#body armor review

[historyofguns]

Veteran police officer Alan M. Rice reviews the Premier Body Armor Fortis Level III+ Loadout for its effectiveness against rifle threats in an article on The Armory Life. Highlighting the challenges faced by officers, particularly those in smaller, rural agencies where personal equipment purchases are common, Rice emphasizes the flexibility and protective capabilities of the Fortis system. The review details the benefits of Ultra-High-Molecular-Weight-Polyethylene (UHMWPE) plates, which offer significant protection with less weight than Level IV plates, making them suitable for prolonged use in training and active duty scenarios. Rice also underscores the convenience offered by the Fortis Alpha Carrier's multiple adjustment points, integrated trauma technology, and additional storage pouches for tactical gear, showing its practical applications for law enforcement officers.

[wawhii]

Morrowind has me fucked up enough after tonight that I need the fucking Skyrim Tavern Music

[girlbob-boypants]

Also when I do actually start trying out D2 and comparing it to WF, know that I do understand that opinions are subjective but I'm like if a game critic didn't have an interest in writing full essays. Or a website to put the essays on. Or a fanbase to read the essays.

But I do have correct opinions and thats what really matters.

[mynonjo]

Heavenly Body

Minthara in armor. Period.

Thanks @bloodpraxis for bullying me into drawing a proper armor and XPPen for giving me a chance to try their XPPen Deco Pro Gen2 ♡✧( ु•⌄• ) You can can use 'mynonjo5' to get an extra 5% off on the products in XPPen official store.

Below is my personal review of my new tablet (and a pic of my humble workspace)✌(‘ω’✌)

XPPen Deco Pro Gen2

A sponsoring moment first ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

You can use 'mynonjo5' to get an extra 5% off on the products in XPPen official store. US store CA store

The size: I went for the XLW — the largest size and let me tell you, it's sure is one big boy. It's like working on an A3 sized paper and the tablet takes up a big chunk of your workplace. But hey, that extra space means you can really let loose with your arm swings for some dynamic lines. If that's too much to handle, don't sweat it, opt for the smaller sizes like the MW (A5) and LW (A4).

X-Remote Control: The X-Remote Control might be my favourite feature. With programmable buttons, it's a lifesaver for us shortcut maniacs. No need to reach for the keyboard any longer. The remote also works even without turning on the tablet, which is quite handy.

The Pen Case: This thing is metal, sleek, and just plain cool. Keeps your pen safe when traveling about.

The Pen: Eight extra nibs in two different types? I don't think I'd have to worry about replacements anytime soon. And with the eraser end, one less keyboard shortcut is needed.

Bluetooth: Okay, so I'm usually all about cables for a stable connection. But with my table looking like a cable jungle, Bluetooth has been a lifesaver.

Overall, loving my Deco Pro Gen2 experience so far!

[starbluekindo]

the party & the after party

warning: sofia falcone(gigante) x reader, slight sexual tension i think, mention of cigarettes and alcohol, a little suggestive, sofia a little possessive???, unspecified timeline

a/n: not reviewed

the music reverberated through the walls, muffled enough to be a background, but loud enough to envelop you. the apartment was dimly lit, the contours of the space distorted by the light haze of cigarette smoke hanging in the air and the neon glow from outside. you could barely focus on anything other than the sensation of being under sofia’s gaze.

she was leaning against the doorframe, watching your every move with an intensity that made your whole body ignite. the whiskey glass in her hand was nearly empty, but sofia seemed indifferent to the liquid. her true addiction at that moment was you. her eyes devoured you, and you felt every inch of your skin burn under the weight of her presence.

it was as if the entire world outside didn’t exist. just the two of you, wrapped in that heavy atmosphere, as if you were trapped in a bubble of repressed desires and tensions that never went away.

"enjoying the party?" her voice was low, but each word seemed to pierce the silence between you. sofia moved away from the door, crossing the room slowly, her eyes never leaving yours. there was something predatory in the way she moved, feline and calculated, as if she was measuring the exact time to strike.

you nodded, unable to find the right words. there was something between you that always exploded on nights like this. it wasn’t just the alcohol, or the smoke, or the music. it was the tension of everything that was never said, of everything hidden behind prolonged glances and unspoken touches. every time you met, it was as if you were standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall.

sofia stopped in front of you, the heat of her body so close that you felt like you were about to melt. she ran her finger along your arm, gentle as a breeze, but the simple touch was electrifying. she knew exactly what she was doing.

"i know what you want," sofia whispered, her eyes locked on yours, so close you could see the reflection of the lights dancing in her irises. "but tell me, do you still want it?"

the question hung in the air. you felt the weight of everything it implied. sofia was never the type to ask simple questions. not with you. there was always depth in her words, something that provoked and challenged. a test.

before you could answer, sofia leaned in, her lips dangerously close to yours. "show me," she said, almost like a command, and then she stepped back, leaving an empty space between you, as if inviting you to follow.

the music shifted at that exact moment, a slow, seductive beat that seemed to match the mood of the room perfectly. you could feel the anticipation in the air, almost tangible. there was always this dance between you — who would give in first, who would take control. and you knew that, no matter how it played out, sofia always ended up in control.

you moved closer slowly, your breath heavy, feeling the tension rise. sofia watched your every step with a satisfied smile, her eyes heavy with an unspoken promise. when you were finally close enough, she reached out, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw before pulling your face toward her.

"you're my addiction, you know that?" sofia murmured against your lips, her touch gentle but charged with raw energy. "i could spend the rest of my life here, with you. let the rest of the world sink. as long as you're here, with me."

there was a possessiveness in her words, an intensity you had always known existed but never fully got used to. she was gotham’s queen, powerful and dangerous, but with you, sofia shed all her armor and revealed something deeper. something that only the two of you shared.

the music kept pulsing, and the space between you vanished. when sofia’s lips finally touched yours, it was like a collision. the need was almost suffocating, as if she had been holding that moment back for so long that now she couldn’t contain it anymore. you knew that behind that kiss was all the anger, the frustration, and the desire to be seen, acknowledged, loved.

and you responded, sinking into sofia’s heat, knowing that this night, like so many others, would be consumed by this cycle of wanting and being wanted in return.

sofia's kiss deepened, growing more urgent with every second, as if all the time you had spent apart, all the frustration, the longing, had condensed into this one moment. her hands slid up your arms, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt, pulling you closer with a kind of desperation that you could feel radiating off her. there was no space left between you, no room for second thoughts or hesitation. just you and sofia, the heat of her body, the rhythm of her breath, and the weight of everything unsaid.

when she finally pulled back, her lips hovered just above yours, her breath warm on your skin. her eyes locked onto yours, dark and searching, as if trying to read your soul. “i don’t care what anyone says," sofia murmured, her voice rough and low, still filled with that same intensity. "i don’t care about gotham, about my father’s legacy, or whatever else is going on out there. all i care about is you."

her words sent a shiver down your spine. there was something terrifying and exhilarating in the way sofia spoke— like she would set the entire city on fire if it meant keeping you close. you’d always known how fiercely she loved, how obsessively she could hold on to the things that mattered to her. and right now, that thing was you.

her fingers slid down to your waist, gripping you tightly as if anchoring herself to you. “do you understand?” she whispered, her forehead resting against yours. “you’re the only thing keeping me from losing it. from losing myself.”

the weight of her confession hit you hard. you had always been aware of how complicated sofia’s world was, how much pressure she was under, with her father’s shadow constantly looming over her and the city’s criminal underworld at her heels. but hearing her say it—hearing how much you meant to her—felt different. it felt dangerous.

but also… intoxicating.

your hand slid up her arm, feeling the tension in her muscles as you rested it on her shoulder, grounding her in your touch. you couldn’t deny the pull between you, the way your worlds seemed to collide every time you were together, like magnets constantly drawn back despite everything. despite the chaos, the violence, the darkness that surrounded sofia, you wanted her. and in this moment, you realized how much you were willing to give to keep her grounded.

“i’m here,” you whispered softly, your fingers threading into her hair as you met her gaze. "i’m not going anywhere."

sofia exhaled deeply, her grip on you relaxing slightly, but you could feel the intensity still coiling beneath her surface, like a storm that had been momentarily calmed but never fully dissipated. her lips ghosted over your jaw, trailing down your neck, as if she needed to remind herself that you were real, that you were hers.

the pulse of the music in the background seemed to slow, matching the rhythm of your heartbeat as sofia’s touch grew more deliberate, more measured. there was a possessiveness to it, but also something vulnerable, like she was afraid of losing you, like she had waited too long for this moment and now couldn’t bear the thought of you slipping through her fingers.

“i missed you,” sofia confessed against your skin, her voice barely audible over the music. “i hate how much i missed you.”

you felt her words sink into you, the rawness of her confession pulling you even closer. it wasn’t just about physical distance. sofia missed what you gave her— something real, something that grounded her in a world where everything else felt chaotic and unstable.

you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her against you, as if by holding her tight enough you could shield her from everything outside. for a moment, it felt like nothing else mattered. not the city, not the threats lurking in the shadows, not even carmine falcone or the expectations weighing on both of you.

just this.

sofia’s lips found yours again, slower this time, less urgent but still filled with that same need. she kissed you like she was memorizing the taste of you, as if you were her anchor, her refuge from the madness that was gotham.

and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself surrender completely. you kissed her back with the same intensity, pouring everything you felt into that moment. the tension, the longing, the unspoken words— they all melted into that kiss.

when sofia finally pulled away, her forehead still resting against yours, she let out a soft, almost reluctant sigh. “i should go,” she muttered, though her hands were still gripping you like she had no intention of leaving.

but you both knew what would come after the party. the realities waiting outside the apartment— her world, your world, colliding in ways that couldn’t be ignored forever.

you shook your head, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. “not yet,” you whispered. “stay a little longer.”

sofia’s smile was small but real, and for the first time that night, she looked at peace. she leaned into your touch, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “for you? always.”

[thedexcat]

VotV Speculation Megapost

(For posterity's sake, the latest major release is 0.8) (Also, buckle in. This post is a long one.) (Edit 9/20/24: Added Addendum 1) (Edit 10/14/24: Added Addendum 2) It should be extremely obvious, but spoilers ahead.

As we all know, Voices of the Void has a "story breadcrumbs" approach to its plot. Combine that with its alpha status, and we're left with a lack of hard answers. However, some pieces did seem to click into place. This is far from anything definitive, but here are some of the conclusions I've drawn. Let's start with everybody's favorite:

Part 1: The Arirals

god i want one to hold me like that

You know em. You love em. Like 90% of the fanart is about them. But the question is... what the hell are they doing here? Judging by the fact that they construct a campsite in the facility, they clearly expect to be here for a while. A common interpretation I hear from people is that the ones out in the facility are either political refugees, or just some sort of benign "tourist group". I've personally come to a different conclusion. Let's consider what they brought with them.

