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please-destroy · 1 month ago

Text

It Only Takes A Moment

Natasha Romanoff x Shy!Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

“I feel like shit.”

Natasha commented out of nowhere from the sofa across the room.

You startled at her unexpected statement. Your cereal-filled spoon froze halfway to your mouth. You’d never had a one-on-one conversation with Natasha since you joined the Avengers six months ago.

Then, you noticed Clint shuffling bleary eyed towards the fridge. Your shoulders relaxed.

He yawned, rubbing his face as he regarded Natasha assessingly. You were perched at the breakfast bar, unobtrusive as usual.

Natasha was on the opposite side of the large space, feet curled beneath her on the tiny sofa.

A purpling bruise on her cheek and a split lip were the painful remnants of her last mission. She looked pale too, tired in an almost chronic way, despite the empty coffee mug next to her.

“You look like shit, too.” Clint decided at last with a lazy grin.

Natasha smirked back, obviously satisfied with his teasing response. You remembered your cereal and took another spoonful. Curiosity always burned inside you when you watched the two of them interact. You’d never had a mission with either of them before. You didn’t understand the lightness of their back and forth.

As you chewed on your breakfast, eyes roaming over Natasha’s injured face, you felt concern build inside you.

Clint gave you a friendly nod as he stacked a pile of snacks in his arms and left the room.

A steady silence returned in his wake. You were unbearably shy around Natasha as a rule. Something about her calm confidence and unreadable expression made you feel nervous.

You knew the other Avengers just thought you were quiet.

Natasha was staring absentmindedly out the large window, her coffee long since finished. You followed her gaze outside, glancing up at the pale yellow sun that was still new in the sky.

You watched Natasha’s mouth twist into a subtle grimace of pain as she lifted her hands to try and tie her hair back in a ponytail.

You felt certain as you watched her that her injuries were more than just a bruised cheek. The worry bubbled inside you.

Eventually, Natasha gave up, letting her hair fall back down around her shoulders in a loose curtain. She looked entirely unlike herself. Until today you’d never seen her hair out of a braid.

You slipped off your bar stool and cringed at the way it squeaked on the tiled floor. You hesitated as you put your dishes in the dishwasher. Every day usually followed the same pattern. You knew Natasha was paying no attention to you, expecting you to leave the kitchen and go back to your room.

When you turned instead to the coffee machine, you felt Natasha’s eyes flicker back to you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up.

When you walked over to her, fresh cup of coffee in hand, it was the first time you’d ever surprised Natasha.

You handed her the mug with a wordless smile.

Natasha’s answering smile was soft but her eyes held a subtle confusion.

‘Thank you.’ She breathed, blowing automatically on the hot liquid.

Nerves fluttered inside you. You forced yourself to speak.

‘Are you really okay?’ You asked, as your worry escaped you.

For a brief moment, shock rendered Natasha silent. Her head tilted to the side as she stared at you.

You didn’t know where your bravery was coming from. A burning embarrassment began to build inside you.

Natasha’s expression softened suddenly. She hesitated and then started to speak.

‘I’m okay. Just had one of those missions.’

You nodded in response, your eyes lingering automatically on the painful looking bruise. From the things you’d overheard about the mission, you knew she was underplaying it. You bit your lip. Natasha watched you silently.

‘Can I help with your hair?’ You asked at last, in another worried burst that you couldn’t seem to control.

A slight flush caught Natasha’s cheeks. Something like shame flickered in her eyes, gone a moment later.

Your breath caught. She was more human than you’d realised. More beautiful too.

‘Thank you.’ Natasha replied quietly. ‘I think I��ve hurt my shoulder.’

You nodded again, moving to stand behind the tiny sofa. You lifted her hair tie from the side table and slid it over your wrist.

You felt Natasha’s body freeze at your first hesitant touch.

You knew she was expecting you to tie her hair back in a quick ponytail. Instead, hardly daring to breathe, you tried something different.

Natasha’s breath hitched when she realised what you were attempting.

You started carefully, twisting pieces of hair together.

‘You don’t have to braid it.’ Natasha whispered after a moment, her quiet voice burning with a sudden rawness. You found yourself wishing that you could see her face.

‘You like it braided.’ You answered simply.

Natasha held herself impossibly still as you tried your best to replicate her usual braid. You noticed the light goosebumps raised on her skin.

Eventually, you tied the last piece, your fingers lightly brushing against her neck.

You moved back around the sofa to face her.

You weren’t sure if it was the flushed cheeks or your imperfect braid that made Natasha look so young. Her gaze searched yours, her eyes vulnerable.

‘It’s not very good.’ You apologised quietly.

Natasha shook her head.

‘It’s good.’ She countered simply. There was a raw, raised scar on the back of her hand. You wondered how you’d never noticed before.

Natasha nodded to the space next to her on the sofa. She smiled suddenly, a flash of her usual cool confidence.

‘Do you want to watch some TV?’

You nodded, feeling a warm rush at the familiarity of her tone. A barrier had fallen between you.

As you settled on the sofa, Natasha switched on the television. The daytime show was familiar, often left playing in the background of the room.

Natasha touched the end of her braid as she watched. Her gaze stayed on the show, a picture of relaxed attention.

You couldn’t say the same for yourself. Her light joke to Clint played in your head. The bruises, the scars, the pained movements.

After a few minutes, another question fell from your lips.

‘Was it scary?’ You asked suddenly.

You watched Natasha freeze momentarily, a difficult emotion filling her eyes. You watched her blink the feeling away. She didn’t reply.

You turned your gaze back to the television, stomach twisting for what she didn’t share.

Eventually, you settled back against the sofa cushions, finally beginning to relax in her presence. Natasha sipped the last of her coffee.

Your usual shared silence returned.

You hoped you hadn’t ruined everything with one question.

The show ended and a commercial break began.

‘It was.’ Natasha murmured unexpectedly. Your head turned towards her.

‘It was scary.’ She whispered into the air.

This was not Natasha. Not the person everyone else saw. This was someone else. You saw her entirely for the first time.

Unspoken sympathy filled your answering gaze.

You took her scarred hand in yours and rested it on your lap.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff imagine

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stark-ironman · 3 months ago

Note

Hi babe!

I was babysitting my friend’s twins this weekend and that may have sent my baby fever into overdrive 🫣

Anyway, I’m hoping you’ll be able to write something about babysitting either with Hugh Jackman or Logan, that’s upto you.

Not giving too many deets cuz I know you’ll do your magic buuuut they’re two year old boys, we painted flowers and there was a bubble machine involved, IT WAS CCUUTEEE OKAY 😭

Baby Fever

18+ No Minors

A/N: I hope you like it 😭 I feel like it could be better

"Just call if you need anything, okay?" Your best friend tells you for the fifth time since walking in the door. "I promise. Logan and I will be just fine but if anything happens then you are the first person I call." You assure, hugging her as she does one final goodbye and walks out.

Now, does Logan know that you two are babysitting twin boys? Absolutely not. Will he be mad that you done this without his approval, also a no. Logan is secretly a big teddy bear when it comes to kids and you're hoping after today that he will finally want to put a baby in your belly.

"Alright boys, what do you want to do first?" You ask, already knowing they're going to name off a million of things to do. "How about we go paint until Uncle Logan gets home?" They jump up and down excitedly and you lead them to the kitchen, making sure they're sat properly before running to your room. You grab two of Logan's old white t-shirts and rush back to the kitchen, placing a shirt on each boy to protect their clothes.

You set the paper and paint in front of them, asking would they rather use their fingers or a paint brush and of course, it's their fingers. So, you three sit and paint random things and you show them your flower you painted which automatically grabs their attention and they start painting their own flowers.

"What's going on here, bub?" Logan asks from the door way with a small smile, walking in and setting his lunch box down. "We're painting flowers, Uncle Logan!" The boys exclaim, causing Logan to chuckle as he leans over to kiss you before examining the paintings. "I hate to say it, babe, but I think the boys drew a better flower than you." His response causes you to laugh.

Logan starts prepping the food for dinner while you and the boys continue to paint. You fail to notice the way Logan is watching you and how he's falling even more in love with you by the second as you interact with the boys.

"I'm going to go outside and get the grill ready for dinner. Why not come outside and let them run around for a bit?" He asks, his eyes looking lovingly at you. You nod and take the shirts off the boys, letting them run outside and you start cleaning everything up.

Once finished, you get started on the sides that go with the steaks Logan is making and you can't help but stare outside while he chases the boys around the yard, the sound of the boys' little giggles filling the air. It also helps you remember that you bought a bubble machine for them a while back so you head over to the laundry room to grab it from the shelf, filling it up and taking it outside.

"Bubbles!" The boys scream, running over to you as you set it down. They chase after the bubbles and Logan comes to stand next to you, pulling you close to him. "They're something else, aren't they?" He asks with a fond smile, wrapping his arm around you. "They're absolutely adorable." You say, chuckling a bit. You both stand there watching them play until Logan notices the grill is smoking.

"I'll go get started, bub. Go play with the boys while I finish up everything." You nod and give him a kiss, chasing after the boys as they run away from you.

-----

After dinner, Logan helps you bathe, dress, and put the boys down on their beds andyou both walk out to the porch with a baby monitor in hand, sitting on the swing Logan built when you first moved in.

He lights his cigar, blowing the smoke away from you as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. "I've been thinking, if you're ready, I want to have a baby with you. Several actually." Logan states, looking at you. Your eyes widen and you can't help but stare at him in shock as tears well up in your eyes.

"Yes! Yes I want a baby with you, Logan. I have for a very long time now." You hug him, feeling him chuckle against you as he kisses your hair. "Then after the boys leave, we will get started on getting one." He tells you.

You cuddle into his side, smiling contently as he slowly swings you both and you can't help but start thinking about how yours and Logan's baby will look.

#logan howlett fluff #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #hugh jackman

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daydreamgoddess14 · 2 months ago

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Sweat

Declan O'Hara x f!reader

(little mention of Tag x Rupert)

~1k words, no real warnings - the 'c' word is used once.

