have to feel remorse to apologize so.

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

The tape recorder clicked back to life. 

“Supplemental. It looks like my posting on a few of the more tech-savvy boards appealing for statements has worked. While the incident itself seems ultimately inconsequential, I was able to convince Tessa to have a look at Gertrude’s laptop, claiming to have locked myself out,” Jon turned to the now glowing screen of the laptop. “I don’t know what she did - something about “command lines’’ and “administrative privileges” - But I now. Have. Access.” he let out a slow, shaky breath. “I’m almost afraid-” he froze at the sound of the door creaking open. Tim stepped through the door.

“Hey, where did you put the-” He stopped at the sight of Jon hunched over the recorder. “Oh. Sorry. Didn’t mean to disturb you while you were being suspicious-”

“It’s fine.” Jon cut him short before he could drag this nonsense out again.

“No, no, I’ll - catch you when you’re not scheming.” He threw his hands up and backed out the door, turning and reaching to pull it shut behind him. Jon knew he should leave it at that. But he couldn’t help the words that spilled from his mouth, unfortunately, loud enough for Tim to hear.

“No need to take that tone-” Tim whipped around faster than Jon thought possible.

“What?” There was a venom in Tim’s voice, the look of disbelief on his face made something twist in Jon’s stomach. He straightened in his seat, attempting to smooth things back down to their normal levels of discomfort. “Nothing. I’ll see you later -”

“No.” Tim stepped back into the room, the door closing silently behind him. He turned the chair in front of Jon’s desk around, sitting on it. “What did you say?” He was leaning over the top of the back of the chair, still managing to tower over Jon even seated and at a distance. Jon once again readjusted in his seat, hoping he didn’t look as uncomfortable as he felt.

“I said there’s no need for the attitude, I know things have been difficult but -” Tim cut him off, again.

“Oh, they have, have they? ‘Things have been difficult?’ You’ve spent a month staring at that footage -” he leaned even closer, practically laying on the desk, “double-checking every moment, timing every tea break, looking at me like I somehow staged it - but no! You’re right: ‘Things have been difficult.’” His face was twisted in anger, his breathing was getting shallower. 

“It just seems a little too convenient!” Jon could feel himself getting worked up, could feel his composure slipping. “Excuse me!?” Tim sounded like he’d been shot. His mouth hung slightly agape, and Jon couldn’t place the look in his eyes.

“I mean, the CCTV is so corrupted that the police can’t just use it immediately, and then they happen to finish restoring it when I start really digging into the murder!? And if it was an option, why not clean it up when she first disappeared!?” He could hear himself getting louder, but he didn’t care. Tim wanted to talk, they were talking now. “And don’t get me started on the lack of cameras in the Archives - I know, I know Elias’s whole spiel about ‘signal degradation’ and ‘installation issues,’ but I don’t buy it. I mean, he got the CO2 system put in easily enough-”

“Shut. Up.” TIm’s voice cut through Jon, silencing him. He looked up to see Tim staring at the desk, teeth and fists both clenched, tight. 

“What-”

“Shut up. Just stop talking. I’m sick of this. I’m sick of you! We didn’t kill Gertrude, and no one wants to kill you, you pompous idiot!” 

“Now, listen here-” Tims hand slammed into the desk.

“No. No. You listen, for once. I was fine in research. Happy. Then you asked me to be transferred here and suddenly it’s all monsters and killers and secret passages, oh my!” He was standing now, making his way around to Jon’s side of the desk. Jon turned in his seat to face him, not yet daring to stand. “And the worst thing - the actual worst thing - is that no one here has my back. With any of it! Elias doesn’t care, Martin just wants a tea party, and Sasha - ugh - and you! - You’re treating me like I’m somehow to blame for it all, like I didn’t suffer the worst right alongside you!” His breathing was ragged now, and Jon stood to meet him. “Well, excuse me if my experiences have made me-” but Tim cut him off again, this time punctuated by shoving him backwards into the wall.