Exhibit A: The weapon (left)

The weapon they drop around Day 24 is no mere Star Trek phaser. If you drop it in the main building, pretty much EVERYTHING in the building is going to be sent flying from the resulting blast. Not only that, but the "human-wieldable" version that can be unlocked for the sandbox mode has one hell of a fire rate. Something tells me that there's no way in hell this thing is a civilian-grade weapon. And, as established in a previous post of mine, they're kitted out in full-body armored stealth suits.

Exhibit B: The stealth suit (Kerf dutifully remains there for scale)

These aren't tourists or runaways. They're goddamn Black Ops. But you're probably asking, "If that's what they are, then why do they have nothing better to do than to steal shrimp and prank you?" Don't worry, I'll get to that later. Eventually. Maybe.

For now, let's move on to a third thing of theirs: The letter to Kel.

Exhibit C: Esraniki's Letter (D-, see me after english class)

This is the letter left at the Ariral camp if you have maxxed reputation with them. There's one line in particular that's always stood out to me. "GET WE HOME YOU GET DEATH AVOID" So... why can't they go home? Let's review: A: They have perfectly functional spacecraft parked right behind you. Even if they were broken, surely some random Pre-FTL primitive wouldn't be able to help with a mechanical failure in their technology. Hell, they buzz you at the radio tower with one. So there seems to be nothing physically stopping them from leaving. B: They've come kitted out with some serious weapons and armor C: Something in the facility is drawing the attention of all manner of extraterrestrials (and ghosts and demons. are 'metaterrestrials' a good word for them?) So my take? They're monitoring something, waiting for an opportunity to act upon it. (In keeping with the Patch Note naming convention, I will be calling this unknown something "The Threat") Not only that, this 'opportunity' may only open up with the assistance of a human. But what could Dr. Kel possibly do that an Ariral couldn't? Well, I can think of one thing he can do better... Interface with human technology.

Exhibit D: Ariral Communique (quality: shit) Computer technology isn't some universal constant. You can't make a program and expect it to magically run on alien technology with an unknown architecture. This ain't Independence Day. The fact that the Arirals barely managed to send a heavily-garbled message to Kel's computer, quite frankly, speaks of an extreme amount of effort on their part. And it was all just to say the word "OUTSIDE".

If The Threat has some ties to human technology, then perhaps Kel actually could be more qualified to deal with it than the Ariral Black Ops. Hmm... An unknown threat with ties to human technology. Could it possibly involve...

Part 2: The Incredibly Suspicious Bunker

"I left a 'Do not enter' note on the floor. That'll stop people from investigating!" This damn thing is quite obviously, as TVtropes would put it, The Very Definitely Final Dungeon. It is my firm belief that this is what the Arirals were sent to monitor, and where The Threat can be found. But we can't really get much further in than a few doors. So... what's in there? An easy assumption to make is that it's some sort of fallout/storm shelter. But something nearby might tell a different story...

Exhibit E: *squints* ...Liberty Prime? If you take a metal detector over to the bunker entrance, you'll quickly discover a buried drive nearby. The image you just saw is its contents. It's clear that something is being depicted here. What exactly it is, well, that's hard to say. but if you look at that teeny tiny thing at the top, you'll see something that looks like the Alpha base and its radio tower

oh god we're getting into crusty duende video territory now

What this says to me is that there is a colossal something underneath the base. Some sort of mega-facility? Unnatural cave formations? Something else entirely? Or I could be looking at it entirely wrong. But the point is, it's very likely that something extremely expansive is down there.

What if we could just take a peek a liiiittle bit further in? Well, there is ONE way...

Exhibit F: The Least Cursed Elevator in Horror Fiction

Roughly around 3:33 each night, there is a chance that a camera inside the bunker will become active. It's monitoring what appears to be a heavy-duty elevator coated in blood. An elevator like this would also indicate something buried deep underneath the base. Say, this elevator seems familiar...

Exhibit G: Monique Santificer's Extremely Ominous Foreshadowing

...Huh. I'm sure that only means good things. So we have a Hellivator and evidence that there's some place that you'd need a Hellivator to get to. Are there any other clues around? Well, there's that handy instruction book on robotics. You can make your own little friend!

POV: You're 5'11 and she's 6'0 And... Oh! looking back at that camera, it looks like someone else made their... their own... friend...

Exhibit H: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA- ...I don't think they followed the instructions to the letter. So it seems the people in the bunker were working on combining robots and, er, 'biomass'. I don't think our meaty friend here is The Threat itself, but I do believe that it is some aspect of it, or at least a result of it. And whatever The Threat is, it seems to be "leaking" out of the bunker. After all, this toothy bot here seems to have little siblings burrowing out from underground!

Exhibit I: should start running Kerfus. Kerfur. Whatever name they have, they love you! Such a shame that the flesh inhabiting their chassis does not.

they seriously recalled the ++ models over a little thing like this, smh Something deep underground, cursed flesh, and occult sigils. Hmm. Things would tie together neatly if there were, say, some sort of demon around associated with flesh and dark depths.

Part 3: Furfur (and conclusions)

"I WATCH YOU SHIT AT NIGHT" The Great Earl of Hell and raw flesh afficianato, it's Furfur! Demonology refers to him as a liar, but also a teacher of secrets. And he seems to really really like flesh. Not bones, though. He's always leaving those behind.

They say that if you burn an offering of flesh at his altar, he'll give you a marketable Furfur plushie!

The children who survived loved them! Interestingly, there's a certain location connected to Furfur: The bottom of the well. If you pass out at the bottom of the well, you will end up in a (dream of a?) mysterious structure.

Exhibit J: all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well

A few things of note in this place: -More demonic sigils -The only 'exit' is a tunnel leading upward with a broken ladder. And even if you could reach up there, Furfur's giant skull-face is blocking the way. -A unique knife, which when examined in the inventory, says that it was found "deep underground".

How very interesting that this flesh-loving demon has his own little place down in the depths of the earth. And you say the bunker reaching downwards has been spawning horrific robot-flesh amalgamations? Robots that are specifically of human design?

Well then. So here's what I think is going down:

no i'm not crazy it's invisible alien catgirls versus demon cyborgs you weren't listening were you?

-Some scientists from before did a Very Bad Thing in the bunker depths. If I had to venture a guess, it's that they bargained with Furfur for secrets of the flesh, perhaps in the pursuit of cybernetics, biocomputers, or somesuch. This resulted in the Very Bad Thing happening, thus creating The Threat. -The Threat was contained to some extent, but is starting to noticeably leak out. It is also severe enough to have drawn extraterrestrial attention. -The Arirals have sent a squad to monitor the situation and act if necessary. Seeing as there's been no urgent need to act as of yet, they are bored out of their skulls and taking it out on you. -The fact that the bunker hasn't been blown up by catgirl black ops already says to me that the situation down there is delicate, and a 'guns-blazing' approach would be inadvisable. Not only that, but The Threat seems to be tied to technology they have little knowledge of. They would most likely need outside assistance if they want a 'clean' resolution to the problem. -And wouldn't you know it? Right there in the facility is some nerdy, crusty, half-crazed twink that seems to be very proficient in handling human technology. How very convenient.

"average person eats 3 roaches a year" factoid actually just statistical error. Dr. Kel, who-

That's how I think this ties together, personally. Of course, there's always unaccounted for 'loose ends' that may or may not be tied to the Bunker Conspiracy (the rozital pit in particular has been bugging me with its vagueness). Plus there's always the chance that I misinterpreted things like a dumbass. There were a few other smaller things I wanted to cover, but my fingers hurt from typing, and my ability to hyperfixate has its limits. And sorry if the screengrabs are a bit mismatched, I've already spent hours on this post without having to get screenshots from the game myself. If anyone actually read through this monstrosity of a post, congratulations! If you're as deeply brainrotted as I am, feel free to point out the reasons I'm dumb and wrong :)

Addendum 1: Meta Aspects

no, not this. wrong place. wrong time.

Every now and then I hear talk of lore clarifications in Discord servers, Google Docs, etc. Will I be covering these?

(source) The reason? I want to give my impressions based purely on the work as published. Death of the Author and whatnot. The furthest I'll reach 'outside' the games are those ambiguous little teasers on YouTube, which you don't have to be in any 'specific server' or anything to see.

haha what if funni meme robot was irreversibly corrupted by the horrors?

Think of it as me giving a form of feedback on how the game is presented as an isolated work. Anyway, I'll be posting another Addendum later, connecting more demon stuff to the bunker. Fun! One thing I intend to investigate between then and now is a rumor of a very poorly documented... item interaction. As a little preview, consider this note.

It seems, in my pursuit of knowledge regarding a mysterious bunker in an incomplete videogame story, I find myself investigating a skeletal entity of ambiguous origin described as having a single glowing eye. God. Fucking. Dammit. Every time with this shit.

This always seems to happen whenever the protagonist is bullied by tall monstergirls

Addendum 2: Classified

Progress on my investigation has been slow due to a combination of poor RNG and real-life stuff. Fun fact: I've never encountered the fossilhound in my many months of playing, and it looks like that won't change anytime soon!

I'll get you one day, ya boney bastard. In the meantime, it seems that someone has leaked classified pokemon data communications from our employers...

And just who do we encounter within the first few weeks?

Our classified documents are their vacation photos

So it seems that at the very least, our employers seem to be aware of the Arirals. So to what end do they want to draw them out? And why would the Arirals show any particular interest in a human presence in this facility specifically?

They clearly seem to be hiding their presence from the world at large with their cloaking ships and whatnot, but they seem almost eager to grab the attention of anyone working at this particular site.

And, as everyone already knows, Arirals are certified Goobers. They form like 3/5ths of the Counsel of Goobers*. The ones we encounter at the very least are very much not what our employers expect to kill us. So our employers are also aware of the existence of some other threat, possibly even THE Threat. *the remaining members are Kerfuses and Dinguses

Truly an incomprehensible menace from beyond the stars. (source)

Personally, I feel like this all feeds back into my previous thoughts. There is clearly a Threat at this location, and the Arirals probably believe that they may need human assistance to do something here. Or maybe I'm just biased towards whatever random thoughts got cooked up in my head.

Anyway, hopefully next time I'll be back with reports of yanking the lifecrystal out from the Fossilhound's head and shoving it up its ass. I am so, SO sick of trying to get that thing to show up.

[seoulmatez]

୨♡୧ YOU SHINE LIKE STARLIGHT— dan heng x reader. sfw. fluff.

note! this is my first time writing for the fandom + dan heng so pls be kind! enjoy ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

dan heng's limbs feel heavy when he boards the train. he offers himkeo and mr. yang a short nod before making his way to the passenger cabin. his body is practically screaming for him to get some much-needed rest but there are a few things he wants to review in the data bank before he does so.

the door to the archive room opens with a quiet whoosh. dan heng sheds himself of the armor on his shoulder and leans his spear in the corner while he slips out of his shoes. he inhales a breath of air through a yawn, tears forming in the corners of his eyes as he walks up the two steps to get to the computer.