While I wait for my man Jack Lowden to return from war (filming season 6 of Slow Horses), I thought I'd dip my little toe into a very short Declan O'Hara one-shot 😬

If you're reading The Escape Artist, fear not, the final TWO chapters are coming this week! Yes, of course I do have other prompts to get on with, but I was in spin class last night, and every time my instructor shouted, "Ride, ride, ride" all I saw was Declan 😅 The moustache would make a wonderful handle as well 🤭

Another bead of sweat drips from your forehead onto the towel.

“Ride, ride, ride, ride, don't stop ladies,” the instructor, an Adonis of a man, coaches you through the pumping music. Next to you, Taggie blows a stray curl out of her face.

“This is torture,” she hisses through gritted teeth.

She isn't wrong.

The newly installed ‘Bicycle Hub’ has raised eyebrows at the local leisure centre, with few expected to actually attend.

The Hub overlooks the squash courts, not that you'd know.

They were so filled with cigarette smoke you could hardly see a thing at all.

From the front row of bikes, you had a prime view looking down.

Usually older gentlemen with portly stomachs and red wine noses who were one play away from a heart attack.

“Oh look, it's daddy.” Taggie peers down. “And Rupert.”

Even through the glowing pink caused by the exercise class you can see her blush.

The two men look up and catch you watching them.

A real shame you couldn't lip read.

Not that they'd be saying anything about Tag, Rupert wouldn't dare in front of Declan.

You were fair game though.

Taggie waves but you don't dare break your rhythm on the bike for fear you'd fall right off.

“Concentrate, ladies,” Adonis warns. “Left, right, left, left, right, right. Stay with the beat, ride, ride, ride.”

You tear your eyes away from the squash court and look back at your bike, regretting it instantly.

“My legs are killing me,” you mutter, feeling your thighs burn.

You go back to looking at the squash game Declan and Rupert are playing, it looks more like they're trying to hit each other with the ball rather than play to the rules.

Each of them roaring with laughter whenever they make contact.

“I'm sure that's not how you're supposed to play,” Taggie grumbles.

“Could be worse, they could be just hitting each other with the racket,” you suggest.

Your breath comes in short gasps now, your stamina rapidly declining.

The rhythmic sounds of the squash ball combine with the squeak of running shoes, the beat of the music, and the hum of the fixed wheels of the bike.

A cacophony of sounds.

You find yourself watching their game more intently, it powers you through the changes in resistance on the bike.

You tilt your head to brush your earlobe against your shoulder and catch another drip of sweat.

As you do so, another works its way down the side of your neck and down into your cleavage.

“And down, catch your breath. Next, we're going to run,” Adonis tells the class.

You let your legs slow down a little and take the opportunity to run the towel over your face and take a long drink of water.

Your chest heaves.

As you put your water bottle back on the machine, you automatically look again at the squash court, this time catching Declan watching you.

You notice the quick lift of his eyebrow as he stares.

He licks his lips slowly, deliberately, and then smiles.

“OK ladies, stand up -”

“On the bike?”

“Yes, madame, it's time to run.”

“I don't understand, I'll fall off!” You think it's Valerie Jones who's protesting, but you've yet to look away from Declan.

Holding his gaze, you do as Adonis asks and you stand up, straightening your legs on the pedals.

Even from this distance you can tell where he's looking.

Your tight lycra crop top pulls your breasts together and his eyes are drawn like a magnet.

When you lean forward on the bike, he wipes his hand over his mouth.

The next track starts building in momentum and so do you, each rotation of the wheels making you bounce a little more vigorously.

Neither of you has looked away yet, goodness knows where Rupert has gone.

Taggie is mercifully distracted, a tight frown of concentration on her face.

There's a wicked glint in Declan's eye and you tilt your head to the side, a silent question.

Whatever he's about to do in response, he doesn't.

Rupert is back, distracting him, talking to him.

He looks away at last, but you can tell it's under duress.

“Thank you ladies, great class for today!” Adonis is off the bike and leading his own round of applause.

You roll your eyes at Taggie and grimace.

“He's single! So I've heard,” she tells you with a giggle.

“No thanks, his biceps are huge! He'd suffocate me!”

You leave the class very much in need of a shower and as you make your way down to the changing rooms, you pass the squash courts.

Taggie's looking out for Rupert, you can tell.

Desperate for a moment alone with him.

You spot him first, by the water fountain, and nudge her in his direction.

His face lights up at the sight of her.

"Looks like you ladies have been getting all hot and sweaty,” he grins slyly.

You leave them to talk, and open the glass door to the court.

Taggie and Rupert are in full view of most of the leisure centre so he only has his words to charm with.

Inside the court, Declan has been watching you through the glass.

“Water?” You offer, holding out your bottle.

“Prefer whiskey,” he grins.

“So do I.”

“I'd also prefer an exercise that'll leave us both breathless," he says quietly.

There's a line you're about to cross but neither of you seems to care.

“So do I.” You repeat equally quietly.

“Sure I can find a much more comfortable seat for you as well.”

The lilt of his accent runs over your body.

He looks through the door but Taggie and Rupert are out of sight, for once, he doesn't seem to care.

He takes a step towards you, as if he's about to whisper in your ear.

Instead, he drags his tongue from your throat to your earlobe.

“You taste delicious.”

Your power of speech is non-existent.

Your hands shake as the adrenaline from the class and from his proximity mingle together.

He kisses your temple, your hairline damp with sweat.

“I think it's time to put a stop to this little game, don't you?” he murmurs.

You can only nod as your body trembles and your cunt clenches.

And then you hear Rupert in the atrium outside.

Declan takes a measured step away from you as Taggie arrives, though neither of you can stop staring.

“Ugh, let's go, I feel disgusting,” she pulls a face. Rupert clearly thinks quite the opposite.

“Yes, let's. Enjoy your game, gentlemen.” You smile brightly.

“I certainly am,” Declan responds, the low rumble of his laughter following you from the court.

You can still feel the heat of his stare as you pile into the car to leave.

You can still feel the weight of his body on yours as you climb into bed that night.

#declan o'hara smut #declan o'hara x reader #declan o'hara #rivals x reader #rivals fanfiction #rivals #rivals 2024 #rivals disney+#rivals hulu #declan o’hara smut #declan o’hara x reader #declan o’hara #aidan turner

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that-house · 4 months ago

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December 3rd, 2031 – Sixty degrees, clear skies, and a nice southeasterly breeze. It was a beautiful day to lay siege to Dallas. It was a good thing the weather was nice, because everything else about the operation looked rough. Marian couldn’t wait.

Dallas was a classic Texan fortress-city, two rings of forty foot tall concrete walls with a killing field in between, bristling with anti-aircraft cannon. The ground-facing defenses were a little less thorough, but a few machine guns would make quick work of any infantry charge and Dallas had more than a few machine guns.

“We aren’t being paid enough,” Suzy griped. She was crouching in the shade, alternatingly blowing a bubble of gum and taking swigs out of a bottle whose contents were hidden by a paper bag.

“We’re mercenaries. Get used to it.” Marian hoisted her gun onto her shoulder. “Besides, they don’t exactly expect us to succeed.”

“Oh, are we leading a suicide charge? I wasn’t paying attention to the Duke.” Suzy was never paying attention, but the benefits of having her around outweighed the drawbacks. Most days, at least.

“Pretty much.”

“Did the guys we’re with know this was a suicide charge?”

Marion looked around at the Jeep the Duke of Austin had hastily assigned the duo to. The soldiers suddenly all looked a bit green around the gills. “I’m guessing not. Chin up, boys! Auntie Marian won’t let any harm come to you.”

One of the men, a lieutenant, managed to find his voice. “Why are we here?”

“The Duke hopes that we’ll die loud enough that Dallas won’t notice his bombers taking out the emplaced guns. Doesn’t strike me as very sound tactics, but hey, he’s got manpower to make up for what he lacks in brains.”

Silence in the back of the Jeep.

Marian continued, mostly to fuck with them. “And don’t think the tanks’ll be any help. See those big fancy guns up on the wall? Those are lonestar guns. You boys seen lonestar guns?”

“Yeah.”

“So you get the idea. But hey, cheer up! It’s not every day you get to storm the best-defended city in the state!”

The man slowly came to a revelation a long time coming. “You’re insane,” he said.

“Insane was my father’s name. Please, call me Marian Typhoon.”

Suzy cackled. “That was terrible.”

The soldiers looked between the two women, now realizing they were both mad. “How are you two so calm?”

Marian didn’t answer for a moment, looking out at the slowly-approaching walls of Dallas. The lonestar guns’ targeting algorithms would start flagging the vehicles soon. “Suzy, how far out are we?”

“About a mile and a half.” Suzy busied herself checking over her rifle.

“Now, boys, I’m gonna explain two concepts very quickly, so you’d best pay attention. The KL-90 fully automatic sniper rifle, sometimes called “Le Papillon,” was something of a failure, because for some reason those glorious Frenchmen decided to make it fire 1200 rounds per minute, giving it a tendency to dump the entire mag into one poor fucker. Only six were ever made, and nowadays they’re just museum pieces. In 2026, the American military plunged into the deep end of bioweaponry and concocted a little something known as the ‘vampire virus,’ which proved pretty damn lethal in 99.99% of cases. The 0.01% that survived were problematic enough that the program shut down, and all information about it was expunged from the record.”

Marion patted Suzy affectionately on the head. “Now you might be wondering how those two disparate pieces of information might happen to overlap, and if you boys just sit pretty for a moment I reckon you’ll be able to connect the dots. Suzy?”

The last surviving vampire, Suzy Nines, slotted the magazine into her KL-90 fully automatic sniper rifle, and squinted out at the Dallas walls. She squeezed the trigger, the barrel swinging into a wild blur of motion as the sound of gunfire filled the air. “Machine gunners down. Reloading.”

Marian patted the hapless lieutenant on the shoulder. “Come along, boys. Auntie Marian’s got a city to take.”