“Your experiences? Fuck you, I got eaten by worms because of you!” His fist was balled in the front of Jon’s shirt, holding him in place against the wall. Jon squirmed in his grasp, turning his head as far up as he could to try and meet Tim’s eyes. Tim’s gaze was hard and set on Jon and nothing else. If looks could kill, well, Jon was glad they couldn’t. 

“Well, what do you want? You want sympathy?” He spat the last word out, and something flashed in Tim’s eyes. His grip on Jon’s shirt tightened and he pushed him further into the wall.

“You know what, yeah! Little bit of basic sympathy would have been nice!” 

“Jane Prentiss was not my fault, I did not bring her to the Archives-”

“Oh, but you went off the deep end afterwards, didn’t you!? Everything went to hell-” He was gesturing wildly at the air with the arm not currently holding Jon in place. “-and when you actually needed to be in charge, you just hid down here and played with your tape recorder.”

“Well, what would you have me do!?”

Tim’s other arm hit the wall, caging Jon in.

“Anything! Anything that wasn't turning into a paranoid lunatic would have been fine! Anything that showed you could actually do your job!” His face was close now, and Jon could feel his breath on his cheeks. He took in a shaky breath. “Well,” he let out a strained laugh, “Elias clearly thinks-”

“Elias should’ve fired you weeks ago!”

“What!?”

“After everything you’ve pulled, you should be gone. But no! Instead, we all get to talk about how you’re feeling, because we’re worried about our stalker boss. I, I can’t do this anymore!” Tim was shaking now, and it was sending shockwaves through Jon. Jon didn’t know what to say to help, because nothing would fix this. Whatever he and Tim had had before Jane Prentiss, before the Archives? It was gone. Dead and buried and never coming back no matter how much he dug. He could stand there searching for words forever and none of them would undo the damage. So instead, he said all he could think to, knowing it would be the final nail in the coffin. “Then quit.” He heard his voice crack and prayed Tim didn’t, “If you hate it so much, leave your post in the Archives. Permanently.”

“Are you firing me?” The shock in Tim’s voice was like a twist of the knife Jon was trying to desperately pretend wasn’t driving its way through his heart. That same, unidentifiable look passed in his eyes, and it made Jon hesitate for a moment before proceeding.

“...I’m offering you a chance to quit. No notice period, I’ll even make sure you get the rest of the month’s paycheck. Just say the words.” The silence hung between them like a challenge. Neither of them moved, Jon could barely feel Tim’s breath on his face, almost like he was afraid breathing would be response enough. Tim slumped forward, forehead practically resting on Jon’s.

“I want to…” It came out more like a release of breath than words.

“So do it.” Jon’s voice dropped to match.

“I…Can’t.” His voice cracked, and Jon saw tears beginning to fall from his eyes.

“Why not?” 

“I, I can’t! I don’t know - why can’t I quit!?”

“I-I don’t know. But I don’t think I can fire you either…”

“What?”

“It’s this place.”

“...I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. I’m trying to figure it out I-I’ve got the shape of it but…” He started to reach for him, to offer him some kind of comfort, but his hand froze halfway to Tim’s arm. It hung in the air along with all their unspoken words. “I’m sorry, Tim. Truly I am. But I cannot and will not trust you. This place isn’t right - you see that now. I don’t know how or why, but there is something very wrong with the Archives. And I don’t know who here is a victim of it - and who is an agent.” The words filled the ever closing space between them, and they stung like salt in an open wound. Tim took in a shaky breath. “So… What do we do?”

“For now…? I suppose we just… do our jobs.”

“I don’t want to.”

“No.” Jon let the moment hang in the air. Let it be for a moment, acceptance washing over him. This was it, the end. Tim made no attempt to move, still gripping Jon’s shirt like a life-line, his other arm firmly planted against the wall, both keeping Jon from moving an inch. Jon’s own arm still hung in the air beside them, half extended to touch the arm holding his shirt. Tim’s grip tightened on Jon’s shirt, which he didn’t think possible, and his face twisted like he was deep in thought. “Tim, can you please let go?” His voice was smaller than he was proud of, but he was worried to speak any louder would make Tim do something rash. His eyes were unfocused, still looking down at Jon, but more vaguely than trained on him like prey. He tried again, in case he hadn’t heard him. “Tim.”