"hey." the unexpected sound of a voice makes dan heng's shoulders jerk up in surprise. he whips his head in the direction of it to find you situated on the floor with a book in your hand. but you aren't just in just any spot on the floor—you've gotten comfortable in his makeshift bed. "how'd it go?"

he doesn't think it should, but the sight makes his mouth go dry. for a moment, all the man can do is stare with parted lips. you've been in and out of here plenty before but he can't say he's ever seen you so snug—not in the desk chair and never under his blanket. dan heng isn't sure why the view makes his palms sweaty and his cheeks warm.

he clears his throat and continues on his path to the desk, answering your question with one of his own. "what are you doing here?"

"reading." you gently wave your book in the air to emphasize your statement. "you said i could stop by whenever."

he did tell you that and he meant it but dan heng never expected that the invitation would have extended to his sleeping quarters. he doesn't bother elaborating on the context of "here" in his query, only nods and taps away at the keyboard in front of him in a poor attempt to stop thinking about how cute you look in his bed and the strange way it makes him feel.

a beat of silence passes before you speak up again. "you dodged my question."

lithe fingers dancing along keys still for a split second with your statement. dan heng hums as he continues with his search. he should have known you wouldn't let that slip; for as long as you've been on the express you've been perceptive. it's an admiral trait, he thinks, although, during moments such as these, your keen eye seems to be working against him.

"you didn't run into too much trouble, right? no injuries or anything?" you ask.

there's a heavy thump against dan heng's chest that follows your voiced concerns for him. he's still getting used to that—someone asking about him, worrying about him. it's foreign, the care you seem hellbent on showing him, but he'd be lying to himself if he said it didn't make him feel warm inside. still, dan heng hasn't found an effective way to express his gratitude quite yet. "you really consider little of me if you think i walked away with anything more than a scratch."

you close your book with a cheery laugh that drifts through the air and kisses dan heng's ears. the sound is light and sweet and one the man doesn't hear nearly as often as he'd like. even now, you're readying to leave.

he turns in his chair to watch your rise from his mat and stretch your arms above your head. you meet his sparkling blue eyes as you do so, offering him a sleepy smile. "well, make sure you get a bandaid on that scratch."

dan heng can't help the quiet huff of air that comes from his nose at your words. he appreciates that too, the way you entertain his dry humor.

"and maybe think about sleeping in an actual bed tonight instead of on the floor." you gesture to his setup as you comb the bookshelves for the empty spot where you pulled the leather-bound journal from. the next part of your sentence comes while you carefully return the book to its rightful place. "your muscles will thank you."

the door to the archive room slides open with your prompting. before you take your leave, you turn back to the man and raise your hand in a wave. "good night and sweet dreams."

the room is blanketed in silence after your departure. dan heng's mind wanders back to you and your presence as he wraps up his research. the cabin felt much more lively and far less cold with you in it. tranquility has never bothered him but he's slowly beginning to learn that he prefers the illumination that radiates from you. he'd choose that over the stillness any day.

less than an hour passes before the fatigue catches up with dan heng. as he stands from his chair, he glances at his mat on the floor. he hasn't considered touching the room set aside for him since he boarded the express but, at your suggestion, he just might.

thanks for reading! consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed ❤︎

[makethatelevenrings]

One Star Review // J. Todd x gn!reader

Requested? Yes!

Warnings: injury, blood, medical talk

Summary: When working a late night shift at the drug store, a certain vigilante comes stumbling in with a stab wound and a bad attitude.

The bell over the door chimed, setting off your Pavlovian response to greet the incoming customer. By the time you raised your head, you found no one standing there. Peeking over the counter, you spied a trail of blood drops on the linoleum tiles and sighed.

Working at a twenty-four hour drugstore in Gotham was a guarantee for stories to bring home to your roommates, but the novelty had worn off by the third robbery. You wished you could say that random people stumbling in with injuries was rare, but you weren’t raised to be a liar.

“Hi, can I help you?” you called. A low curse met your ears and you moved out from behind the bulletproof glass covered desk to peer down the aisles. The trail led you towards the first aid section. Of course.

“Do you need help?” you tried again.

“Fuck off,” was your reply.

You huffed and turned around the end of the aisle to find Red Hood of all people leaning up against the shelves with one hand clasped over his side and the other full of various first aid items. Planting your hands on your hips, you stared at him with an unimpressed look on your face.

“This is my store, bitch boy. Don’t tell me to fuck off,” you snapped. “And sit down before you hurt yourself worse.”

“I’m gonna write a review,” he grumbled. “Terrible service. Employee called me a bitch boy.”

“Tough,” you said. You gestured for him to follow you over to a chair next to the blood pressure cuff. “Now move it.”

He sighed and maneuvered his large frame into the small chair. Red Hood pulled his hand away from his side and you could see the angry, pulsing wound under his destroyed body armor. A hiss of empathetic pain passed through your teeth and you leaned in closer to see it.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” he snapped.

“Do you want to be a dick and bleed out or do you want help? Because you can’t do both.”

That shut him up, thankfully. You poured a glob of hand sanitizer on your hands and scrubbed it in before you pulled on a pair of the latex gloves from the box he grabbed. Gently, you pulled his ruined kevlar away from his skin and examined the wound.

“You got stabbed,” you noted. “Didn’t go too deep, luckily. Must have been a sharp knife to break through this material.”

“Assassins,” he muttered.

“Yeah, that’ll do it.” Grabbing the saline wash and some clean gauze wrappers, you ripped open the gauze and poured saline on it. Without giving him a warning, you pressed it against the wound. Red Hood, to his credit, barely flinched.

“I’m in an EMT class right now,” you explained. “I’ve always been interested in this stuff but shit, it’s expensive. By the way, you better be paying for this stuff.”

“Yeah, yeah. Put it on my tab,” he said through gritted teeth.

The two of you fell into an easy silence as you packed his wound and applied a layer of thick gauze before taping it onto his skin. You tried to ignore the very pronounced dips of his abs, but how could you when they were right there? The second you were done taping down the edges, he was fighting to stand up.

“Woah,” you exclaimed. Your hands landed on his shoulders and you pushed him back into the seat. “You lost a lot of blood so I wouldn’t try to get up too quickly.”

“I need to get back out there,” he argued. “Thanks for the help, but you did your job. Now I need to do mine.”

Your face went deadpan and you stared at him with pursed lips and raised brows. “Okay, fine. But if you go out there and ruin my handiwork, you will have to live with the guilt of knowing that you were a dick to a retail employee.”

Red Hood’s helmet stared off into the distance for a moment before he grumbled out a “fine” and settled back in the chair. A triumphant smirk settled across your face and you started to gather up the trash you had tossed around you when patching him up.

“Let me grab you a juice and some crackers to help with your blood sugar. Any kind you want?”

He sighed. “Apple, please.”

When you returned to the back of the store, the chair was empty except for a single one-hundred dollar bill and a business card. The card was face down, blue ink marking the empty white space of the back.

Call her, it instructed. You flipped it over and read the name printed on the front. Dr. Leslie Thompkins.

“Huh,” you murmured to yourself. You were definitely telling your roommates about this the second you got home.

Tag List: @mcrmarvelloki​ @gone-batty-fics​ @someoneimsure​ @perpetual-fangirl900​ @visagebrise​ @cursedandromedablack​ @alexxavicry​ @the-wayward-daughter​ @raging-trash-of-mind​ @kat-nee​ @khaylin27​ @igotanidea​ @princessbl0ss0m​

[nerdieforpedro]

Sard’ika Sessions Masterlist

(Din Djarin x plus size female reader)

Completed 01/03/2024 ❤️🫡

Warnings will be at the beginning of each chapter. Please review before reading. All works are 18+.

Some of them include: Din Djarin being an utter menace, oral sex (female and male receiving, fingering, body worship, multiple sex toy use, nicknames, money for service rendered, liberties taken with the Creed and The Way, temperature play, beskar use, semi-public sex, possessiveness, masturbation (male and female), anal sex, rough sex, bruising, P in V (wrap in up in real life people) minor injuries, voice kink, praise kink, hand kink, armor kink, fluff maybe?, etc.), cameos from peeps you know

Some of the warnings will likely change so please review the warnings before diving into each session. They will be updated for each session.

Sard’ka Sessions

Session One

Session Two

Session Three

Session Four

Session Five

Session Six

Din Djarin/The Mandalorian Masterlist

Main Masterlist

If you’d like to be tagged for this series, please comment and let me know. I’ll make a tag list for this series. 🤗

Current space buddies: @rhoorl @for-a-longlongtime @trulybetty @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @maggiemayhemnj @missladym1981 @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @morallyinept @sherala007 @yorksgirl @beabliss @daddy-dins-girl @mandoisapunk @saturn-rings-writes @magpiepills @mrsmando @djarins-cyare @goodwithcheese @fhatbhabie @beefrobeefcal @sp00kymulderr @laurfilijames @legendary-pink-dot @secretelephanttattoo @megamindsecretlair @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @anoverwhelmingdin @theincredibleinkspitter

Anyone who doesn’t want to be tagged please let me know. 😀

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

roland and linda in cahoots on something

Thank you. Athos and Linda got along, I think Roland and Linda would get along like a housefire no one suspected.

-

"Roland."

"Something I can help you with, Spartan?"

Linda 058, the quietest member of Blue Team, is asking for his attention.

"How much nuance do you allow when it comes to personnel in potentially off-limit areas?" She asks while staring straight ahead, not bothering to look at the ceiling or a camera. Her voice is low and even.

He can't get a read on her in comparing her tone and body language to his wealth of readings from his crew. IIs were sarcastic, but also had a habit of malicious compliance and going right up to the point of rule breaking before stopping. It gave his captain and the admirals headaches but fascinated Roland all the more. Despite being a Ship AI and not having the experience of partnering with a Spartan, he found a kind of kinship in their creative problem-solving. What files were available to him painted a relatable picture. Linda had worked with an AI, receiving a glowing review, but Roland could read between the lines. Nuance, huh?

They were so interesting. Roland found himself struggling to balance his desire to see where this led and his ingrained purpose of maintaining order and function on the Infinity.

"That's an interesting question." He can't help the chuckle that follows. "Potentially, if someone was where they shouldn't be and I caught them, they'd get a warning to leave before I contact whoever's necessary to remove them."

"So you have to catch them."

Oh, this is fun.

"I see everything on this ship, Spartan. You may have the clearance, but I can't let you climb around the engine room."

A muscle twitches on her face. Roland counts that as a victory.

IIs were so much fun. 15 minutes after he's thrown down the gauntlet, Linda 058 disappears into a blind spot in a major hub of hallways. Roland notes it down for security and then leaves several threads around to ping when she reappears.

She does not reappear. He gets no ping. AI can't sweat, but the invigorating exercise of hunting for her sours when it's 4 hours later and the Captain is frowning at him.