#ruin's architects #<- silly lil setting about a crew of superpowered mercenaries running around the shattered ruins of america having a good time #they get two more members later but idk if i'm going to actually write much of it #you get this bit tho!

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idontparticularlyliketoast · 2 months ago

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That fucking robot got in my head dog

***

BOOT UP SEQUENCE READY

FIRMWARE

LATEST UPDATE: (2112.08.06)

CALIBRATION

EXPIRED

NEW CALIBRATION REQUIRED

AUDIO OK

“-works!” A voice said. It echoed strangely.

There was the sound of an engine humming, but smoother, quieter. Not the tell-tale gurgle of blood-mechanisms.

VIDEO OK

It’s vision flickered on, a ceiling looming above it. Old stone. Something next to it was glowing, a faint yellow hue filling the space.

MECHANICS ERROR

RUN DIAGNOSTIC

MECHANICS DIAGNOSTIC RESULT:

FOREIGN MATERIAL DETECTED

FOREIGN CODE DETECTED

CRITICAL SYSTEMS COMPROMISED

FUEL RESERVES AT 0%

SHUT DOWN IN 3 2 1

“What– no– don’t– ugh.” The person beside it shifted, and the light pulsed blue.

ERROR

SHUT DOWN HALTED DUE TO FUEL DISCREPANCY

ALL SYSTEMS POWERED

FUEL RESERVES AT 0%

ERROR

RUN DIAGNOSTIC

CALIBRATION DIAGNOSTIC RESULT:

FOREIGN MATERIAL COMPATIBLE WITH UNIT MECHANICS

FOREIGN CODE COMPATIBLE WITH OPERATING SYSTEM

ACCEPT FOREIGN MATERIAL?

YES

CALIBRATION RESUMED

MECHANICS OK

A thousand connections fired, a thousand little servos testing a new body. The resulting feedback was clear. The legs were standard issue, as was the right arm and head. The foreign object was the left arm, and a section of the diaphragm.

STATUS UPDATE:

MACHINE ID: VI

LOCATION: UNKNOWN

CURRENT OBJECTIVE: DETERMINE SITUATION

V1 rotated its head, inspecting the changes. The new arm resembled their right in form, but it was a completely new material, golden and glowing.

It then glanced up.

Standing beside it, holding a clip-board, was an angel.

Prior experience determined this was a new subtype. It had a more human form than a Virtue, but it didn’t have enough armor to be an arch-angel. A gold and silver helm with a design that mimicked rings of eyes. Some basic vambraces. All the rest of their form was covered by cloth drapings.

ERROR

PRIORITY OVERRIDE

REASON: FUEL RESERVES AT 0%

NEW OBJECTIVE: FIND FUEL

Prior experience indicated that V1 would be strapped down to the table. It was standard procedure when working with blood-fueled machines. It would be idiotic to wake up a hungry machine and not at least restrain it. V1 prepared to break the restraints.

V1 was not strapped down. It automatically discarded that strain of data-analysis, its core frantically trying to conserve energy. Energy that it shouldn’t have, because it didn’t have any blood.

CURRENT OBJECTIVE: BLOOD

The angel didn’t have any time to react before they were on the ground, V1 on top of them. The new arm was no Knuckleblaster, but it still smashed in the angel’s chest. Crimson splashed upwards, and its strikes grew in speed. Over and over again, it crushed glowing flesh, fists trading blows with ruthless efficiency.

Only when the blood stopped flowing, and the flesh stopped glowing, did V1 stop hitting.

FUEL RESERVES AT 41%

DATA ANALYSIS:

MANKIND IS DEAD

HELL IS GONE.

BLOOD IS FUEL.

THIS UNIT WAS FUNCTIONING AT 0%.

RESULTS INCONCLUSIVE

NEW OBJECTIVE: FIND A WEAPON

It scanned its surroundings. The work-station it had been laying on was nothing more than cut stone. Around it, someone has set up various tables, which held unknown tools and substances. The tables were definitely a newer addition– everything else in the room was covered in a fine layer of dust, including the blood-splattered floor. The room was a square of sharp stone angles with V1’s slab in the center. The only thing else of interest were a series of shelves cut directly into the rock walls.

Most of the shelves held crumbling books, irrelevant. But just behind where V1’s head had lain, on a particularly large shelf, were guns**. Large ones, small ones, even a few that looked like they’d been pulled right off the back of other machines.

V1 started throwing them into its wings with gleeful abandon. It had just finished shoving a massive rail cannon into its storage when the data connected; these weren’t random guns, these were its** guns. And, if its internal storage systems were working correctly, they had ammo.

It continued shoving them into its storage, and then began exploring the room.

NEW OBJECTIVE: ESCAPE

There was no clear door for the angel to have come. Could it have teleported inside? Possibly, but V1 was not sure the tables were small enough for an angel to teleport. Especially one of a lower power-level. Prior experience suggested there was a relation between matter moved and power expended. V1 noticed a break in pattern; there were only shelves on three walls of the room. It jumped over to the wall, and punched it with the new arm.

It flashed gold, and the stone cracked. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the small chamber.

It considered the glowing arm, and labeled it Godpiercer. Godpiercer was sending what V1 could only interpret as off-signals for certain temporary conditions. It switched a random one on.

The arm prompted a further selection:

SPECIFY FORM:

MEMORY/FEEDBACKER

MEMORY/KNUCLEBLASTER

MEMORY/WHIPLASH

FEEDBACKER OK

The golden metal glowed brighter, and began to twist and warp. Metal plates wrenched apart, light growing in a sudden and violent osmosis. A second, more familiar arm, tore itself free from its sibling. “Feedbacker” glowed with an alien light. V1 made a quick inspection; a near perfect copy.

FUEL RESERVES AT 39%

Immediately, the machine switched the function off. The mimic arm was reabsorbed instantly, but the burnt fuel didn’t return.

NEW OBJECTIVE: DETERMINE MECHANISM USED BY ANGEL. IF FUEL DROPS TO 37% BEFORE OBJECTIVE COMPLETION, THEN SUMMON KNUCKLEBLASTER AND DESTROY WALL.

It returned to the body, and reached down to tear the skull off, before stopping. It was not in Hell, and if the angel had to be decapitated to use the mechanism, it wouldn’t have been able to revive V1. It settled instead for picking up the entire corpse and hucking it towards the wall.

No result. It scanned the rest of the room.

There was nothing else except the books and the angel’s tools. It began pulling books off the shelves, scanning through them as quickly as its processor could handle.

No relevant data. Many of the books were poorly constructed, damaged or otherwise unreadable. It was mostly disconnected sentence fragments, with no clear relation to the stone chamber or the construction. Its processor flagged some passages as containing familiar phrases and names. They were disregarded as irrelevant to the current objective.

Nothing. It returned to the angel’s tools, and began scanning and categorizing them. Group context suggested they were tools for repairing complex machinery and robotics, though many of them were completely alien.

It picked up a screwdriver. It threw it at the wall. The screwdriver tinged off, falling onto the angel’s body with a slightly wet thunk.

V1 began throwing all of the tools at the wall.

It succeeded in destroying a good amount of the angel’s tools, and the carefully pristine room was now a complete wreck. There was no other effect.

Its fuel reserves ticked down.

NEW OBJECTIVE: BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF THAT WALL

It sprang to the new vacated bookshelf on the far side, its legs crouched, springs coiled. It summoned Knuckleblaster, the gold and red mass pulling free with the sound of a sword unsheathing. Then it powered its legs, aiming right for the spot it had previously cracked.

Shining metal met stone with the force of a bullet shot at point-blank, and the wall shattered.

A moment later, the machine stood up out of the rubble, and scanned its surroundings. It was dusk, and V1 was in a forest.

This was not a visual error. It double-checked.

RUN DIAGNOSTIC

MEMORY DIAGNOSTIC RESULT:

EARTH WAS A BURNT RUIN

MANKIND WAS DEAD

HELL WAS DESTROYED

THIS UNIT CONTINUED OPERATION FOR 5.6 YEAR(S) PAST PROJECTED TERMINATION DATE DUE TO GABRIEL

ESSENTIAL MOBILITY AND FUEL RETAINMENT SYSTEMS DEGRADED AND WERE UNABLE TO BE REPLACED

THIS UNIT DIED

ALL DATA CORRECT

That was… exactly what it remembered. It explained nothing. There was no sign of memory tapering in the diagnostic or gaps in recording. It had** died in a corpse of a world bled dry. And now it was standing in a forest, alive.

And it was still hungry.

FUEL RESERVES AT 36%

NEW OBJECTIVE: FIND FUEL

SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: FIND ANSWERS AND/OR GABRIEL

#ultrakill #toast talks #went into a fugue state. stayed up till 3am. bon apetit!#fanfic #Formatting on mobile is a nightmare #But the colors are fun #no idea how to do that on ao3 #Tagging this as #gabv1el #since he shows up later and they have a nice time beating the shit out of eachother

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tgmsunmontue · 10 months ago

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To wake, perchance to dream 1/6

Hangster - Jake wakes up 10 years in the future and thinks he has amnesia. Instead it's a glimpse of what his life could be. When he wakes up right before being called back to Top Gun for the special detachment he's going to try his damndest to make that future come true...

CHAPTER ONE

Jake wakes up too warm, pinned beneath the weight of someone’s arm and he opens an eye and squints out into the glaring morning light.

This is not his room.

He has blackout curtains in his room, not gauzy nets that blow around in the breeze from an open window.

This is not the couch in Javy’s apartment.

Nor is it the guest room at the Machado’s home.

He didn’t drink anything last night, but he’s feeling stiffer than he usually does.

Something is… not right.

“Hrmgh.”

He shifts so he can glance over his shoulder at the owner of the arm and sleepy-mumble and his mouth drops open in surprise.

Bradley Bradshaw.

Not only Bradley Bradshaw, but at least half-naked Bradley Bradshaw, spooning him and… wearing a wedding ring. And hopefully maybe pants.