“No.”

“Please..”

“SHUT. UP!” His voice boomed with the sudden raise in volume, and before Jon even knew what was happening, his lips were crashing into his own. It was nothing like he’d imagined kissing Tim would be like, though he knew he didn’t deserve the soft, careful kisses he had imagined. He knew he didn’t even deserve this one. He let himself be manhandled, Tim’s hand moving off the wall to hold his jaw firmly in place while he kissed him. Jon let his hand finally fall against Tim’s chest. Flat at first, then eventually allowing himself to also clutch Tim’s shirt, pulling him further into him. He didn’t know how long he had, but he was going to relish in it as long as he could. Tim’s weight shifted almost like he’d stepped closer, god could they get any closer, and then all at once he was gone. He pulled back, putting some distance between them, and stared at Jon.   His face was flushed, his lips bright pink and still wet from the kiss. And that look in his eyes was back though Jon still couldn’t quite place it. Jon took in a breath, his whole body shaking from the effort, he knew he must look pathetic. Neither of them said anything, the silence between them back, but so different now. Tim shuffled further away from Jon, back towards the door.

“...I. um, suppose I’ll see you later.”

“I suppose so.” The door creaked loudly behind Tim as he shut it. Jon fell back down into his chair, slumped with defeat. So they weren’t going to talk about it, great. What was one more thing they wouldn’t talk about? Jon thought of getting up and following Tim, but he knew Tim wouldn’t want that. His eyes fell to the tape recorder, wheels still spinning. 

“End supplemental.” The tape recorder clicked off. ------------------------------

[canonkiller]

The Eberron maincamp has unfortunately prematurely ended, so (with DM clearance) I'm going to share the stuff I'd had as spoilers so it can be known, for funsies.

Here's some bonus links -

Delta, Bravo, Lima (character playlist)

Renegade (bgm playlist)

writing treat 1

writing treat 2

writing treat 3

early test for characterization

crew assessments + reasonings

house lyrandar medical record, classified

- and here's some of the information about Valka Rotaeir, captain and pilot of the airship Revelation, and two more images because the read more breaks if I try to move them.

Dossier of House Lyrandar:

NAME: Valka Rotaeir AGE: 71 yrs. (b. 927yk) HEIGHT: 7 ft. 3 in. WEIGHT: 244 lbs. SPECIES: Dragonborn (Green) TITLE(S): Cpt., Ms.

EMPLOYMENT RECORD: Civilian recruited by Cpt. Adelaide Mallory in 948yk. Served well as navigator and representative until the Treaty of Thronehold ended the war in 996yk. Returned to service in 997yk as navigator aboard the Revelation after its post-war refitting. Survived the unforeseen accident that occured during the Revelation's test flights over the Endworld Mountains along with four others who retired from active duty after the incident. Following a recovery period, she was promoted to Cpt. of the Revelation as Cpt. Mallory was rendered incapable of command during the incident, for exemplary action and demonstration of skill beyond her station and duty.

Rotaeir has shown distaste for the House and the war throughout her employment, but has not publicly denounced either and remains dedicated and hardworking. Her experience is vital to the House; losing her is not an option. Cede whatever is needed to maintain her connection to the House. If this fails, take necessary measures.

Valka was formerly the ship's navigator and diplomatic representative as a knowledge domain cleric. The Revelation was in active duty during the war, and Valka was a late addition to the crew, recruited by her then-future husband, Roshan. The two of them had a strong relationship despite the war, and while both wanted to retire, Roshan's dragonmark bound him to piloting duty and Valka refused to leave him.