"Roland, where's Linda?" Captain Lasky asks in front of three quarters of Blue Team.

"I may have chosen my words poorly." Roland says, his avatar slouching in defeat.

"Sir, she doesn't have her armor, so we can assume she's inside the ship." Kelly supplies.

Captain Lasky pales as he considers the thought. Roland hadn't considered that. "She would do that?" Lasky's voice is stricken. Roland feels a bit guilty as he watches his captain's blood pressure spike.

Fred is the only one who grimaces as they all nod once.

"You might have to admit defeat before she reappears." The Master Chief says to Roland. "Linda's competitive."

"What?" Roland gapes in shock. He doesn't want to give up so easily, surely there are ways to track the NI or IFF tag even if she's not in armor.

He stops himself from answering when his captain looks dolefully at him.

"Do I make a shipwide announcement and hope she hears it?"

He does.

180 painful seconds tick by and Linda 058 materializes out of a different blind spot halfway across the ship. Her ready gear has dust on the knees and elbows. The vents then? She walks into the meeting more relaxed than Roland's seen her.

Linda nods to the captain and Roland as she takes her place beside her team.

"Do I want to know where you've been, Spartan?" The captain sighs. His face and his biosigns are pointing towards no.

"Finding gaps in security, sir." Linda replies.

"Great." Lasky looks like he does not think it's great. Roland is just glad it's over. "You can help Roland with that when we don't have scheduled meetings."

Or not.

[historyofguns]

In the article "Premier Body Armor Fortis Level III+ Loadout Review — One LEO’s Take" on The Armory Life, veteran police officer and firearms instructor Alan M. Rice reviews the Premier Body Armor Fortis Level III+ Loadout, focusing on its effectiveness for protection against rifle threats. He highlights that many officers, especially in rural areas, must provide their own gear and that while ballistic vests are usually supplied, rifle-rated plates often are not. Rice praises the Fortis plates for being lightweight yet providing substantial protection, and he outlines his personal testing experience, noting the gear's comfort and ease of use during extended wear on a training course. With insights on the integrated Medical/Admin/Assault Pouch (MAAP) and Premier’s advanced trauma mitigation technology, the article serves as a comprehensive evaluation of the Fortis Loadout's value for law enforcement officers.

[weirdbeancurd]

Attempted Apologies, Chapter 3- ULTRAKILL Fanfic

Chapters: 1 2 3

Ao3 (Link)

@h0ped3lusion @vallianttreedreamland (thanks for loving my work lol)

god I am SO sorry for taking so long to write this, but I've been super busy with a job, moving, and a bunch of other adult stuff. thank you all so much for being patient and leaving lovely comments. I'm not totally happy with some of this story (I'm never happy with my writing lol), so I might make minor changes, but other than that, this fic is finally done!!! thanks again for sticking around, and thank you @persi-person for helping peer review!

also I originally planned for this to be strictly platonic, but it definitely leans more into romantic territory with V1 and Gabe (and a bit with Minos and Sisyphus). it can still be seen as platonic, if that's what you'd like, though!

Takes place in an AU where the prime souls live, and Gabriel and V1 live on the surface as apocalyptic roommates. (oh my god they were roommates)

Summary: Gabriel attempts (key word: attempts) to apologize to Minos and Sisyphus for their executions, but it doesn't go as well as he had hoped. Chapter 3 out of 3.

“I, uh. Love what you did with the curtains?”

Gabriel’s feeble attempt at small talk is ignored. Breaking the ice has never been this difficult, and he's getting absolutely stone walled by the man stitching up his skin. Prestigious ruler or not, his bedside manners can use some work. He tries not to let his irritation show through his body language. I think I’d rather get my ass handed to me again over whatever this is.

“Is everything alright?”

“...”

“Look, you really don’t have to do this. I can just head back and patch mys-”

“Hold thy tongue,” Minos snaps. His mouth slams shut. He immediately drops the subject.

“Oh, um yeah. I can do that.”

He fidgets with his hands for lack of anything better to do. The loopiness from his fever is fading, his dampened healing factor working overtime to repair weary muscle. While he still had his light, Gabriel’s regeneration was enough to mend any wound in seconds. Now more than ever, he longs for that invulnerability, bestowing him confidence to the point of arrogance, reckless beyond abandon. It encased him like his shell of armor, covering incorporeal flaws. If only he could see himself now, having to rely on the tools of man and the care of another to heal. Some days, he berates his reflection. “How weak,” “how distasteful,” he thinks. “How pathetic.”

How the mighty have fallen.

His eyes flick back and forth from Minos and the floor, trying not to get caught staring. He doesn't deserve to be in their presence; a kind and noble man like him shouldn't be tainted by his darkness. Perhaps that's why Minos is being so irritable; he must be rubbing off on them. Despite the need to shy away, he spares another glance.

Gabriel's helm shields his face, but he feels naked, transparent, like the king’s iridescent skin. He sees right through them, literally and figuratively. Right through their resentment, which is held not only for Gabriel, but also for the man himself. V1 once spoke of his rage upon being liberated from the flesh prison, going as far as to describe his demeanor as “violent;” a bit ironic coming from the literal murder machine. He never thought those two words could be said in the same sentence; violence and Minos simply aren't compatible, like oil and water, fire and ice. Or so he thought.

Halfway through their battle, he grit out a single, spiteful word; “weak.” He spat it out as if it tasted vile, vicious and repulsive like acid on his tongue. And while yes, Minos despises V1 for all their kind has done to humanity, he’d never deny their skill in battle. The king was struggling to his feet, having to push off his knee to stand, frustrated that his muscles seemed to rebel against him. It's almost as if that bitterness was directed not at the machine, but instead at…

Hm. Maybe they're not so different after all.

Gabriel observes the man beside him, no longer trying to be discreet. Their shoulders are tense, whether it's from being hunched over so long or the restraint needed to not beat him until his bones are a fine, white mist, he doesn’t know. But he will risk his skeletal system if it means this’ll stop being so damn awkward.

“I’m well aware you told me to shut up,” Gabriel says, holding his hands up in a placating manner. Minos gives him a deadpan glare (or what he assumes is a deadpan glare), but lets him continue. “But I must speak my piece.” He takes a deep breath and resists the urge to pray to a god that no longer exists.

“The father once told us that all sin can be forgiven with a confession and a wave of the hand.” He laughs bitterly. “Now, that's really not true, is it.” It's not a question. He knows the answer.

“No confession will ever right the wrongs that are my actions. No apology of mine will ever be worthy of your ears. I presume you would not want one from me, anyways.”

Minos doesn't dignify him with a response, opting to stare straight ahead.

Gabriel is reminded of his own silent brooding, remembering the warm glow of the campfire while he pondered his questionable morality. After a (not-so) healthy amount of denial, he'd turned to self loathing. How could he have not recognized the council's manipulation sooner? Was he that blind, that moronic to believe their lies? Or was he just too pathetic to form any sort of resistance? What if he was more observant, would he have figured this out earlier and prevented it all from spiraling down to disaster? These questions crowded his mind, like fish in a much-too-small bucket, gasping for air, suffocating each other as they squirm and writhe. The “what ifs” and “if onlys” taunted him with a universe in which he was better, stronger.

How he yearned for someone to battle his thoughts for him, to shut down the paralyzing convictions that plagued his dreams. So maybe what they really need isn’t an apology, just simple reassurance.

“You…are not weak. Far from it.” The words come out awkward and stilted, though he barely needs to think before he speaks. It’s like the syllables have long been ingrained in the deepest parts of his mind, mouth moving to form sounds that have already left his lips.

“You were wronged, and people suffered for it, but it wasn’t your fault. Your strength would not have made a difference, though you harbor more of it than I ever will.”

It's hard to tell what Minos is feeling, half from the fact he lacks a face, and the other half being that Gabriel's people skills are out of practice. In fact, he never had them in the first place. Never had a reason to, if your only purpose is to carry out orders.

“The fact you still stand here today, tragedy after tragedy, is a show of resilience. Though you couldn’t prevent the tragedies in the first place, you did your best to make do with what was left. What’s done is done, Minos.”

He wishes he can take his own advice. Practice what you preach, as they say. Gabriel was never a good preacher, but he tries. He makes sure the other man is listening before delivering his final words.

“You did good.”

Minos says nothing, and for a terrifying moment he thinks he’s made a fatal mistake. And then the man huffs a quiet laugh. Gabriel stares in confusion.

“I…appreciate thy appraisal, but I must admit I’m rather conflicted. On one hand, I understand thou hast merit, but I am reluctant to entertain thy words, due to our history.”

Gabriel lowers his gaze, disappointed he didn’t get through to them, but Minos starts again.

“However, I must thank thee. Thou clearly drew from thy own experience; that shows courage. I shall consider thy appraisal.”

He perks up at that, looking to the king with elation and surprise.

“Just…keep the creature of steel away from this layer. I’m sure thou can surmise why.” He sounds like he’s trying to keep his anger at bay, staring at the floor.

Oh, V1. Yes, he can do that. It did destroy much of what was left of Minos’ kingdom after all, so a permanent ban from the lust layer is more than fair. And that’s not even delving into their battle, the man treating his own defeat as a sign that he’d failed humanity. He shudders at the thought of what Minos would do if he got his hands on them again.

“I understand. I’ll tell them to avoid your city.” It’s Gabriel’s turn to laugh. “Maybe it’ll actually listen to me for once.”

He fixes his eyes on the floor as well, the two sharing a moment of understanding. And then the moment is gone, brief as it is cathartic.

“Sisyphus will accompany thou as I prepare supper. Stay.” Minos goes to open the door…revealing the man in question. Speak of the devil. He has the gall to look smug, bent at the knees to press his ear to the door, the shameless bastard.

“What have I told thee about eavesdropping,” Minos seems unphased, expectant, even.

“Sorry,” But Sisyphus’ grin says otherwise. “I can't help it. Force of habit, I suppose.” The other lets out a rather childish groan.

“I would tell thou to cease thy antics, if not for thy refusal to listen.”

“That's not true. I listened in on your conversation perfectly well.”

“That's…just entertain thy guest.”

“Anything for you, my friend.”

Minos tries to slip past the other, very much ready to leave, but not before Sisyphus catches him with a warm hand on his shoulder. His large frame blocks most of Gabriel's view, but he sees his body lean into theirs. All encompassing, like a solar eclipse. He can't hear what they're saying, so he can only imagine the kindness Sisyphus reserves for friends alone, something he knows he’ll never deserve. He’ll let them have their moment, too.