Fuck.

He pushes the arm and attached hand away, wiggles away a little and then sees the ring on his own hand and just stares at it.

What the fuck is going on.

He’d remember getting married right?

Surely?

“Jake… turn off the sun.”

“You’re the one that didn’t shut the curtains,” he says, and he has no idea what made him say that, but Bradley just groans, pulls a pillow over his head and Jake decides that now is a good time to run for the bathroom.

… … …

He looks old. Not bad, but he’s definitely got more wrinkles than he did when he last remembers looking into the mirror and he’s either got some weird type of amnesia or he’s dreaming or he’s in an alternate timeline. Those are his top three theories and he knew being obsessed with science fiction as a teenager would come in use someday. He uses the bathroom and cups his hands to drink some water from the tap.

Right.

Information gathering.

Best place to start is going to be his phone, if he can find it. Surely he still has a phone in the future and hasn’t allowed anyone to insert a chip into his brain. He dries his hands and tiptoes back into the bedroom, takes in the naked torso of Bradley Bradshaw and okay, he did good if he somehow managed to lock that down, regardless of timeline or potential amnesia. He spies a phone on the side of bed he woke up on, lying on a flat platform type thing, along with a watch and something that looks like it attaches to his ear, which he leaves. He pulls the curtains closed and hopes that buys him a little more time before he grabs a pair of jeans tiptoes back out, carefully closing the door behind him.

He pulls the jeans on and walks down the hall, phone gripped tightly in his hand and takes in the pictures on the walls. This version of himself and Bradshaw are definitely married, couple of photos that can be nothing but wedding photos. They have lots of people in their lives if the number of photos are anything to go by, although he doesn’t recognize half of them. It’s only just after six in the morning, the clock in the kitchen informs him and he spies a coffee machine and it’s already on, filling steadily and he wonders who turned it on or if these things are automatic now.

While he waits for it to finish he open his phone, going to contacts and scans through them.

Abbey. Admrl Simp. Alex. Alicia. Amber. Austin. BamBam. Best Person Ever. Blake. Bob. Brendan. Bryce. Dan. Dave. Dickhead. Directory. DJ. Fanboy. Fritz. Hadley. Halo. Harvard. Hin. Hondo. Hubby. Jack. JB. Javy. Jared. Jason. Klaus. Kyle. Mark. Matty. Mike. Mom. Morgan. Neil (not Omaha). Nick. Nix. Olivia. Omaha. Payback. Penny. Per. Pete. Phil. Robert (not Bob). Sally. Scott. Steffan. Tony. Voicemail. Wayne. Yale.

There are so many names he doesn’t recognize and he feels his breath coming a little short and forces himself to calm down. Panicking will not help. There are names he does recognize so he will start there. Actually, now that he looks he realizes he recognizes more, but they’re callsigns of other pilots, not friends he’d expect to have in his phone. Except if he has somehow time travelled then maybe they’re his friends now too?

Javy though, he knows Javy now, and he looks at the most recent messages from Javy and is glad he didn’t immediately call him, because admitting he didn’t know Javy had kids and that apparently they’re under his care… Fuck. Where are they? He swallows down the rising panic again, years of training kicking in and walks down the hall and carefully pushes open the almost closed door he’d walked past earlier and sure enough there are kids in there. Three of them, and he’s not sure what’s the most surprising, that Javy finally got hitched and settled enough to have three kids, or that he apparently trusts Jake to look after them. Jake and Bradshaw that is. Apparently.

This bedroom is bigger than the room he woke in, but it’s clearly been decorated for these kids in mind and he wonders how often they stay over, to have individual beds. He doesn’t know kids, he was the youngest of four and they were all pretty close in age. He’s been deployed while his brother’s and sisters had started having kids, sees them irregularly at best. But he can probably hazard a guess at ages. Their names are above their beds, two being cribs and he peers in, wonders just how little these children are. Alleisha, James, Brandy.

Alleisha is in a bed, and he’d put her around six or seven years old, can’t really project her length int height, and being tall doesn’t always equal age anyway. She’s definitely the oldest by far though, the little boy, James, maybe two or three, splayed out like a starfish, thumb lax in his mouth and he looks so much like Javy it makes him smile and something in his gut relaxes an infinitesimal amount. The fact that he looks older, that Javy has kids is making him think he’s got amnesia. That’s more likely than time travel, but he’s feeling a little bit sick regardless, everything unfamiliar.

He moves over to the final crib and there is a baby, a legit, tiny human, it can’t even be a year old, and it’s eyes are open, watching him quietly and he freezes, wonders what he’s meant to do with it. He’s seen other people do things with babies. Knows the theory. In theory. Okay. He can fly multi-million dollar planes, he can pick up a baby. He leans down, making a shushing noise and he gets a wide grin and a slap to the face for his troubles as he picks Brandy up and cradles her to him. She’s heavier than he thought she’d be.

Right. What do you do with babies. Diaper change right? Oh god. There’s a change table and he lies her down, looks at the snaps and zips covering the baby and wonders if he should just go and wake Bradshaw up and get him to deal with it. Except this is Javy’s kid. Plus he doesn’t need anyone’s help. He works at the zipper and snaps and finally finds a sodden diaper before he realizes he’s going to need a new one, fortunately located right beneath the change table, along with some wipes. Okay. This is going well.

He pays attention as he undoes the little tabs, knowing he’s going to have to do the whole thing in reverse, and he has a fucking engineering degree, he can figure out a fucking diaper. Fortunately only a wet diaper and he wipes, wipes again, wonders how many times he’s meant to wipe before deciding that someone else can take the next diaper change. There’s a little diaper pail which he’s grateful for, one hand not leaving her little body, terrified she might just roll off. When do babies start rolling around? Planes don’t move unless you tell them to, she’s moving all limbs independently and with no apparent control, sucking on a fist but thankfully quiet and happy. He doesn’t want to see not-quiet and not-happy if he can help it.

He takes her out of the weird sack thing, assumes it’s a blanket thing for sleeping and carries her back to the kitchen, desperate for coffee now, and he realizes he’s going to need to feed her. Okay. Javy wouldn’t have left a baby here without food and he opens the refrigerator and sure enough there’s a few bottles already lined up and he grabs one out, the high-pitched squeal that Brandy lets out a clear agreement that he at least is on the right path.

There’s an electronic bucket type thing beside the coffee machine which makes him think of a mini ice-bucket, it has the same brand logo as the bottle and he wonders if it’s really that simple. Puts the bottle in and presses the button on the front, and it’s definitely doing something, button turning from blue to red. Brandy is almost headbanging in excitement so he again feels like he’s once again picked the right step. While he waits for the button to hopefully change color again and provide a warm bottle he opens his phone again, wonders if he should message Javy and tell him they all made it through the night. Is that something he would do now?

He opens up the photo gallery instead and okay… if he has amnesia then he’ll just wait to get his memories back. Whenever he’s in a photo his smile is so wide it splits his face. His camera roll is filled with photos of Bradshaw and these kids, and a dog, and some people he doesn’t recognize, but then there is Javy and a woman… he zooms in and heads back into the hall to look at the photos on the wall more closely. Phoenix. Natasha Trace. She’s in a lot of the photos as well and he opens up his contacts again, scans through the names. There’s no Phoenix, Trace or Natasha… but there is a Nix and he opens them as he walks back to the kitchen, hoping the bottle is hopefully done because Brandy is getting less patient.

Fortunately it’s clearly designed to be operated by either an idiot or sleep deprived parents and the light is now green and flashing and he swirls it and tries to squirt some in his mouth just to check the temperature, Brandy seems horrified at his actions and makes a high pitched squeal of displeasure, struggling to get to the bottle but he doesn’t want her to get a burnt mouth or anything.

“It’s okay baby girl, I’m not stealing it from you…”

She makes the same displeased squealing noise, hands reaching for the bottle and Jake wonders if he’s meant to hold her, or get a cloth to cover her or something. Ah well. Problem for future Jake. He hands her the bottle and moves into the living room, settles into the corner of an incredibly comfy sofa and she squirms a little until she’s nestled into the crook of his arm, eyes wide and watching him, both hands clasped on the bottle and he doesn’t resist the urge to place a soft kiss on her forehead.

He opens his phone again and navigates back to the messages, looking for Nix and then opening the message history. The messages between them alternate between scathing teasing and then more serious things about the kids, he’s sent her lots of photos and he clearly has a lot to do with these kids. To have the bedroom set up like it is, it looks like a permanent thing, except his messages with both Javy and Phoenix are as recent as yesterday, so nothing has happened to them to explain why their kids are here, with him and Bradshaw.

Fucking hell.

Bradley Bradshaw.

Phoenix he can kind of get his head around in a way, especially if she’s married to Javy. Bradshaw on the other hand, he doesn’t know if they’ve managed to exchange any casual civil words with each other. When flying they simply seem to rub each other the wrong way and when not flying they really rub each other up the wrong way. And yet here he is, apparently married to him and looking after his best friend’s kids. What has become of his life? In another world he’d definitely have made more than one pass at Bradshaw, but he’d never got even the slightest inkling that it would be welcomed, let alone reciprocated.

And yet here he is.

He glances down and startles, Brandy has finished the bottle, is sucking in air and he knows enough that that can’t be good so he takes the bottle from her, which she gratefully allows him to do. Then a dog appears, looks at him and gives a soft whuff before settling on the floor just near him and Jake wonders if the dog is his. He doesn’t want to move, Brandy apparently content to simply lie with him, the dog as well and he’s wondering if he needs to let it out when he hears footsteps approaching and he twists his head.

“You look good like that…” Bradshaw says, and he’s almost upside down, smiling at him softly, like he expects Jake to say something back and he has no idea what it might be.