During the late years of the war, they had a child together. Valka entrusted her egg to a caretaker in secret, fearing it would be damaged or killed if she kept it with her on the ship. The settlement it was in was later targeted; though the two of them searched for years (and Valka never truly stopped) they were never able to find the egg or its remains in the ruins.

After the war, with Roshan kept in duty by the House, a mechanical failure in the experimental drive of the Revelation led to a catastrophic crash that killed most of her crew. Valka survived at the cost of her husband's life; Roshan, her Rose, made the choice to sacrifice himself to save her, grafting his arm and eye - and his dragonmark - to save her life in the hopes that she would be able to help whoever was left until they were rescued.

Awarded prestige and merits for her survival, and resenting all of them for praising that she had survived what her family had not, Valka suffered - and continues to suffer - lingering pain and migraines from the crash. Her grafted arm is unresponsive and is kept immobile, and her grafted eye has light sensitivities that dragonborn nervous systems are not equipped to handle, granting her night vision but requiring a cover in ordinary light. The dragonmark haunts her more than anything else; as something meant to die with its bearer, what does it mean that it transferred to her? Was Roshan able to rest in peace, or does she drag his spirit with her?

The house took advantage of her fragile state after the crash and convinced her of Roshan's continued presence as being bound to the airship, a belief that she still holds, while publicly covering up the truth of the crash and Valka's inherited dragonmark. She was bound back into service by the mark, as it allows her to pilot the ship and its experimental, secretive systems. The Revelation is her family, her love, and her airship, and she will defend it with her life - to do anything else would be to abandon Roshan.

And, in Sharn, a now-grown dragonborn named Zykr looks strangely familiar... (Hi, Andy!)

With the House bearing down on her lack of respect for their authority, she has gone rogue; drawn under the influence of the Lord of Blades and allied with warforged forces, she only seeks a way out - to take the Revelation and leave this stupid, angry war behind, at any cost.

Depending on how things went, there was a chance she would end up at Wanderstrand - that's for a post later today, because I had to keep that one REALLY secret, but it's half of the 3rd writing treat link.

Trivia:

Valka's tarot card is the three of swords.

Her character playlist title is in international maritime signal flags: Keep clear of me; I am maneuvering with difficulty / I am taking in or discharging or carrying dangerous goods. / Stop immediately.

Rotaeir is a simple combination of the valkyrie names Róta (sleet and storm) and Eir (peace, clemency, help, mercy). Valka just sounded right.

Though not on her paperwork, she took a translated version of the Revelation's name (Saksatkara) as her own surname after the crash

Receiving the dragonmark replaced her existing clerical abilities; narratively, she lost faith in the gods and her own experience that granted her a knowledge domain, and instead only had faith in the destruction and grief that the storm domain had brought her.

Roshan's dragonmark spans her whole grafted arm; it glows faintly when oh board the ship, and brightness increases with how much energy she has focused into using it. At full effort, it is bright enough to glow through the brace / sling.

Mechanically, she can strike anyone who damages her with an immediate lightning strike.

While neither of her eyes retain their original color, she had golden eyes like Zykr. They also share a heart-shaped chest marking.

Valka's physical difference from Zykr was a worldbuilding adjustment; half dragonborn would have had more humanoid body shapes, while full dragonborn more closely resembled dragons. It never came up.

After being briefly dead, Zykr began having visions of being on a boat with a person he didn't recognize; he was seeing though Valka's eyes, unknowingly looking at his own father, Roshan. Surprise, Andy! There would have been more hints about it in Sharn if we'd gotten to explore some more.

Original reference document text:

Valka is an elderly dragonborn woman, weathered by the past years of war. She is snakelike in appearance, wiry and lithe at 7'3", with a longer neck, body, and limbs. She stands slouched, leaning heavily on a polearm that doubles as a makeshift cane; often heavily bundled against the cold, her right leg is braced under her clothes and her right arm and hand are entirely covered by a black brace buckled in faded brass, kept immobile against her chest by a sling. Her scales are mottled dark greens and yellows, graying around her eyes, muzzle, and knuckles, and she has many visible scars from old battles on all visible skin. The right side of her face is badly burned, and her eye on that side is entirely covered by a large patch. Her other eye is milky white; it's uncertain whether she can see our of her visible eye or if the patch isn't opaque.