Once Minos has had enough (said affectionately) with his friend’s fussing, he leaves the two alone in favor of attending to his kingly duties (or whatever that man does in his free time). Sisyphus takes a place at his side, awkwardness not any less prevalent. Time to pull out his award-winning small talk skills again, because that went over so well last time. Believe it or not, Gabriel's smart enough to know that bringing up the king's beheading is a bad idea. The traumatic event is likely still an open wound, for lack of a better term. When would it be appropriate to “get over” your own beheading, anyways? Fourty, fifty years? A hundred? Never? It's not like he's going to get his head back. Alright, now he's just stalling. He needs to come up with a conversation topic quick, because he swears the silence is eating away at his soul. Maybe he can talk about V1; he finds himself doing that often. Not that it means anything.

“...I apologize for my friend's behavior.”

Sisyphus raises a brow.

“You have friends? I never thought you had it in you to be likable.” Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be. Gabriel rolls his eyes, giving an indignant glare. “I do not know who you are referring to. Not many can tolerate your presence.”

“I'm just going to ignore what you said and move on. Look, the machine has said it regrets it's actions-”

“Ah, you mean the child of man.” His mood lifts instantly. “At least you have good taste in company. Our battle ought to be remembered; it was invigorating. I hope to have a rematch someday.” Well, that was very much not the reaction he was expecting.

“You don’t…hate V1? They nearly killed you!”

“Is that its name? I shall honor that, for unlike you,” He shoves a finger in his direction. “it fights with a sense of decency.” Gabriel shrinks under his scrutiny. “How ironic, that a war machine holds more virtue than the supreme angel.” Ouch.

“...That was uncalled for.”

“Was it? It’s not my fault that your lover has better morals than you.”

Time stands still for Gabriel. He feels like he just got shot by the railcannon. There’s no way he heard that right…right?

“I’m sorry, my WHAT?”

“Your lover,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You two are joined at the hip. It’s nauseating, honestly. Or was your relationship supposed to be a secret?” Gabriel flounders like a fish out of water. This greatly amuses Sisyphus, who’s found his new favorite pastime: pestering a certain archangel.

“I-we are not a couple! I don’t know where you could’ve possibly gleaned that from, but you’re wrong. They are my companion, nothing more.”

“Denial does not look good on you, Gabriel. I thought you were past that.”

“Listen,” he grumbles. “we may be close, but I do not have feelings for the machine!”

“Whatever you say.” He drawls, voice dripping in sarcasm. Sisyphus grins when the other lets out a frustrated groan.

“You-ngh. You are impossible. For the last time, I’m not in love with them. I don't even like them; they're, uh. Sinful and unholy-”

Thud. They whip their heads towards the noise. It sounded like someone kicking open a pair of doors.

“Did…did you hear that?”

“Of course I heard that. Now shut your mouth.” They sit in tense silence. A single beat passes before the quiet is shattered by a thunderous shout.

“CREATURE OF STEEL.”

Oh no. It better not be who he thinks it is. It seems Sisyphus has the same inkling, both slowly turning to give the other a wary look.

“...Is that-”

CRASH.

The wooden wall by the door explodes inward, a blue torpedo rocketing into the room, splinters flying everywhere. Gabriel lets out an undignified shriek. As the dust settles, he can make out a familiar figure lying in the rubble. Shit. It is who he thought it was. At least they seem completely unharmed, despite crashing through a damn wall. It perks up when it sees Gabriel. V1, like the menace it is, waves excitedly. He can’t for the life of him conjure up a single word to say, speechless for the Nth time today. Sisyphus, for one, doesn’t appear phased, greeting them with a hearty chuckle.

“Ah, V1. We were just talking about you. How nice of you to join us.” It would've given him a wave as well, but their friendly conversation is interrupted by a foreboding presence.

“THOU ART NOT WELCOME HERE.” Minos has arrived, and boy is he pissed. He stands in the hole left in the wall, posture stiff and gaze unyielding. The dim, blue-tinged light that once emanated from his form has grown into a blazing, turquoise glow. His heart pumps furiously, veins bulging, visible through his translucent skin.

If Gabriel thought Sisphysus’ wrath was terrifying, Minos’ is nearly enough to make him go into cardiac arrest. Before he can properly process his own terror, the king starts approaching V1, fists ready. Gabriel quickly scrambles to put himself between the two, reacting before his common sense can stop him.

“Don’t!”

Minos glares down at him. Somehow his lack of eyes makes him even more terrifying.

“Please. Spare them.”

The realization sets in that he’s keeping a predator from its prey, and there’s a slight tremble in the arm he shoots out to keep the man at a distance. With a huff, Minos tries to shove past, but the angel shifts to block him. Gabriel sternly shakes his head.

“Move.”

Minos’ voice drips with venom, thick with barely concealed rage. It takes everything within him to stand his ground, anticipating the worst. After all, V1 would do the same for him.

“I will not. Ask. Again.”

Fuck. Gabriel is starting to regret not bringing his swords. He watches helplessly as the other advances, quick steps with murderous intent. He tenses his muscles, steadies his breath, and prepares for a jaw shattering punch…but is instead met with a voice, low and understanding.

“Minos. Think about what you are doing.”

Gabriel locks eyes with his unlikely savior. Sisyphus is the picture of neutrality, brow set in careful analysis. He's well aware of the fragility of the situation; Minos looks like he’s just about to go off the deep end. And while he has good reason to loathe, Sisyphus knows he'll regret lashing out. His conscience always comes back to haunt him, the damn thing. As much as he'd like to see the two mashed into a red paste, Minos doesn't need another thing to lament over. He can’t say he’s looking forward to defending the duo, suddenly reminded of what provoked such an intense response. He scolds himself for starting to actually get along with Gabriel, nearly forgetting the horrors he unleashed upon his greatest friend. Sisyphus schools his expression, trying not to let his own anger show.

“Your people, they look up to you for your compassion and empathy. Where is that mercy now?”

There's a near unperceptive tremor that wracks his friend's tense frame. Good. He's getting through to him.

“The beings before you did what they needed to survive. While their actions had dire repercussions, and I am not absolving them of fault here, consider their circumstances.”

Minos doesn't want to. He doesn't want to humanize them any further. He wants to tear them apart like they did humanity, unhindered by stupid morals.

“Would one blame a trout for thrashing when caught? Would one scorn a wolf for killing to eat?”

A thick, black liquid starts to ooze out of Minos’ abyss-like face. It flows like tar, ugly and coagulated with sorrow and feelings he'd hate to dissect. In the hollow silence that swallows the room, they can hear his breath hitch.

“Gabriel,” Sisyphus says, fixing him with a piercing stare. The angel stares with wide eyes, not expecting to have been brought into the conversation. “You were a weapon wielded by another, neglected and abused. When you inevitably faltered, you were discarded like a rag.”

Gabriel lowers his gaze. He hates that they're right.

“The sins you committed were the result of eons of manipulation and torture. When you finally realized what you'd done, you took immediate action to correct your mistakes with the little time you had left.”

The angel in question is stunned into silence. Truly, what more could he have possibly done in his situation? With only one day to right his wrongs, it’d be futile to reason with the council; killing them was the sole solution. As for the sins of his past, perhaps all the blame does not fall on him. It was the council’s abuse that forced him to carry out their word, conditioned to be unquestioningly loyal to the point of blind faith. While he was the one to strike innocents down, the blood is also on their hands. An ancient weight is halved, lifted from his shoulders, no longer unbearable. A sliver of forgiveness, not from another, but for himself: a gift he never expected Sisyphus of all people to bestow upon him. He would’ve expressed his gratitude if not for the sudden shift in subject, mourning the chance to thank his unlikely advocate.

“V1,” the machine perks up at the mention of its name. “You were created to kill and survive, and you did just that. After the threat of death had passed, you opted to explore beyond your nature. If passivity was an option, you took it.”

They do little more than tilt their head in consideration. They’re a bit hard to read on the count of not having a face, so he can only speculate if it's having a similarly Earth-shattering revelation like his.

“You defied your creator’s wildest expectations. Yes, you are violent, and ruthless, and efficient, but you are more than just that. I see flair in the way you fight, confidence in your skills, and a desire to succeed. You are so much more than the actions you did in order to survive.” He lets a beat of silence pass for the information to sink in before addressing the man of the moment.

“Minos, listen to me.” The king doesn't turn to face him, but he's known him long enough to tell he’s hearing every word. “You are a just ruler who took the time to care for each of your denizens, and you have every right to be angry that they met an untimely death. You did not deserve your fate, and neither did they. And neither did V1 and Gabriel. We are all victims of circumstance.”

Minos’ fists shake, clenching and unclenching. Everything sounds like it's underwater, words garbled and distorted, yet frustratingly coherent. He wants to plug his ears and scream until he suffocates, anything to get Sisyphus’ voice out of his head. He wants to destroy everything and everyone, until there is nothing left, and then destroy himself too. For once, he just wants revenge, not resolution. It’s not like he can ever get his people back, anyways. Clench. Unclench. Clench. Unclench.

“The only thing we can do now is to live on. Stand down, Minos. Is this what your people would've wanted?”

Something in him snaps, and the fight leaves him all at once. It’s not. It’s not what they would’ve wanted; how deplorable it would be to kill in their memory. Wordlessly, he rushes out of the room. Sisyphus holds out an arm to stop the other two from following.

“No. Give him time.”

The air is plunged into silence once again. Gabriel dares to break it, eager to give thanks.

“I-thank you. We truly appreciate-”

“Don't. Just-” Sisyphus sighs, shaking his head. “don't. I didn't do this for you.”

“...”

“We will meet by the castle entrance when the sun starts to set for your departure. Do not follow me.”

“...I understand.”

Wow. A bit harsh. Regardless, he's still grateful for this new perspective, if not a tad disappointed. Sisyphus rises from his chair and heads toward the door, steps stiff yet dutiful. Lost in thought, it takes Gabriel a moment to notice the king hasn't actually left the room yet, lingering with his back turned.

“The suffering you’ve brought my dear friend is beyond cruel. For that, my forgiveness is withheld, but my words hold true. Do with that what you will.” He finally exits, figure slipping through the door.

Huh. The pseudo-approval of Sisyphus feels…nice. It’s easy for him to get lost in his own sense of accomplishment. Gabriel feels a hand rest upon his. He snaps out of his trance, eyes trailing up its arm to see the machine sitting beside him, staring ahead. There's an awkwardly long pause before V1 has the courage to speak up.

Its hands move in quick, stilted gestures, conveying aggression in its urgency. Oh, they’re angry, he realizes, cringing in anticipation. He’s had more than enough action for today, thank you very much.

What are you doing here?!

“Me? I-uh,” Gabriel scrambles for an excuse. “I was just visiting lust for a chat with a couple old friends, but um. We had a little disagreement.”

The machine raises a single brow. Or they would’ve, but making fully-functional robotic eyebrows was apparently not one of their creator’s priorities. Shame.

Right. It looks like you three had an absolute ball.

The angel grimaces.

“Alright, fine. I came here to apologize for my actions.” He huffs. “And clearly, it didn’t exactly go to plan,” gesturing to the bruises that still litter his torso.

No shit. And without your armor, too. What, were you trying to get yourself killed?