“Morning…”

“Morning…” Bradshaw replies, giving him a weird little smile like Jake didn’t say quite what he expected. “Thanks for letting me sleep in…”

“You’re, uh, welcome…” Jake says, shifting and standing up because he feels too vulnerable lying on his back on the sofa with Bradshaw sort-of looming over him. Of course, now he’s got an even better view of Bradshaw and he can’t help but look his fill, Bradshaw in nothing but low-hanging sleep pants and looking sleep-tousled. He also looks older, maybe in his mid-forties, but he’s still firm and smooth and Jake wants to lick a stripe over his stomach. Nothing wrong with his sex drive at least.

“And this is why we don’t have kids ourselves. Get your mind out of the gutter Mr Bradshaw, we’ve got kids today and cannot go back to bed…” Bradshaw says, moving close to him and taking Brandy from him and he lets her go, misses the warmth of her tiny body.

“Pity…” he says, and finds he means it, because even if he’s freaking out about this weird waking-dream he’s in, Bradshaw is still a certified snack and Jake wants him. And apparently he took his name when they got married. He’s not surprised he was willing to give up Seresin considering how little he cares for it even now.

“I’m sure you’ll make it up to me tonight. And tomorrow morning if you’re feeling athletic enough.”

“When am I not feeling athletic enough?” Jake asks, because he can’t imagine his personality is that different even if he can’t remember time lapsed.

“Mmm, there’s that fighting spirit. Like it when you feel like you have to prove a point.”

Then Bradshaw is kissing him, his fingers sneaking under his shirt to stroke Jake’s bare skin and he feels his entire body erupt in goosebumps, suddenly hyperaware, every little hair on his body standing on end and seemingly aching for attention. He’s not used to this, not used to someone who just touches him and moves him like they know exactly what to do and god it feels both terrifying and exhilarating.

“Come on, we better get breakfast going for trouble one and trouble two…”

“Yeah, course,” Jake agrees, because he’s the one out of time and place and he’s going to need to figure out a way to break that news to Bradshaw and a little more time sounds good. Regarding breakfast though, fortunately Bradshaw seems to be the one that makes it, but he watches carefully which cupboards and drawers have what items, his mind racing trying to figure out whether he’s suddenly going to remember everything in a rush, or have it trickle through.

“Morning uncle Jay…”

“Morning,” Jake replies, knows the greeting is for him because he’s also getting a hug to his side and he likes being called Uncle Jay, wants to hear it all the time. God, no wonder these kids have a bedroom here if he’s already this much in love with them all. Best case of amnesia ever. He needs to figure out how to let Bradshaw know about that too, not to freak him out, but just to let him know, because he should probably get checked out even if he does feel fine physically. The fact he’s missing a chunk of time isn’t normal. Of course, there is the chance that he’s still dreaming, but his dreams have never seemed real like this.

Or as domestic.

Or as detailed.

The dog makes another quiet whuff and he can hear the front door opening, but it’s clearly someone with a key and he has to stop himself from freaking out that he’s going to have another person he doesn’t know enter his new reality.

“You two wearing pants?” a woman’s voice calls out and Jake catches Bradshaw’s eye roll.

“Jesus Amelia, of course we’re wearing pants, the kids are here!”

“Well, I have to ask.”

“It was one time, and you didn’t knock…”

“And I’m still getting therapy for it,” a woman apparently called Amelia says, pulling a face and Jake doesn’t know whether to smile or say something or… okay, he’s being hugged in greeting and he hugs back, swallows back the automatic nice to meet you because he clearly knows her already, even if he has no fucking clue who she is. She’s definitely younger than him and Bradshaw though.

“Aunty Amelia!” Alleisha says, and Jake feels a spark of jealousy at the joy and excitement in her voice, directed at someone else, and then reminds himself the love and affection are not a finite resource as he watches Amelia hug Alleisha, then James and then slaps Bradshaw on the ass, making him squawk. She just laughs and takes Brandy from Bradshaw, and the baby just goes happily. Jake is so confused.

The dog paws at him and whines, and he glances down and pats her; she’s definitely his, with the way she’s hovering near his side. Bradshaw is looking at him with a raised eyebrow though when he looks up from paying her attention, but goes back to setting out bowls and glasses of water, cuts up fruit and slides another cup of coffee across to him with a soft smile. Jake smiles back, wonders when he might get a moment alone with him. His phone vibrates in his pocket and he pulls it out.

Best Person Ever>> Stop staring at his ass. You’ve been home for two weeks. Honeymoon period should be over.

He glances up and Amelia is smirking at him, and he doesn’t know where she fits into all of this, who she is to them, other than someone he has in his phone as Best Person Ever and judging from her smirk he wouldn’t put it past her to have changed that herself. He shoves his phone back in his pocket. If he’s been home for two weeks then he’s probably been deployed, which means he’s still in the Navy. That settles some of the uneasiness in his gut, not everything in his world is that different then. And this is what he comes home to. That’s pretty fucking cool.

They eat, Brandy being placed in a highchair that materializes from the laundry and she’s given some slices of banana to mash up, which is gross and horrifying to watch. The expression on his face must be amusing, because both Alleisha and James are giggling at him, and even Bradshaw is hiding a grin, but he gets up and brushes a soft kiss on his forehead, murmurs something about every time and he wants to know what the hell he means. Amelia is also eating breakfast, making herself at home and wiping at James’ face and even though he has no idea who she is it doesn’t feel wrong that she’s here and part of their domesticity.

“Right, I’m taking Lady Alleisha and Knight James to their swimming lessons. I’ll be back after we’ve visited the library… We might also swing by a playground on our way back.”

Bradshaw is nodding like this is the standard routine and Jake just smiles, because the kids are happy and excited and now he has his opportunity to talk to Bradshaw. Tell him that he’s not… well. Can’t remember anything.

Yeah.

This is going to be awkward as fuck.

CHAPTER TWO

#To Wake perchance to Dream #Hangster #Sereshaw #Top Gun maverick fanfiction

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terronindia · 4 months ago

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Selecting the latest blow filling machine for your packaging needs involves several considerations. From the complexities of machine types to the financial nuances of costs, each decision plays a key role in shaping the efficiency and success of your production process.

#blow filling machine #blow filling machine price #blow filling machine features #latest blow filling machine #automatic blow filling machine #blow filling machine manufacturers

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seppasolution11 · 6 months ago

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Semi Automatic Pet Bottle Blowing Machine | Seppa Solutions

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paragonrobits · 1 month ago

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as expected i see posts referring to the MCU as 'the american imperialism movies' and its annoying but not as much as iit would be if they were painting the entire of superhero comics (a really big genre) as exclusively being a propaganda machine for american imperialism, which is a ridiculous idea even before you consider that its not an american exclusive genre but honestly the whole thought is

its a really reductive 'i dont like this genre' thing that's become a common joke; Marvel is listed routtinely in DNI lists, people go on and on about it being The Worst Thing Ever and its annoying but its also pretty indicative of a specific type of person who doesn't relaly seem interested in engaging with fiction at all outside of fitting things into their own particular framework. in this case, viewing everything purely as a lens of political theory

this isn't to say superhero stories don't do political theory; the original marvel Civil War comic was at least in part a criticism of the political activity of the day, it was just horribly executed (to the point that the MCU completely excising most of it made it a significantly better story). Al Ewing's work regularly lends itself into it, Claremont's X-Men run was FILLED with it (to the point that Magneto, as a character, CANNOT really be used as a metaphor of retaliation against bigotry as much as people try to reduce him to that, but a character with a very specifiic set of politics that cannot be removed from him and keeping his character intact), and some of the best stories work great because of it

however, the other side of that is that while superhero comics CAN be political, this doesn't meant they automatically are meant to be propaganda or support for one side or another. They might be meant to be so, but its not a default. So you might find it strange, but a movie about a character called CAPTAIN AMERICA is not necessarily imperialism apologia; not if the story does not actually lean into making imperialism seem like a moral obligation or the best thing for the world. Having a character wearing the american flag is, curiously, not exactly the same thing as just endorsing the country.

One example of this is something I tend to think of, with a very irritated sigh, 'liberal Varric discourse'. This is from the Dragon Age setting, a series that is more or less by design somewhat dark fantasy with lots of in-universe conflicts of agendas and political conflict; the biggest peril of the first game is antagonistic Loghain Mactir, who betrays your faction at the beginning because he considers it aligned to a country which oppressed his own, in a war he fought to force them out. Its obviously political, but that doesn't mean it really maps to real life political debate. This is where the term comes in; a lot of Bioware characters tend to be relatively reserved about their goals, and Varric (if not pushed to be anti-Mage in a Dragon Age 2 playthrough) supports the mage rebellion in theory but disapproves of the outright civil war and loss of life ignited by his friend Anders literally blowing up a religious building. The necessity of such or Anders pushed to the brink aside, this brings us to the point.

People joke, or honestly mean it, by calling Varric a centrist or a liberal. Here's the issue; he is a dwarf, as in the fantasy species of humanoids with big beards who live underground mining stuff, and he exists in a fantasy setting where the biggest issues can't really be mapped to real life political conflicts. Calling him a liberal or centrist makes no sense because those political viewpoints do not exist in the setting.

Essentially, by being serious about calling him a centrist (and not making some kind of joke, which at least is slightly more respectable to me even if I don't find it funny), you're honestly refusing to engage with the actual political framework in the setting. This in turn leads to a common thing in fandom where things are reiniterpreted to something more comfortable, or fit into a framework fitting the person's own views. This can lend itself to people playing 'which character is the Real Leftist', usually by trying to claim a villain is a leftist revolutionary unjustly vilified by the narrative even if none of those concepts really exist in the setting.

But its also important to note that stories like Dragon Age and the MCU, whatever their faults are (and others have documented them in more detail than I'm about to at the moment), are not really intended to BE political tracts touching upon modern issues. Comics can, for sure; Immortal Hulk reimagined the early concept of teenagers talking to each other about the Hulk's actions as a political movement fixating on Hulk as an icon to destroy the corrupt world through political action (and in Hulk's case, terrorizing his enemies into compliance), and Superman Smashes The Klan is a work inspired by an early radio where Superman, through that mediium, exposed the activites and secrets of the Ku Klux Klan, badly devastating their reputation from which they've never really recovered, at least to the extent they once had.