Boot on braced leg has a special hook on the heel that she can clip to the harness strap on her thigh to keep is raised / out of the way if mobility is more important than stability. Safety harness extends down the upper part of her tail; anchors to this instead of her braced leg when necessary.

Though not visible, the eye under the patch is unnervingly human-like (as it originally belonged to Roshan), and if her arm brace were removed, the arm underneath is also distinctly not her own; she is unable to move the replacement limb at all, and the dragonmark on it does not move to anywhere else on her body though she can utilize its power.

As a child, Valka was often drawn to the idea of traveling. She restrained her desire to leave for many years, bound by ties to her family and home, until a chance meeting with Roshan, an airship pilot, during the war. In an impulse, whirlwind romance, she joined him in his travels and quickly became an indespensible member of the crew and Roshan's partner. They were married during the war, but hesitated to start a family, fearing the kind of world they would be raising a child in while Roshan's mark kept him in duty. Over time, they found comfort in a future seemingly without children, though they pledged to do what they could to adopt or foster if the war ended with enough time for them to do so.

Valka was one of many overjoyed to see a time of peace, and hoped to start a proper life with her husband even with their age. Unfortunately, a series of malfunctions in their shared airship led to a crash that left both them and their crew grievously injured in a remote mountain range. Valka, having lost her right arm and with severe trauma to her entire right side, was barely conscious; she awoke hours later to her arm replaced and her injuries magically repaired, and to Roshan dead, having chosen to sacrifice himself to keep her alive. Most importantly to the House, his dragonmark was still present - a glowing brand on the arm grafted improperly to replace Valka's own.

Abruptly alone, dealing with the trauma of the crash and her own guilt in her survival being at Roshan's expense, she was taken to trial and found not guilty. Feeling cheated by this verdict and losing faith in both justice and the afterlife (after all, if a dragonmark was bound to a person's soul, what did it mean that she could now take power from it? Had she damned her lover to a kind of half-life, or worse, an eternal purgatory?) she threw herself into religion with a self-destructive determination, secretly hoping the gods would recognize her believed wrongdoing and judge her properly where mortal courts had failed.

When presented with an opportunity to sabotage the project that led to Roshan's death, she took it, taking control of the airship and going rogue with the intent to destroy it either by her own hand or by forcing any pursuers to take it down with her. At present, she is driving it as far from settlements as possible to achieve this goal with as little loss of life as possible, and does not know what she will do with herself when this act is complete.

For characterization purposes, her actions will be influenced by:

- Like The Back of Her Hand: even when the Revelation is being piloted by someone else, her long familiarity with it means she is incredibly difficult to catch off guard. In its current state, she would notice anything out of place on board; this will decrease as the ship is modified.

- Blindsided: her left eye, uncovered, is blind, while her right eye, covered by a patch, still functions. The patch dims light, but still allows her to see.

- Local Doctors Hate Her!: her right arm is entirely immobile on its own, but the brace can be locked into different positions (ex, she can lean on her elbow, but wouldn't be able to pick something up.). Her right leg is stiff, and she is able to strap it up so she's less likely to trip. She is used to moving around the Revelation on one or both legs, but prefers both on unfamiliar terrain.

- House, Not Home: Valka has little care for the interests of the dragonmarked Houses, and may be more likely to take actions that damage the resources or reputation of a House.

- A Ship That Loves You: Valka believes her husband's spirit is entwined with the ship's elemental, a belief that the House has intentionally used as leverage against her. If she cannot have the ship on her own terms, her alternative goal will be to destroy it and herself - but will put her life on the line to prevent others from damaging it.

- An Empty Nest: Valka has no contact with her extended family and has no reason to believe she has any living immediate relatives. She has formed few relationships since the Revelation's crash.