“W-well, when have you ever cared about my wellbeing?” Gabriel growls, suddenly standing to his full height. “Even if you do, I’m just a bloodbag to you. You only care about your own survival. You always have.” V1 narrows their optic.

You don’t mean that.

“What if I do? And what if I was trying to kill myself?!” He shouts, picking up the nearest chair and chucking it across the room. It isn’t until its splintered remains settle on the floor that he regains his composure, kneeling on the ground, visibly deflating.

“I should’ve died after those twenty-four hours were up. I should’ve.” He whispers. He sounds so frail, a startling divergence from his usual bravado. Cold metal makes contact with his shoulder. He turns sluggishly to V1, if only to “hear” what they have to say.

I-

Its movements falter momentarily.

I do care about you. And I always have.

They don’t meet his eyes, but he still desperately clings to the hope that it’s speaking truthfully.

“I…I need some air.”

Gabriel speeds toward the balcony, the machine following suit. He takes a seat on the banister, gaze facing forward as V1 does the same. They both stare at the blazing horizon for a while, until V1 can’t take the silence any longer.

You make me dissatisfied with existence, it blurts out, signing almost incomprehensibly fast.

Gabriel blinks. How to respond to that, he does not know.

“I…thanks? I guess?”

It frantically waves its hands, trying to show it means no ill will.

I mean, you make me want more out of life.

It was never allowed to enjoy things; It never had the chance. But now, they spar for the heck of it, not over sustenance or resources. It takes the time to manually read books instead of scanning them, something they once considered a mere waste of fuel. It ignores the alerts that flood its vision, closing them before they have the chance to tell it that it's being “inefficient.” Text irrelevant its ass. Before Gabriel, they were just surviving. Now, they live.

Gabriel can't help but smile. They said so little, but they needn’t say more. He knows what they're feeling all too well. It takes a bit of effort to muster up the courage, but the machine’s honesty spurs him on, and he manages to find his words.

“I think I understand. You taught me to…want. And by the heavens, I wanted to live, I wanted to fight and struggle and fail, to laugh and cry and watch the sunset a million times over just to say that I did. When my light was taken away, it was you who gave me clarity, and for that…I cannot thank you enough.”

He leans a bit closer, just reveling in the comfortable silence they've created. V1 scoots over, closing the distance between them. The cool metal feels nice against his skin.

I think he's right.

“About what?”

Only thing we can do now is keep living, despite-no, with the guilt.

“...How?” The question of “why” goes unasked.

Not sure. But we're still alive, so we've got to be doing something right.

“...I suppose you have a point.”

Perhaps those questions can be answered another time. Right now, all that seems to matter is the gentle breeze that passes through the cracks in his armor and the feeling of the machine's plating against his shoulder. His heart swells as they bask in the “sun's” rays. Considering they're in literal hell, that glowing ball is no star, but whatever it is shall suffice. They’ll make do, as they always. A ray of light falls upon the pair, encasing them in warmth. How picturesque. Two beings at the end of time, watching the sun set as it slips below the horizon.

…Hold on.

Aren't they supposed to be heading somewhere right now? Oh. Oh. Sisyphus is expecting them.

“Shit. We need to go, now.” He snatches V1's hand and bolts for the door. Heart to heart be damned, they have a deadline to meet.

Maybe Gabriel's previous difficulty navigating the palace was procrastination after all. It's remarkably easy to traverse, especially with his head clear and V1 helping guide him. He supposes everything feels a little easier with a clear head, and they find the castle gate in record time. The prime souls are already waiting there, punctual as expected.

As the two pairs face each other in the doorway, Gabriel notices Minos’ glazed look, Sisphysus’ hand resting on his shoulder. He follows the king’s stare, his eyes landing on the city below.. Before he has time to wallow in shame, Minos’ gaze drifts back to him. Silence. Introspection. After an excruciatingly long lapse in conversation, Minos sighs.

“I bid thee farewell. May thy travels be uneventful.” He senses the sincerity in his voice, and it's honestly relieving. The fact they can even speak to him without hatred oozing from their words leaves him dumbfounded. And it’s not forgiveness, most definitely not, but it’s something. After the atrocities he’s committed, Gabriel is endlessly grateful for this morsel of absolution. The corners of his lips turn upwards as he bows his head in gratitude. His core blooms with warmth.

Ever impatient, V1 halts their respectful exchange by tapping him twice on the shoulder, metal meeting flesh. It raises its hands to sign. Home? It asks. Gabriel huffs fondly, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, yes. We’re going home.” He pivots to the kings. “Thank you very much, truly, but we must get going. This one,” gesturing to V1. “is getting restless. And should also learn some manners.” That earns him a flick to the helmet. He swears he hears Sisyphus stifle a chuckle.

Resisting the urge to bicker, Gabriel turns away, guiding V1 into his hold. With a flap of the wings and a powerful thrust from his legs, they take to the sky. Every beat takes them higher and higher, and further and further from Lust. He doesn’t look back, just focuses on keeping V1 from slipping out of his arms.

His stamina isn’t as infinite as when he still had his light, so by the time they reach the surface, Gabriel is exhausted. They decide to call it a night and rest where they land. He sets up a campfire, not unlike the aftermath of his second defeat, but now with kinder circumstances. It’s nice having someone beside him, even if they are a bit of a pest.

“You're a nuisance, you know.”

The machine gives a cheeky thumbs up. Gabriel heaves a heavy sigh, and for the first time in eons, he feels light. His burdens do not sag and tug at his heart, and the gnawing guilt he harbors has lost its bite. He laughs, pulling V1 in, sheltering them with his wings. Joyous and content, Gabriel gives in to the lulling effect of the setting sun. As sleep pulls him under, he dreams of a hopeful future, not of tongues and teeth.

And though the sight of the lust layer still fills him with regret, the weight on his shoulders is a bit easier to carry. Gabriel may never be able to cry life back into the townsfolk, nor grieve them back from death, but he’s made an effort to make amends. It's a long way forward, yet it's a step in the right direction. These days, the shame doesn't linger and fester like it used to. It's been replaced with a fire that burns bright and unyielding. Gabriel decides he likes his newfound vigor.

And oh, how it suits him to feel strong.

Leave a reply telling me your thoughts if you'd like. :) I appreciate any and all replies lol. And yes, the last line is a reference to the dodie song "Ready now" hehe

[dusty-cobweb]

Julian realizes that Garak is still hurting weeks after the incident with the wire. He intends to help.

tw // mention of suicide, animal death (not explicit)

Garak lied. He knew how to mold his face, suppress the suspicious lilt of his voice and stim of his hands. Yes, Garak was a very good liar.

However, today, merely a few weeks after the wire incident, his facade trembled. It wasn’t obvious, not at first. But Julian knew Garak, or at least knew how he acted.

He would smile coyly, maybe move the replicated flowers from the center of the table, press his hands together politely while Julian got his meal. Afterwards, they would exchange barbed words, meant not to hurt but to puncture holes in the other’s argument. It was fun, for the most part. One they equally enjoyed.

Now, Garak still smiled, but his lips pressed flatter than usual, painting a thin line against dull scales.

“Doctor? I do hope I’m not boring you?” Garak’s voice fluttered in, almost amused at his lack of attention.

“No! No, not at all Garak. It’s just…” Julian tried to find the words, tried to place what was so wrong with the picture in front of him.

“Just..?” Garak questioned.

“Your scales— they’re not shiny like they usually are.” Julian ended up saying, cursing himself as he did. Garak seemed just as surprised as himself, his brow ridge shooting a bit higher than usual.

“You know how work goes. Lots of commissions make for not much time for scale treatment, you understand,” He says, “Now about the Mirabal sisters; I can see what you were trying to say with the story, but in Cardassia a leader such as Chujillo”— his accent slithered out—“would never have taken power in the first place. Our peer-reviewed system prevents this.”

At any other time, Julian would’ve jumped at the opportunity to dissect what peer-reviewed meant (he suspects that’s why Garak said it), but right now all he could think about was finding out why Garak was so evasive.

“Garak,” He needled in what others have said is his “doctor’s voice”. “Do not try to avoid the subject, not with me.”

For a moment, Garak’s eyes darkened. Not in anger, but something more soulful; a bone deep exhaustion that settled heavily on armored shoulders. It was like all the life had left his body, leaving only the aftermaths of the wire in its place. And then— just as quickly as it came— it left, leaving only Garak’s saccharine sweet smile.

“My dear, there is no need to worry.” He said simply. No further explanation, no more platitudes, no lies. The worry in Julian’s heart turned desperate.

He was losing Garak.

Julian sat quietly with that thought. Garak sipped his tea. Finally, “I had a cat when I was younger.”

Garak looked at him over his tea.

“And here I thought I knew everything about you, my dear doctor.” Garak smiled lightly. Smiled as if Julian wasn’t plunging down a rabbit hole of what-ifs.

“She was the cuddliest thing— a calico, meaning she had all these multicolored spots on her fur. Gosh, she was beautiful. And wherever I went, she followed. Always my little shadow. If I sat down, she jumped onto my lap. If I showered, she would wait in the sink. Every night, she would find a way to sleep on me, even if I turned over.” Julian smiled sadly at the thought— it had been so long since he thought of Mu’izza.

“While that’s quite touching doctor, I don’t know how that’s related to totalitarian dictatorships of Latin America.” Garak once again took up his teacup.

“One day, she just got up and left. Jumped out of an open window, maybe. I don’t know.”

Garak frowned, “I’m sorry my dear, that must’ve been heartbreaking,” After a few moments of considering pause, “If she was fed well, taken care of—loved— then why did she leave you so suddenly?”

“Because cats hide when they go off to die, Garak. They don’t want to be vulnerable in front of others.”

Julian looked at Garak, really looked at him. And Garak saw his desperation, his pleading for him to understand. And of course Garak understood; the doctor was hardly ever subtle with his metaphors.

“Ah,” Garak said simply, tea cup placed gently back into its plate.

“Sometimes I think if Mu’izza stayed and let me take care of her, that maybe I could’ve saved her.” Julian’s voice got softer at the end, cushioned by a long standing sadness.

“Or maybe you couldn’t have. Maybe you would have just prolonged her suffering by helping her. Doesn’t she deserve to die when she wants?” Garak retorted. He was angry, he realized suddenly. He was so angry. Garak wanted to snarl, to bear his teeth and swipe their meals off the table, watch his delicate tea cup shatter. He wanted to throttle the doctor, make it so he could never breach his psych again.

Through his newfound fury, Garak heard the doctor’s voice flutter in again, “You’re right. Maybe she would’ve been miserable. But we’re peddling hypotheticals again. The fact of the matter is my little Mu’izza was still vulnerable when she died. It didn’t matter where she went to die, she always would’ve been powerless. At least with me, I could’ve had her in my lap, could’ve shielded her from the cold, could’ve—“ Julian’s voice wobbles, just slightly. It’s enough for him to pause, take a deep breath, and look away. Garak notices the barely there shimmer of tears in his eyes.