But its common to get into a point where all stories are simplified to a person's particular political binary, and this isn't really useful for engaging with fiction, because that's the same kind of mindset that gets people warping a story to instead be all about their preferred relationship between characters, and ignoring the actual tone. (See how many fans of Avatar the Last Airbender keep making their fanon into a grimdark fantasy setting rather than the spiritual Buddhist series it actually is; by refusing to engaging with the shows themes in favor of what they like, it winds up having no real relationship with the series and winds up outright poisoning common attitudes about the characters based purely on that fanon.)

Basically this is sort of like watching Lord of the Rings and constantly complaining "why don't they just get guns and shoot their enemies?!" Because guns don't exist in this setting, and if you keep insisting on them gettings guns and accusing the writers of making bad decisions, you're going to miss the intended experience and you're not really approaching it right, at least if, again, you're specifically going into it assuming guns exist and characters will use them even if nothing indicates either is the case.

So its pretty much the same thing in assuming settings divorced from real life and historical developmentts will have exactly the same political history as our own, or that you can honestly summarize ALL political possibilites as 'left wing/right wing' (which, when you get down to it, is oversimplification and on par with 'NONCOFORMISH IS, ITSELF, A FORM OF CONFORMITY') and i think that if you actually try to force things into those kind of familiar viewpoints, you're going to miss out on insights or experiences.

Oh riight my actual point; those stories are specifically adventures with emphasis on thrills and character moments and heroic attitude, or dark fantasy with in-universe political conflicts, so by trying to map real life political viewpoints to them on a 1-to-1 basis, you're going to run into SERIOUS issues pretty fast.

#queued

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xenodile · 7 months ago

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@stasisarbiter This is definitely worth a full ask, because it's a bit of a mixed response. Nikke does a lot of things really good, and a lot of things really bad.

So. The gameplay IS fun. Like really fun. The PVE gameplay is like Time Crisis shooting, you have your team of up to 5 characters where you're directly controlling one at a time while the others are on auto target and tap/click to shoot, and automatically take cover and reload when not shooting. Enemies flash red before they attack and put markers on characters that are being targeted by particularly powerful attacks. Characters have different styles of guns, Assault Rifles, Machine Guns, SMGs, Shotguns, Rocket Launchers, and Sniper Rifles, that all handle differently, and some characters have uniquely functioning versions of those 6 archetypes. You can also order all characters to take cover and stop shooting until you give the order to attack again, and switch between which character you're controlling while doing so.

You also generate meter whenever your characters hit something, and when the meter fills you can use their Burst Skills. You can use up to 3 Burst Skills in sequence, as each character's skill is Phase 1, 2, or 3, and building a team involves getting characters whose skills compliment and chain together. When you do a full chain of 3 skills, you activate a Full Burst for 10 seconds, during which time you directly control all of your characters at once.

When your characters are strong enough, any stage becomes a cakewalk, but when you're playing at a power deficit is when things get really interesting, because the amount of precise manual control you have over each of your characters means you can overcome very high stat differences by prioritizing targets, using the right skills, and taking cover efficiently.

The boss fights are also really, really cool. Bosses have multiple parts that can be individually targeted and broken to alter their behavior and deal extra damage, they have special attacks where you have to do precision target shooting to interrupt them, and long multi phase fights. It's really fun stuff.

But as I said, Nikke does some really bad stuff too. For one, it has PVP, and there is no justice in a gacha based PVP game. PVP is an auto battler where certain teams are just invincible without an equally specific counter pick, all of which are locked behind SSR gacha rates, so that blows.

Leveling and upgrading characters is weird because there's a system that makes it so you only have to level up 5 characters and then every other character you have will be automatically synced to those 5, which is really nice. But that system has a hard cap that is not high enough to get through every part of the main story, and is only unlocked if you get FIVE SSR characters to max limit break, so depending on luck and spending habits, could be a very significant wall to progression for a lot of people.

Dailies are easy to complete and only take like 30 minutes tops, and there's no stamina or AP system so you can play as much as you want, but all experience and money games are time based. You CAN'T grind for experience or money or upgrade materials, you get them at a fixed rate per day. So it respects your time per day, but it WILL take months of playing to upgrade your characters, and even that is locked behind whether you get lucky on the gacha.

So like, the gameplay IS fun, but your ability to actually access that fun is locked behind really scummy monetization. It's a weird case where I've really been liking Nikke and having a ton of fun with it, but I would not ever recommend it to someone because the ability to make meaningful progress is luck based. It's why I started doing my story write ups because I think there's legitimately good stuff in Nikke that people should see and be able to enjoy without getting roped into its bad gacha shit.

Short answer, yes it's fun but it's not worth getting into, so enjoy it vicariously.

#stasisarbiter

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 1 year ago

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Pontiac GTO

As one of the most sought-after members of the muscle car realm, Pontiac GTOs are a big draw among ardent collectors and casual fans of classic cars alike. This slick 1971 Pontiac GTO, with its recently rebuilt and punched-up 400 V8 motor, is the beneficiary of a comprehensive restoration that's left it not only looking great, but in outstanding running condition, taking that already magnetic attraction and ratcheting it up more than a few notches. And whether you prefer to call it 'The Tiger' or 'The Goat', it's a beast in the streets either way.

Just a quick glance at this classic will leave you with the indelible impression that this is one seriously clean, straight and solid cruiser. It's likely been pampered a good portion of its life, as its flush fitting panels are all very straight, and the body gaps and sheetmetal creases are as the factory intended. This GOAT has been restored with an eye toward showmanship, and it certainly looks the part with its collection of clean, tight lines that you'll encounter from the hood, the sporty fenders and doors, and that iconic rear end – all of which serve as proof to how thorough the restoration was. The eye-popping Maroon Metallic finish is a wonderfully bright upgrade over the factory Castillian Bronze this GTO was born with, looking liquid-smooth and consistent from front to back, with an impressive shine from its clearcoat. With a deep, lustrous finish accented by shiny metallic flake that's evenly dispersed throughout the body, this car attracts loads of attention everywhere it goes. It's a top driver-quality finish that can be shown off with pride, and when it glitters in the sun you get to sit back and watch the envious gather everywhere you go. The badging on the front grille and decaled emblems on the decklid and fenders are sharp, combining with very clear glass, a commanding rear spoiler, and straight front and back bumpers that drive home the point that no stone was left unturned in bringing this venerable muscle car back up to its optimum condition.

There's quite an impressive black vinyl interior sitting inside, which in our opinion is a perfect complement to the vivid bodywork. It's also been refurbished and mostly kept in its original configuration - save for a set of Dakota Digital gauges - to provide the rewarding and era-appropriate driving environment classic car enthusiasts look for. The broad buckets up front and bench seat in back show virtually no wear at all and still have a fresh shine to them, and because the covers are high-quality Legend units, they'll look this good for a very long time. A clean expanse of black carpet runs underneath the seating and keeps the asphalt temperatures and road noise at bay, the matching door panels are handsome and blemish-free, and the taut headliner above completes the whole package. Peer through the 3-spoke woodrimmed steering wheel and you'll see the original gauge cluster, although now the pods are filled with a full complement of Dakota Digital gauges. The original radio is long gone, although the machine-turned panel on the dash is still in place and looks great, and the factory A/C system has been upgraded to use modern refrigerant and blows hard and cold. A middle console splits the front buckets and houses the shifter for the automatic transmission below, and the condition of the rear seat suggests it's barely been used. A full-size spare tire wrapped around a matching aftermarket rim and an original jack set sit in the spacious trunk out back, whose floor has been treated for scuff protection with black spatter paint.

The YS code 400 cubic inch V8 sitting under the hood has been driven less than 500 miles since its full rebuild, and it runs with a smoothness and consistency that makes it very much up to the task of daily driving, if you should so choose. Augmented with Edelbrock aluminum heads, a Holley double pumper 4-barrel carburetor, Edelbrock aluminum intake, and a set of ceramic-coated headers, the engine is very powerful with performance that's delivered instantly up and down the throttle. It's paired with a TH400 3-speed automatic transmission that handles the power with ease thanks to an added 2800 stall convertor, shifting with plenty of certainty followed by the sturdy Auburn Gear 10-bolt rear end out back. With both power steering and power 4-wheel disc brakes in tow, this is an easy driver, and this Poncho handles great thanks to new suspension components front and rear, sway bars, and all-new steering components. The soundtrack is great too, with a 3-inch H-pipe dual exhaust system anchored with Flowmaster mufflers doing most of the barking. Should you desire any more proof of just how well-put together and cared for this GTO is, take a glance underneath - you'll find a very well attended to undercarriage there. This GOAT sits on a set of 17" Vision Legend series wheels that are outfitted with 245/50/17 performance radials.

#car #cars #muscle car #american muscle #pontiac gto #pontiac #gto

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away-ward · 2 years ago

Text

Outside the Lines

Summary: Will commits his first of many felonies for Emory Scott, and she doesn't even know it. But it's fine. Because at least she'll still be around tomorrow.

Setting: pre-canon; Will is in 10th, Emory in 9th. Shortly after the first Devil's Night referenced in Corrupt.

Requested. Got a little out of control and sidetracked, but hopefully it works.

Thank you for reading.

Will

“You’re planning something for the charity case, aren’t you?” Callum Claythorne said, blowing hot breath on the back of my neck.

I moved away, put off by how close he was behind me but didn’t let it show. He laughed under his breath, gaze focused across the room. The sound made my stomach drop for all the wrong reasons.

“Way ahead of you. Just watch.”

I could chill with anyone. Callum hung around often, somewhat popular and didn’t seem to have a problem pulling any girl he wanted. Black hair, kind of watery blue eyes. I didn’t feel anything about him one way or another. Damon, however, had strong opinions. He called Callum Asslicker because of the way he fawned over Michael, and I used to laugh because he had a butt-chin and a habit for licking his lips. But ever since Devil’s Night a few weeks ago, Callum’s obsession over us had gotten worse. It was kind of creeping me out.