- The Soils of War: Valka does not want to fight, though she will if she must. Her anger is directed at herself, at the gods that failed her, and the Houses that force her into their service. She wants to escape it, to lick her wounds, and to rest; to discover what the world is becoming in a time of peace that she has not had the chance to know.

[tacticaldiary]

To Hate A Heart That Beats For You

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Jealousy, Tension

"Say please." It's all teeth and a sharp teasing voice with her. Ghost stills at the command, annoying flickering its agitated flames.

Every fucking thing about her rubbed him the wrong way, made him so...out of control? Agitated? All of the above? She always somehow manages to make him concede. She did it back then and she's doing it right now with his breath ghosting over her lips, hot and heavy.

Masterlist

There are not many things that shake the foundation of control Ghost keeps a tight grip on.

Throw him in the middle of a gunfight, a brawl or a series of rough drills and he's normally the first one to make it out. All his life he's been the kind of person to keep to himself, to deal with problems as efficiently and effectively as possible.

She was the exception.

Standing in front of him after two years, with the same pride lining her shoulders, the defiance in her eyes.

"You remember the Lieutenant, don't you?" Laswell stands between them, an unknowing mediator.

"We're...acquainted." She says dryly, locking eyes with Ghost himself. Her voice is the same as well. Everything about her is a shock to his system so part of him is glad that she's the one who spoke up.

Two years. Two years since they'd been promoted to the rank of Lieutenant together and gone their separate ways. He'd joined the 141 and she had taken fancy to some tactical intel gathering specialist group.

Laswell pauses, looking up from her file at the clear snap of tension in the air.

"No need for introductions then." She shuts the folder, giving them both her full attention. "She'll be joining your team for today, talking to your recruits about the intel gathering division she's a part of. Sergeant Gaz is already doing vice versa. I expect you to play nice for today, I don't want any... incidents, copy?"

"Copy." She says, watching Ghost nod.

And then suddenly they're alone, with only the thump of distant footsteps from the recruits to punctuate the silence hanging between them.

"As friendly as ever I see."

"I'm as friendly as you are pleasant." Ghost responds.

"I'm plenty pleasant. It's you that's never been able to get that stick out of your ass."

"Careful." He narrows his eyes, pushing himself off the wall. "We know how the last time you picked a fight ended."

"That's cute." She smiles. "I seem to remember you getting put on desk duty for two weeks."

"After I choked you out on the training mat."

"I'm sure you've been dreaming of doing that again." Her self-satisfied smile widens when he doesn't respond for a moment, taken aback. With a shake of her head, she directs her gaze back onto the field where the soldiers are slowly finishing their last lap. "I feel sorry for them. Having to see your ugly mug in the morning with that mask can't make their breakfast settle very well."

An arm brushes against hers, and before he pushes past her, Ghost leans down right next to her ear. "You were yelling quite the opposite the last time you saw it." He whispers with a slightly thicker accent than usual, letting the satisfaction of seeing that smug expression falter for a moment settle deep into him as he knocks past her roughly.

They had a...messy history to say the least.

Two forces as headstrong as them were bound to butt heads. Her earliest memory is arguing with him. The both of them have always had a competitive streak, whether that be on the mat or running timed drills.

That tension had to blow up in their faces sometime, and that time just happened to be the day after they both got promoted...

Her eyes follow his form as he orders the recruits over, telling them to split into small groups, informing them of why she was there.

Red creeps up her neck her mind flashes back to that night. They had been taunting each other in passing all day, silently arguing who the better candidate had been, which one of them deserved it more. It doesn't sound like Ghost at all but they'd always had something more fiery than what they were like by themselves.

One too many jabs had led to a small tussle, which had led to a moment of weakness and...well, now's not the time to remember the frantic touches and calloused hands. The first time she'd seen his maskless...

He certainly had been anything but ugly and that makes her so fucking mad.