Oh, my dear Julian, Garak realizes. The anger at the doctor ebbs, turning into an aching love that moves him to wrap his hands around the doctors’. Julian looks back at Garak, surprised. For a moment all he does is look at their enjoined hands and Garak worries he miscalculated. Then, slowly, Julian squeezes.

“I just… I just wish I could’ve said goodbye. That’s what I really want.” Julian whispers, just for Garak to hear.

“I see that now, my dear. I’m sorry if I brought up bad memories.” Garak returns the squeeze.

“Are you sorry enough to not make more bad memories?” Julian asks. His voice was like a molten sword dipped in oil, fiery words hidden beneath a tempered tone.

“You cannot ask that of me, my dear. Please do not ask that of me.” Garak pleads. Julian frowns, worrying his lip between his teeth. Finally, he nods.

“Then, I only ask that you let me say goodbye. Will you allow me that?”

“Of course, my dear doctor.”

Julian squeezes his hand and makes to let go, but Garak holds on. Perhaps it’s selfish of him to cling to the doctor. But now that he’s felt the warmth of his hand and the breadth of his care, Garak can’t imagine letting him go now.

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yeah this is bad but idc. no beta, no thoughts, just pure procrastination from finals.

good night everyone ! sweet dreams to me (i will be playing solitaire until 3:30 AM)

[athena-gunpla]

MG Ver. Ka. 1/100 E.F.S.F Mass-Produced Middle-Range Support Type Mobile Pod RB-79 "Ball"

It's finally done!!! I showcased this kit's interior earlier here, but now it's finished and ready for a proper review.

This is my first Master Grade kit. I was unsure what to go for, but the RB-79 Ball looked pretty simple and forgiving for new builders. It's a smaller kit, with only six sprues in total - one being the display stand/hangar bay and the rest building the internal mechanics, surface plating, and arms. It even included some metal pieces for the arms, with steel piston parts and small wires. Surprisingly, there's also a small rubber sprue, which has both popycaps as well as some rubber gasket detailing parts for the arms and main engine.

A cool feature of this MG was the impressive internal detail, just like an RG kit (although with larger parts, there's room for a lot more detail). I brought out a lot of the smaller features with my metallic paints, giving it a bronzed look.

I really like how it turned out - it's got an almost steampunk look to it and it really looks like a functional machine.

The kit looks just as good with the armor plating, arms, and main. cannon attached. The surface armor just clips on over the mechanical struts, and can be removed pretty easily for display of the internals. I'll probably leave it on for now until I get a more dust-free display though.

The markings for this kit are a combination of dry decals and stickers. Unfortunately a lot of the stickers are poorly sized and need to be cut to fit properly on the kit. I also found the dry decals to be really fragile and difficult to work with, and would've preferred waterslides instead.

I ended up leaving most of the dry decals off, and relied on a heavy weathering with gunmetal and silver drybrushing, and some finer wear and tear with the Tamiya weathering pigments (sets D and C).

The main 180mm cannon is nicely detailed, and fits into a rubber gasket polycap on top of the kit, on which it rotates freely as well as pivoting up and down. Unlike the HG Ball, there's no twin autocannon option, or really any optional parts in this kit.

There are PC rubber parts over the ball joint connection the manipulator claws to the body as well, helping to hide the connection and adding a bit of extra realism.

The claws are the only part of this kit that can really be posed, apart from the gun moving and the cockpit opening. The upper claws open and close, and the lower set can swing outwards for larger items or fold backwards and store away underneath the upper arm. They're really nicely detailed, with a metal bar implying a piston and a few exposed red wires on the upper claws.

The kit also contains 3 miniature figures: one pilot and two support crew, which were fun to paint, although the detail is lost at a distance.

The pilot is just barely visible within the cockpit, and really emphasizes how surprisingly large the RB-79 Ball really is. There's a little paintable control screen in front of him, although it can't really be seen once the kit is assembled.

I decided to spruce up the hangar bay base that the kit comes with, as, lacking legs, the kit requires it to be displayed. I've added a warning strip, some fuel lines, and plenty of oil stains and scuff marks, as well as the support crew, idling underneath the collosal mech. I just wish this kit had also included some scale ammunition, which would've looked great on the base as well.

Overall, this was a great introduction to MG kits, and it really makes me want to buy more. If you're looking to start getting into MGs, I definitely recommend this kit, although a 3rd party waterslide decal set might be necessary.

[renard-dartigue]

Kaiju no 8 ch.117 Review

Bruh I'm so shook right now! Some of my previous predictions turned out to be true. But I never would have guessed in what way!

Spoilers Ahead:

(And possible deranged rambling)

So it appears that the phantom samurai isn't an entity that has once had the kaiju shifting ability, the samurai IS the kaiju itself. Which is, holy shit!

It takes Kafka back in time to witness how it was created. I wonder if what's happening is similar to Assassin's Creed where using your genetic code, you can experience events that happened to your ancestors.

This would provide an explanation as to how the kaiju found Kafka. It identified Kafka through his bloodline.

Also, the way I shouted "My boiiiii!" when I saw Hoshina's ancestor lmao. Those cyndaphil looking eyes will forever stay with the Hoshina bloodline.

And I don't know if it has been mentioned before, but it never occurred to me that they were using kaiju weaponry back then. I just assumed that was a more resent development. That's really cool.

But, as Kafka states, its difficult to draw out power from them and they take a huge toll on the body compared to modern weapons.

It's also pretty funny how we got a hoshikaf moment in a flash back. I'd like to think that if Kafka really is in the place of his ancestor, he and Hoshina's ancestor had the same dynamic they have in modern day to some degree.

I'd gush about it more but I have to set that aside for now because this chapter takes a turn for the gruesome.

The warriors are able to take down the kaiju and I'm just as shocked as Kafka. Because I remember when Hoshina was talking about the warriors of the past and how their weaponry was more suited for smaller kaiju. But these clearly aren't KDF squads. It's untold thousands of warriors with spears, swords, archery, and cannons. What they lack in strength, they make up in numbers. And it works at first.

But the phantom samurai states that something happened that wasn't in the norm. If I remember correctly, they are called "after beasts".

So call me crazy but isn't that the same creature that they are currently fighting in modern day? I don't mean 9. The creature that is within 9. I don't think it was given a name yet so for convenience, I'm going to call it no.0 for now.

Kafka either recognizes this being as no.0 or has a gut feeling that the warriors are in danger. Regardless, Kafka is fully immersed in the flash back, thinking he can change events. That or these are the words of his ancestor and Kafka is just a spectator.

And can I just say that this is the most amount of gore we've seen from this manga. It isn't as visceral as say Chainsaw Man or other seinens. But this is a first for this particular manga. It makes the events much more brutal.

Man, this moment of Kafka seeing Hoshina's ancestor die and get eaten seriously hurts my soul. He may not have been the man Kafka knows but the fact they look so much alike is probably traumatic for him.

Kafka is forced to watch and experience the pain and loss of the warriors, even getting cut up himself. Given Kafka's personality, it must be agonizing for him to see people die and not be able to help this time.

And apparently this is a sentiment that the warriors share. As the phantom explains how helpless they all felt, the words "Damn it" flood the page, the same thought as Kafka.

We get interesting, or macabre, panels of the warrior souls converging together into one.

Forming into the creature responsible for kaiju no.8 existence.

So the phantom samurai is saying that all the souls of the dead warriors merged with their kaiju based armor, their collective consciousness united in one goal. Killing kaiju.

That is FUCKING AWESOME!

God damn it I wish chapters were longer I can't take the suspense anymore! We get something new every chapter but it never feels like enough aaaaagh! Please Naoya Sensei, I can't stand it! Its killing me fdfhdzcgd!

Anyways, time for predictions.

Even though I implied at the beginning that there where no kaiju shifters before Kafka, that might not be true. We still don't know what no.8 was doing before finding Kafka. It could have latched itself to another descendant of the warriors before Kafka but it was at a time with poor documentation and secrecy was necessary for their survival. The next chapter might go into that.

I no longer believe the phantom samurai to be a previous kaiju shifter. He looks to be an amalgam of the collective minds of the deceased warriors will.

I wonder why it took until now for the phantom to appear to Kafka. In his previous near death experiences, Kafka only saw the tiny kaiju repeating "kill" over and over.

Could it be that Kafka's training with Narumi, willingly giving himself up to kaiju no.8's full power, drew him closer to the warriors will?

OR, did the resurgence of no.0 trigger the phantom to appear due to it being the reason they all perished.

God, so many more questions. And I know they will likely be answered in the next few chapter but the wait is agony, blarg!

If you came this far, thanks for reading. Hope I don't come off as too deranged lol. It's just so exciting finally getting answers to questions I've had for so long heh.

[spider-mancan]

Starker fuck or die

This is insane. The entire day has been one dumpster fire after another. Peter fell asleep on top of a building still in costume with his textbook spread open on his lap to the sound of a phone call. The resulting jolt of unfortunate awareness nearly sent his school books down onto the pavement — instead they just have a stain from the webbing and an extremely damaged spine. Peter answered the phone but was more interested in mourning his rental deposit than whatever threat was causing the Avengers to assemble. 

Then he heard the words Sex Demon come out of Captain America’s mouth and it was all downhill from there. Forlorn, Peter agreed to set his studying aside and come help out, because, really, when was he going to have another opportunity to sit in a room while Steve Rogers tried to talk about a Sex Demon in the debrief? 

It wasn’t nearly as fun as Peter expected. They’d called him in because he was difficult to hit and had the benefit of both long- and short-range fighting, but some of the others weren’t so lucky. By the time he arrived, Black Widow had already been removed by Hawkeye, leaving Second Hawkeye looking very purple (“nice new uniform, Kate!”) and incredibly perplexed. Steve was mostly alright, but whatever was causing problems was not reacting well to the serum.

Causing problems, of course, meant making people extremely Down to Fuck extremely quickly. 

“This is hilarious,” Peter says, swinging around the rafters. The warehouse they’re in has already been trashed, light leaking in through the roof and scaffolding collapsed in heaps on the concrete floor. “There is so much porn about this. At least two. Not that I know for sure.”

Tony comes over the comm. “I did hear Sex Pollen Sluts Go Nuts got excellent reviews.”

No one thinks this is funny at all, but Peter is too busy twisting out of harm’s way to feel bad about laughing. 

It’s not a Sex Demon, which Peter finds incredibly disappointing. It’s just a man who believes in the power of the aphrodisiac, or something, and developed yadda yadda whatever he’s trying to get blackmail of the world’s most influential people blah blah super awkward and gross and his sex blaster doesn’t even look cool at all. 

None of this is the particularly insane part.

The insane part happens about two seconds after Tony manages to topple Mr. Sex Demon over the railing and onto the ground, where the pressurized canisters on his back give way to the unforgiving asphalt and explode into a green haze so dense Peter can barely see the brilliant blue glow of the arc reactor in Tony’s chest.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter yells into the comm, without a response, and he’s swinging over to assess the damage when Captain barks orders for him to stay out of the way.