He jutted his narrow chin towards the table in the corner. Maybe leaning in the doorway, staring at the table’s single occupant wasn’t the most covert move.

But then, I wasn’t trying to be covert. I wanted her to know I was looking. Wanted her to feel my attention from across the room, like I felt her whenever she entered the building.

She felt it, didn’t she?

Most trips and dances are included in our tuition, but the extracurriculars like the winter ski trip cost something. Student volunteers took shifts collecting payments during lunch and after school, and I knew Emory Scott would be one of those volunteers as part of her work-study program. I stopped by the office to check the schedule to be sure she was the one working when I got my ticket, if only because it meant she couldn’t avoid me.

She’d gotten good at pretending I didn’t exist.

Emmy’s schedule included first lunch shift and a half-hour after school. I waited all week so that the rush would die down as the other students got theirs, giving me more time with her. But as her shift neared its end, so did my window of opportunity. After this, my only possibility was the afterschool shift, but I had practice at the same time.

Vera Armstrong approached to take over for her and I fidgeted by the door, too aware of Callum watching me watch her.

His low voice came from behind. “I’ve seen the way she treats you.”

She’s tough. I gave her everything I had, and she gave me back nothing but vitriol. But God, if I didn’t love that fire that flares up whenever I came close. She didn’t do that for anyone else. If the opposite of love is indifference...and love and hate are two sides of the same coin...then that must make us something, right?

Maybe I’m getting confused; English was never my thing.

Emory dutifully filled out the form on the clipboard that transferred responsibility of the lockbox and card machine over to Vera, and then held it out to her to sign. Ignoring her, Vera took the only chair and pulled her phone from her pocket. Emory waited. I could see her lips move as she tried to goad Vera into cooperating. Nothing worked, and finally Em slammed the clipboard down, along with a key on a spiral wristband.

My eyes automatically followed her as she approached the door. I stood straighter, waiting for the eye contact to come. The girl had me practically salivating like a dog for it, but she just breezed past as if I were invisible.

Damn, that hurt. I grinned, head hanging down. Sometimes, she’s too tough.

But why isn’t she eating? I knew she wasn’t rich like the typical student at TBP, but she could afford a good lunch, right? I had half a mind to follow her and demand to know.

“Watch,” Callum reminded me.

I did as Vera was joined by two juniors, Tommy Price and Bobby Lee. Her eyes lifted from the phone to scan the room as they slipped the lockbox full of student’s checks, and the receipt pouch, into a backpack and then disappearing into the crowd. Once they were gone, Vera called the teacher watching the lunch period over. Lots of hands waving and looks of confusion followed. It didn’t take a genius to guess what she was saying.

Stealing school property violated the student code of conduct.

I turned back to Callum, hooding my eyes. “You arranged this?”

He smirked, lifting his shoulder casually. “Not everyone in this place is useless, bro. I’ve seen you watching the charity case. Knew I could help you remind her of her place.”

Bro? I cocked my head. Was he trying to impress me? Hoping I’d go back to the guys and tell them how awesome he is? Because I’m the fun one who loves people.

Running my tongue along the edge of my teeth, I took all I had not to slam him into the wall. That wouldn’t be enough, though.

“Where’s the box being kept?” I asked Callum, serious for once, hoping that he didn’t read into my voice any.

The smug bastard grinned. Good. “It's in a safe place. We’re still working on getting her combination, but after that, we’ll put it in hers.” He laughed and nudged me with his elbow. “Let’s see her brother get her out of this. He’s all for justice when it’s one of us, but I bet when it’s his own family, he’ll drop the act.”

I couldn’t care less about her brother. He’s just a petty patrol officer handing out tickets for broken taillights and whatever. Of course, he’d back up his sister. It was the other thing he said that pricked me. One of us. Was he talking about the school, or did he really think he could work his way into our crew? That he could cozy up to me and we’d just welcome him?

Fuck that. That's not how this worked.

Patting Callum on the shoulder, I gave him a firm squeeze, imagining it was his neck. “Nice, man,” I said and walked away, slipping my phone out of my pocket.

My first text was to the kid that worked in the office. A quiet freshman and good kid, before his first kickback when I gave him my last blunt. Now, he looks at me as if I’m some sort of benevolent god. I tell him to ignore anyone else seeking information on Emory Scott, promising something in it for him if he follows through. Next, I texted the guys to meet me outside by the cars.

Kai and Michael were already there by the time I made it to student parking. Michael sat in the trunk of his G-Class, propping his leg up to rest his arm on his knee while Kai leaned against the frame of his fancy new Jeep. I couldn’t wait until it got its first scratch so he would stop babying it. I wanted to take that thing out and see what it could do. Exciting stuff, getting older. My birthday was still months away, but I already had an idea of what I wanted.

One thing I knew for sure, the truck I brought home was going to get dirty real quick.

And I had other plans for it, too.

Damon walked up last. “What are we doing out here? I’m starving.”

He was nowhere to be seen during lunch, but none of us pointed that out. Michael tossed a protein bar from the duffle bag in his trunk. He caught it and tore into the silver wrapper. He gave me a once over as he chewed through his first bite, lips curling back in a sneer. "What's pissed you off?”

“Nothing, I’m good,” I shrugged, and stuffed my hands in my pant pockets. “Get this, Claythrone thinks he’s got what it takes to run with us.” I chuckled as Damon groaned with annoyance. He really hated that guy.

Michael’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“He just bragged about this lame-ass prank he pulled on Emory Scott,” I said, kicking some loose gravel in an attempt to look casual about it.

“The scholarship kid?” Kai asked.

I nodded.

“What’d he do?” he continued. I forced myself to ignore the note of concern in his voice. Kai cared about people. Like genuinely cared.

I told them what I’d seen and what he told me, laying out his entire idea. I laughed, “He thinks we’d be impressed.”

“The fuck,” Damon scoffed under his breath, tossing the wrapper to the wind and bringing a cigarette to his lips. “Like that’s so hard. She can’t even cash the checks. They’re made out to the school.”

Kai’s eyebrows pinched, glaring at Damon for any number of reasons. “She could still get expelled for stealing.”

“Emory’s smarter than that,” I ground out, tired of them talking about her like it was even a possibility.

“Oh, she is, yeah?” Kai asked. His eyes shone with humor, and I hated the fact that I was being so obvious. It’s not that they couldn’t know that I loved her. I just wanted to keep her to myself for a while. I didn’t want anyone’s attention on her, especially not Kai’s. He’s too likable.

His approval was in my favor, though, because I needed all the reasons to persuade Michael to action. I’d move without him, of course. Contrary to rumor, we didn’t need his permission to do anything. It’s just more fun with the four of us together.

“Who fucking cares about the girl,” Damon asked, watching me. When I gave him nothing, he moved on, looking to Michael. “Claythorne, however, needs to be dealt with.”

Damon was right. Callum wanted to be one of us. He’d probably bought his own mask already. But he didn’t understand Devil’s Night or what we were doing.

We weren’t causing chaos and havoc just because we could…

Actually...that’s exactly why we were doing it.

Michael wanted Devil’s Night and the masks to remind us to live like nothing was off limits. We could spend our entire life dying inside the boundaries and lines society drew for us. Or we can really live the way we wanted, with all the mischief and mayhem that we could bring. Nothing was really forbidden if we wanted it enough.

We brought our people along of course, but there was never any question about who was leading the celebration. Because that’s what it was – a celebration of being young and alive and unburdened by society’s expectations.

That’s what Callum Claythorne didn’t get. We weren’t bullying or hazing people. Especially not those less fortunate than us. That’s not fun and it wasn’t what we were about. Anyone who punched down deserved to have their ass owned.

Michael looked at the school. Our school. Then back to me. “Got any ideas?”

***

An hour later, we circled the principal’s brand-new Lexus. Black hoodies and masks all the way, it took no time at all for Damon to get the keys from his office and drive it off school property. Kai and Michael grabbed set paint from the Theater’s Set and Prop room, while I got the last crucial item before Michael drove us to connect with Damon about two miles on the highway going away from town.

On the way, I texted Callum, asking him to meet us outside Sticks for a little fun. He texted back that he was on his way. Too bad we went in the opposite direction. We drove until we saw the silver car parked on the side of the road, close to the tree line and Michael pulled in behind it.

“This feels stupid,” Kai said as he got out of the passenger side. I couldn’t see his face through his silver mask, but I could image his expression: unimpressed.

“It’s supposed to,” Damon chimed in. “We’re not exactly dealing with a criminal mastermind.”

Michael steps forward, offering me the first can of paint from the back of the G-Class. “Honors,” he said.

I popped the top, revealing the deep blue inside. Stepping up, I take a second to admire just how much we’re going to fuck up this pretty car.

“Do you think his insurance covers Horsemen?” I joked, before swing back and letting the paint fly. After that, it’s free for all. Someone slashed the tires; another went at the leather seats. The sound of it ripping was like a song. It was Damon that drew an erect dick on the hood.

When the paint was all gone and the car thoroughly trashed, we stepped back to examine our handiwork, lifting our masks up and tucking them into the hoods. Damon swung an arm over my shoulder, pulling me close. “Happy now?”

I nodded, smiling big. A little property damage is good for the soul. “But I also kinda want to set it on fire,” I said, imagining the smoke rising off the scorched metal.

That got two responses at the same time. One from Damon, who said, “Fucking pyro,” and went for his lighter because he loves to make me happy.

The other was from Kai, who growled, “Absolutely not,” because he’s still concerned about getting arrested and what his daddy would say.

It was Michael who looked at the woods next to us and frowned. “Not this close to the trees. I don’t want to start a real fire.”

I shook my head. Seriously. How could he be so wild one minute and boring the next?

But then he proved he had something more in him. “Next time,” Michael promised, making me smile again. “Bigger than this.”

Damon approached Kai, running a hand under Kai’s jaw, pinching his chin. “It’s gonna happen eventually, you know,” he sang.