Shaking it off, she composes herself and decides to take the reigns.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It's been an hour of standing around, supervising the talk, and Ghost is ready to tear into something. Or someone, more preferably.

His jaw clenches, watching how she floats from soldier to soldier, group to group. The effect on them is instantaneous with the way they straighten up, surprised at being addressed before melting into smiles that are a tad bit too wide and eager, and eyes that wander farther than appropriate.

Her hand lingers on some of their shoulders, elbows nudge and compliments flow out of her mouth.

Maybe he's finally going insane?

A few times their eyes meet, and neither of them look away, too stubborn to be the first to fold. Every time, the corner of her mouth quirks up when she turns to keep doing what she was.

A sick, ugly feeling rears its head inside him at the sight.

What gave those pathetic recruits the right to look at her that way? And why are his fingers twitching for the knives strapped along the expanse of his body?

Why the fuck does he care?

"...Ghost? You with us?" She raises an eyebrow when his glare snaps to her instead. She's wandered over to him, leaving the recruits to talk amongst themselves for a break.

"What?" He says coldly.

"Someone piss in your breakfast?" God, he'd throttle her first, then move on to those other men-

"Same person who pissed in yours." The retort gets him a raise of an eyebrow but nothing more.

"Sure. I'm done here, so you can go back to terrorising the poor kids." It's a receptive group, more than a couple of them had shown interest in what she was saying. A few of the more promising ones she had taken a personal note of, intending to pass their names forward to Laswell to consider.

"Until we have the misfortune of meeting again." She says, and maybe it's a throwaway act of trying to remain civil in such a public setting, but she extends a hand towards him.

He eyes it for a second, eyes narrowing.

"If you're afraid I'll throw you over my shoulder like last time-"

She grins smugly when he takes her hands, squeezing it through the brief handshake a little harder than necessary.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

This is a terrible idea.

Somehow, because whoever's up there seems to have a personal vendetta against him, Ghost finds himself standing in front of her office door, a file on all the recruit's scores and past experiences Laswell had ordered him to pass onto her clutched loosely in his arm.

It was 11 at night, but the army notoriously never slept.

Because he's not a fucking animal, he knocks, waiting to hear her call out an okay before pushing the door open.

It's as sparsely decorated as his own office. There's not much to keep the value of sentiment in with lives as busy as theirs, but the things that catch his focus are the small picture frames set on her desk.

After her, of course.

Changed into something more casual, his eyes trace the dips and curves that are so utterly her.

"Did you need something?" She asks, the friendly edge to her voice flittering away when she sees it's him.

"No, but you do." Moving closer, he tosses the file onto her desk. Staring at it for a moment, she clicks her tongue whilst flipping through the pages.

"I'd like to snag a couple of these for my team in a few years." She mutters to herself, pausing over a few of the reports. Ghost's hands twitch with the urge to curl them inwards when he remembers the events of this morning.

She's studying him, he realises. With a quiet, titled expression, she's taking him in head to toe and it's the first time in a while Ghost has felt so stripped to the core.

"Got something to say?" His voice comes out rougher than intended. Making no move to speak, the corner of her lips quirk up slightly. Huffing quietly, she spins her chair back around to face her desk, picking up the pen she'd discarded when he first walked through her doors.

It's quiet. The scratching of pen on paper. Something about it jarrs him, ignites a twinge of irritation because why the hell is she so quiet now after he's asked her a question? Normally she sparsely shuts up enough for his heart to cool down from its quickened pace.

He'd say later on that he weighed the decision he made, that he really thought it through but frankly, the only thing on his mind is her, and it's cloudy with enough anger and an emotion he's not willing to admit right now that he acts without thinking. Completely on instinct.

Ghost spins the chair around so he's facing her and looking down. "Ignoring me now?" He says into the sharp silence. "Never thought I'd see the day you shut your mouth."