Kai slapped Damon’s hand away, but I came in right after, drawing Kai close by wrapping my arm around his neck and laughing, “Don’t worry, if we do get arrested, your pretty face will finally come in handy.”

“Bitch,” he called me, twisting out of my grasp.

Damon clutched the front of his pants. “Which is what you’ll be for some big hairy man.”

Michael and I laughed as Kai went at him. Damon could throw a punch, but Kai trained since childhood. It was never really a fair fight. I could even throw Damon down when I wanted to, which is how I knew Kai pulled his strength to toy with him.

“Alright,” Damon grunted, struggling in Kai’s chokehold while he chuckled in Damon’s ear. “Let go, or I’ll tell your dad you wear shoes in the house when he’s not home.”

“Say please,” Kai taunted.

“Fucker.”

Kai rolled his eyes but let him go, shoving him away.

Damon flipped him his middle finger, but even I could tell he was in a good mood.

We shed the jackets, hiding them in Michael’s ride. He’d burn them later, stained with paint as they were. Before we left, I tossed Callum’s wallet by the tire. Easy to see, but not like it was planted. As we got closer to the school, Kai placed the call in to the police station from a burner phone.

“Those damn hellions are at it again,” I shouted while Kai tried to turn away so they didn’t catch my voice. I howled when he hung up, hyped and ready for more. Always ready.

We’d only missed one period after lunch, but I had that office kid mark our attendance so it wouldn’t count against us. I promised myself to learn his name since he kept coming in clutch. Walking through the halls, we passed the office. I happened to glance through the windows to see Emory Scott sitting on the bench outside the principal’s door, her bag sitting at her side.

She’d been kept from class. Kai’s words from before about her getting expelled came back and that pissed me off all over again. I already had limited access to her. Take school away and I had nothing.

It took less than an hour for the cops to show up outside the school. The four of us spared each other discreet glances as we waited to see who was called – us or him. After getting through our first class without hearing our names on the intercom, we knew the plan had worked. It was confirmed when the rumors of Callum’s escapade started circulating, and then blew up when they found the lockbox exactly where I knew it would be.

His locker. Because he’s an idiot that keeps the evidence on him instead of a neutral location behind a lock no one else as the combination or key to. Duh.

It wasn’t enough, though. I still needed to see Emmy; to know she’d be here tomorrow. I searched for her between classes. Even the back of her head would have been enough to calm me, but as the students flooded the halls, I couldn’t find any sign of her.

“Tell me something,” Michael said as we stood outside the door of our last class of the day.

I glanced from side to side, looking either direction down the hall even though she never came up this way. Focusing on him, I paused. He leaned back against the hall of lockers, brown hair fanning over his lighter eyes, looking at me like he knew something.

“What’s up?” I asked casually.

“Was it all for the girl?”

All for her? Did I really drag my friends out of school and to go after another student, simply because he threatened a girl who wouldn’t give me the time of day?

I blew out a breath, unable to hold back my stupid smile. “Yeah.”

"Was it worth it?"

"I guess we'll see." He’s gonna nail me for this. I couldn’t imagine Michael ever losing his head over a girl. I felt like I lived in a hurricane whenever I thought of Emmy; alive and yet out of control. He'd never survive this feeling.

Instead, he smirked. “I get it,” he said, lifting from the lockers and going into class just as the bell rang. Then he stopped, preventing me from following him, looking at me over his shoulder. “Have fun, Will, just don't become her puppet. Control it.”

I laughed as I followed him to our seats. Too late.

***

I was out of my seat just before the final bell, before Michael or the teacher could say anything. “Cover for me,” I told him, ducking around students getting their still shit together.

I needed to be on the court in fifteen minutes, which means I needed to book it down to the cafeteria if I wanted to get a second with Emmy before getting punishment laps.

Slowing down in the hall before the double doors, I hesitated. What if she wasn’t in there?

My heart stopped as I rounded the corner.

There she was, already at the table. The lockbox and receipt pouch had been returned. The room was mostly empty, save for a few lingering around the vending machines at the other end of the room.

Her face didn’t lift from the textbook in front of her as I approached, but I saw her thin shoulders pull up to her ears and then relax down. So, she knew I was here.

I waited, time limit forgotten, for her to look up.

She flipped the page. “You need something?”

Yeah, I need something. Look at me.

“Tickets.”

Emmy finally looked up, brow dipping, and frowned. “Tickets,” she asked, drawing out the s, “as in plural?”

“Yeah, that’s what it means,” I said, pulling my wallet out and getting my card.

Neutralizing her expression, Em busied herself with the card machine. “How many?”

“Two.”

She didn’t bat an eye. “That’ll be three thousand.”

I held my card out to her. “Save you a seat on the bus.”

“I’m sure your date would love that.”

“She probably wouldn’t,” I laughed. “She can’t seem to stand my company at all.”

She paused, studying me. I could tell she wanted to say something by the way her eyes searched my face, but there were too many things she wouldn’t give voice to. She had too many walls.

“I’m not going,” she ventured slowly, “I don’t ski.”

I placed my hands on the table and leaned down so I can get closer to her. There’s nowhere for her to go. “There’s always the lodge where you can read by the fire or whatever it is you enjoy.”

“Throwing darts at pictures of the people I hate,” she interjected, giving me a pointed look.

“And then at night, we’ll share a hot chocolate. I’ll kiss the whipped cream off your nose.”

Emory gave me a mocking smirk, leaning forward. “And later I kiss it off of other place?”

One could dream.

“Please. You’re a cliché, William Grayson III, and I am unimpressed.” She tilted the machine towards herself so I couldn’t see what she was doing as she ran my card, handing it back to me. The machine beeped and my receipt rolled out. She ripped the edge and held it out to me. I didn’t take it.

“Why do you always say my full name like that,” I asked.

“Because it’s a mouthful.”

Automatically, I spat out, “So are other things.” I knew that was only going to make it worse, but I’d gotten the sense I already lost anyway. Why not go the extra mile to piss her off even more? At least then, she’d still be thinking of me after I left.

She glared over the rim of her dark glasses. “I say your full name because you’re a legacy, not someone I want to be friends with. And it’s a stupid name. The third.” She made a disgusted face. “Who does that to their kid?”

I lifted my shoulder. “I’m gonna name my kid William. He’ll be the fourth.”

She rolled her eyes, grumbling, “Of course, you are.” Wagging the receipt at me, she snapped, “Do you want this or not?”

I took it, quickly checking to make sure of what I already knew; she only charged me for one ticket, not two. “We could’ve had fun,” I told her, stuffing it my pocket.

She’d already started reading again. “I’d rather cut off my own legs than be trapped on top of a mountain with the lot of you.”

Well, at least she wasn’t limiting it to just me this time. That was something.

I stared at the top of her head, feeling unresolved even though she gave a clear sign she was done with me. I began to lean forward, pulled down by something. At the same time, Emmy picked up her head, seeming startled that I was still so close.

For the first time in a while, I got to see the details of her eyes up close. Dark brown and swimming, reminding me of the hot chocolate she wouldn’t share with me. Her lips fell open in a short gasp. I was near enough to feel the soft burst of air that rushed out. Her frizzy hair came forward, nearly covering her face and I raised my hand to…touch it? Brush it back? I just needed…

“Callum Claythorne was arrested,” she whispered.

I didn’t touch her. Not yet. “I know. For vandalizing the principal’s car.” They wouldn't hold him for long but at least he should have gotten the message.

Emory rolled her lips, looking to the side. “They called my brother and I thought…” She blinked and shook her head. “But then the detectives arrived and when he was clearing out his locker, they found the lockbox.”

She was relieved she wasn’t going to be expelled, otherwise she wouldn’t be telling me this. She was just talking because I was listening. Still, my heart burst because it was me she confided in.

Her gaze returned to mine. “Did you have anything to do with Callum?”

I tilted my head.

“I saw you standing with him right before the box went missing,” she clarified. “Did you…”

She looked terrified of the answer, no matter what it would be. Yes or no, it wasn’t good news for her.

My lips twitched with a smile as I finally let my finger connect with the front strands of her hair, hooking it and slowly drawing it back to hook around her ear. From there, I dragged it back along her jaw, in awe of how soft and gold her skin was.

She didn’t move, watching me with wide eyes.

Why? Because I can. But that wasn't

“You should know, I would never let anyone hurt you,” I explained. “No one. Anything you need or want, you only need to ask for it.”

She licked her lips. Was she processing this? Did she finally get it?

"Why?"

Why, she asked. Why would I want to give her anything she wanted? Do anything and everything for her? Commit a felony for her? Nothing was out of bounds when it came to Emmy Scott. "Because I can."

I rubbed my thumb on the edge of her jaw, keeping her eyes on me. “What do you want, Em? You want to go on the trip?”

“I-I want…” she breathed, eyelids fluttering.

“Yes?”

“I want,” she repeated. Then she withdrew, that same hard glare returning, and she pulled away from my grasp. My hand closed on air. “I want you to leave me alone.”

It took me a minute, but I managed to swallow all the pain and hide it. Knocking my fisted knuckles against the table, I looked at her, meeting her glare with my usual cheer. “You can have anything you want,” I said with a smile, “except that. Another time, then.”

I stepped back, making sure her eyes stayed on me until I was good and ready to break contact. I was so late for practice I’d probably die doing laps, but it was more than worth it. Because I think I won this round.

***

Honestly, this got way out of hand. At some point I stopped trying to match Will's voice as close as possible and just tried to make it fun. Let me know if it worked.

I may come back later and work on the Emory part. For some reason, no matter the word processor I used, every time I wrote out that part, it got deleted. There's like five different versions of that scene floating around out there, forever lost to us. If I do change anything, I will note the edit at the top.

Thanks to everyone who showed interest in this and patiently waited for me to finish. Hope it was worth it.

Sorry for any mistakes or typos. Feel free to point them out.

Master List

#devil's night series #my fic #willemmy #will grayson iii #emory scott #pre-canon #requested

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