"Is that the way you talk to someone you spent the night with?" She answers. He grunts in surprise at her hand curling around the back of his beck, yanking him further down until they're face to face. "That's why you're still here, aren't you? Still bothered from this morning?" The smug look on her face only makes Ghost more irritated because she's right. He could have easily left after dropping the file off. He had no apparent reason to stay. "Couldn't stand the thought of sharing something you've already had a bite out of?"

It dawns on him with her tone right there and then.

She'd been doing it on purpose. The glances to him as she made her rounds, the way she lingered over the recruits only when she could feel his eyes burning into her from behind.

Ghost is met with that teasing, smug grin that fixes him into place a little too effectively because when she hooks an ankle around the bend of his knee and pulls, he goes down onto his knees without much of a fight. He's tall enough so they're actually face to face now, eyes level.

"Finally caught on?" The smooth lilt to has his stomach twisting and his mind reeling, though he stays as composed on the outside as always. Waiting. Watching. Urging himself to keep his hands to himself.

"Fuckin' hell." He breathes out. "You little minx."

"Affirmative."

Heated eyes take in the being that is her. Sharp smiles, dirty tactics, and that attitude that made him want to do things that would get him discharged if he were to ever voice them.

All of her was a deadly beautiful.

It checks out that Ghost is lover of deadly.

Calloused, rough hands, trails up her legs and settle around her hips. His eyes flicker down to her mouth and for a moment, neither of them speak. Then she leans closer and for a moment Ghost braces himself.

"Say please." It's all teeth and a sharp teasing voice with her. Ghost stills at the command, annoying flickering its agitated flames.

Every fucking thing about her rubbed him the wrong way, made him so...out of control? Agitated? All of the above?

He swallows past the bitter taste in his throat. Weighs his options.

"Please."

He mumbles it because she always somehow manages to make him concede. She did it back then and she's doing it right now with his breath ghosting over her lips, hot and heavy.

A smirk curves her mouth. "What was that?" She whispers. "Couldn't quite hear you..." Her hands move from his collar up to the edge of his balaclava, toying with the edge. Ghost makes no move to stop her when she slowly, so achingly slowly, starts rolling the fabric up.

"I fuckin' hate you." He growls, actions and words at war.

"You're showing me a lot of love for someone who claims so." Is all she says, movements halting as the fabric bunches over his nose, laying bare the bottom half of his face. "Would you let anyone touch you like this, hmm?" Skimming her fingers over the scar on his chin, his own hands tighten around her hips at the gentle feeling. She ends up cupping his cheeks. "Because I'll tell you this, Simon-"

It's a physical reaction, the way she says his name. He straightens up instinctively and takes in a muted, sharp inhale. She leans closer, and if he only tilted his head up a fraction they'd brush lips.

"It's been a long time since I've let anyone touch me like you are."

It snaps something in him, maybe his patience or perhaps his resolve.

One hand slides up to the back of her neck, the other one yanks her out of her chair and to the floor. He crashes their mouths together in a kiss that brings an instant sort of relief. It's not sweet by any means, all clicking teeth and pulling at each other. Hands roaming and breaths shared.

Neither of them knows who pulls away first, but eventually they're left to catch their breath, their foreheads pressed together.

Then she laughs, a light, soft breeze. "You should've seen yourself back then. Looked like you wanted to flay those kids alive." She snickers.

"I did." There's no use denying it, not when this, when she, makes something curl up and settle down deep within him. As much as she riles him up, she also brings him a kind of peace that he can't describe.

Goddamn, he's so far gone. Maybe he should book in a psych eval soon...

"Never thought I'd see the day you were like this." She hums, "Wish I'd taken a video of it."

"It won't happen again, love." He shakes his head, trying and failing to push down the slightest bit of amusement. "That you can count on."

"Wanna bet?" She says cheekily, scratching at the nape of his neck with her nails gently. It makes a shiver run down his spine, the curl of her lips widens as she feels it.

"You drive me fuckin' insane, you know that?" He mumbles against her lips.

"You love it." Is all she manages to get out before he pulls her in again.

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(27/07/2023)