The Iron Man suit is already vacuuming up the fumes to remove the contaminant from the air, but Tony hadn’t been wearing one of his space safe suits which means there’s no internal oxygen supply, which means he’s also been contaminated. Regardless, the two men come into view and Tony just waves. “FRIDAY gives the all clear.” His voice sounds strained.

Peter drops down just behind. “Mr. Stark!”

“Spider-Man,” Steve calls, jogging over. “It’s best not to get to close—”

Peter is about to ask what Steve could possibly mean when he feels heavy hands grip his shoulders. The Iron Man gauntlets are heavy — in the armor Tony weighs nearly 400 pounds — and Peter winces. “Mr. Stark?” 

He isn’t afraid — Natasha hadn’t been dangerous. She’d stood stock still for a moment, called for assistance, and immediately removed herself. Over the phone, Captain America had run through the symptoms of the spores, but Peter can’t remember all of that now. He vaguely remembers a loss of inhibition, some kind of animalistic behavior, and an increase in body temperature to dangerous levels over time.

“Tony,” Steve says warningly. 

Iron Man’s faceplate lifts up and Tony is sweating, gritting his teeth. “I know, Cap.” His hands tighten, shaking, enough that Peter grabs one and flexes his fingers, debating whether to pry it off. “I’m trying.” Deep breath.

“Get away from the kid, Tony.” Steve pulls out his firearm and Peter is about to laugh, it’s insane, Tony would never hurt him. Touching Peter isn’t something Tony isn’t allowed to do. But when Peter goes to laugh Tony still looks so serious, so stony, almost sick. Deranged, even. Just a little.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter frowns and Tony’s eyes flutter closed, tight.

“Don’t call me that, right now, kid.”

Kate hops down from her perch in the rafters, awkwardly adjusting the quiver on her back. “I’m just gonna, uh, go.” She gestures over her shoulder to the door, which Tony blasted off the hinges not half an hour ago. “I’ll find a broom or something. Or just leave.”

Steve nods, mouth tight. His gaze doesn’t leave Tony where he’s hunched over Peter like a bad shadow, but his finger stays still on the trigger. Waiting. Not moving one way or the other.

Peter knows how these sorts of things go; if something can go wrong, it will. He runs through the data he can grapes through the confusion, tapping into Tony’s suit. Tony had been exposed to nearly twenty times the recommended dosage. Peter pulls his vitals through Karen and tries not to balk at Tony’s heart rate or internal temperature. Hot. Tony could fry an egg on his chest soon. “We need to get you out of the suit.” Peter reaches for one of the latches.

“Leave it,” Tony grunts. He’s bitten his lip so hard there’s blood in the corner of his mouth. “Better.” His hands haven’t moved, like he can’t move them, like he’s a statue. Peter is going anywhere without forcing himself free. “Better for you.”

“For me?” Peter demands. His hands are already on the gauntlet, but he freezes, struck silly by the sheer nerve. Tony is overloading and he thinks he should stay in the suit for Peter’s sake?

“I’m calling Fury.” Steve brings one hand up to his ear, gun still level. His eyes don’t leave Tony the entire time, even when he backs away slightly and starts to argue on the private channel.

Peter’s fingers tap a nervous rhythm on Tony’s armor. “Karen says you’re spiking really fast, sir,” he says at a whisper. This isn’t good for Tony’s heart, still weak, or his nervous system, which has been run ragged.

“I’m fine,” Tony chokes out through clenched teeth. His skin looks terribly gray, haggard, even. “I am really reliving some of my old glory days right now, but I’m fine.”

“Oh, yeah. Drugs.” Peter laughs nervously. Tony’s eyes are blown, the warm brown consumed by darkness, and his gaze is heavy on Peter. The gauntlet moves now, pulling up the hem of Peter’s mask until Peter feels metal against his pulse point. “Mr. Stark?”

Tony groans.

Peter is a good kid, but he’s not a saint. He’s seen the Tony Stark sex tapes, even the ones that Tony didn’t know were being recorded. He’d been through his own moral beratement when he opened it the first time, but he’d done it several times since because they’re something about Tony that Peter can’t get enough of. And Peter has heard that groan a million times. It’s not like his enemy just punched me into a wall groan, or his this meeting could have been an email groan. It’s the groan he makes when he opens someone up with his cock for the first time. The eyes rolling back, hips stuttering kind of groan.

Peter is suddenly very hard in his jock strap. Terrible. Terrible news.

Karen is a welcome distraction in the form of more terrible news. “Mr. Stark!” The vitals displaying on Peter’s HUD are approaching dangerous levels, especially for an older, unenhanced human. “Your heart rate. It’s crazy!” 

Tony is sweating, mouth open in the face of the rising temperatures, and Peter starts to frantically start prying at the mechanisms that hold the armor together. Tony makes no move to assist. “Leave it.”

“You’re in a metal can and you’re already over 100F,” Peter tells him, as if Tony didn’t know. “You’re going to—”

He doesn’t hear Steve barking at him to stop. It doesn't strike him that it’s a bad idea until it’s too late.

Peter manages to get his nails under the ridge of the chest plate and release it, pulling back, and then suddenly he’s falling. Tony has miraculously changed his mind about the suit and decided to abandon it entirely, stepping out and using the momentum of Peter’s scrambling until they both fall prone on the ground. There’s a poof of dust as they clatter onto the warehouse floor, tangled together.

Steve looks over at them sharply and is yelling orders Peter can’t quite hear because he is too busy trying to place the way Tony is smothering him with his body. Even through Peter’s suit he feels the heat radiating off of Tony’s skin, so sweaty he’s almost slick. He smells like hard work and expensive cologne. Peter is bewildered, and he puts his hands on Tony’s chest to push him away only to freeze when he feels Tony pull up mask and lick a thick line from his collar to his ear. 

“Mr. Stark, I don’t—” Tony gets a hand between them, pushing the release on Peter’s suit until it’s loose around his body and Peter turns his head to look at Steve. “Captain, I didn’t think it was supposed to be, ah, oh.” He shudders when Tony sucks Peter’s ear into his mouth. “Mr. Stark, please. We need to get you to medical.”

“No time,” Tony mumbles against Peter’s throat. He’s cupping Peter’s groin through the suit while the other hand pulls the mask off completely. “Want you bad. God, I can’t even think. Look at you.”

“Tony.” Steve takes the safety off, conversation over the communicator set aside, and gets closer. He doesn’t want to shoot. That much is obvious — if he was going to, he would have already done it. “I said get off the kid.”

“He’s mine, Capsicle,” Tony growls. He winds his hands around Peter’s back until their chest to chest, and Peter feel the rabbiting heartbeat until it’s hard to separate whose is whose. “Get your own!” There’s the tell-tale fire up of the propulser on Tony’s palm, and then there’s a stare down between Iron Man and Captain America with a shivering Spider-Man sandwiched between.

Steve looks away first.

Peter feels a bit wild, wide-eyed, confused. Flushed and hot and not attractive at all, but Tony is near-tearing the suit off of his body and Peter is so shocked he’s barely fighting it. Cold air hits his sweaty skin where Tony is pulling it down at the neck and it feels like an electric shock. “Mr. Stark, seriously. You need to—oh.” There’s a rough hand on his cock. “Oh, my god.”

Tony has both hands on Peter again, like he’s going to reach into Peter’s chest and start pulling him apart, but the Iron Man suit is in sentry mode now; Peter hears the thunk of the boots on the ground even as he’s writhing, trying to focus past the sound of his own insane breathing. He blinks and then there is red and gold staring down the barrel of Steve’s gun.

“Need you, kid,” Tony growls in his ear, pulling down the length of him through his underwear. This was not on Peter’s bingo card for the day. “Feel like I’ll die without you.”

Maybe you will, Peter thinks hysterically.

Steve could stop this, but the gun is slowly falling lower until it’s pointed at the concrete. “Peter,” he starts, “if you give me the word, I’ll remove him and take him to quarantine until we find a willing partner.”

“Partner?” The puzzle pieces are falling into place but there has to be another picture because the one in Peter’s head isn’t making any sense. “I thought this just made you horny!”

“It sure does,” Tony mutters. He doesn’t spare Peter’s underthings nearly the same respect as the suit, but he tears Peter’s t-shirt off at the neck and spreads it open like a child opening a Christmas present. Hands splay flat over sweaty skin, feeling Peter’s rapid breathing. “I’m going to ruin you, kid.” Like he can’t hear a single thing.

“I’m not—oh, god.” Tony is heavy on top of him and his cock is hard in his sweats, thick where it’s digging into Peter’s hip. Tony readjusts and grinds them together, hard enough that Peter scrambles for purchase against Tony’s back. “Cap, I don’t know what to do. What do I do?”

Tony rakes his nails down Peter’s bare chest, catching on Peter’s nipples with a satisfied smirk.

“What do you want to do?” Steve asks slowly.

Tony has such a high fever and his heart rate is dangerous and he looks at Peter and says, “you want to be a good boy for me, don’t you?” and Peter is so fucked. He’s both literally and figuratively fucked.

Like a flash of lightning, Peter remembers the call earlier: if Tony doesn’t come inside someone, he’ll overheat until he’s either cooked inside or dies from a heart attack. It had sounded kind of funny at the time, only half-paying attention.

Despite having a god among men standing not twenty feet away — oh, god, Captain America can totally see Peter’s boner right now — Tony doesn’t look away from Peter for a single moment if he can help it. Years of the revolving door love interests have made Tony extremely good with his hands. He’s often joked about it, about how good he is in bed, but Peter never actually thought he’d feel the way Tony smoothes hands over skin or bites bruises cherry red and it’s just a whole lot more than Peter expected to happen.

“I—I…oh, god.” Tony licks a line from Peter’s navel up to his chest and latches on to one of Peter’s nipples with his teeth. “I’m, I’m willing. I just—”

“Are you sure?” Steve says firmly, like Peter might be able to think straight with Tony all over him like every unfortunate wet dream he’s had since the seventh grade.

“If you don’t leave right now,” Tony says with a growl, “you’re going to get quite the show, Cap.” His eyes look clouded over, and he sits back heavy on Peter’s cock and just looks at the mess he’s made. Peter’s suit is hanging haphazardly around his hips and his shirt is ruined and his skin is bright pink. The cold wind through the holes in the walls brushes past, too cool on the spit-slick on Peter’s chest and he shudders.

“I’m okay,” Peter chants, and he lets himself reach out and touch for the first time. It’s tentative, fingertips across the scarring on Tony’s chest. “Like, what the fuck, but also I’ll be okay.”

If anyone understands that, it’s Steve, who is flushed almost as red as Peter and pivots. “I’ll guard the perimeter.”

With a grin, Tony rolls his hips so fluidly Peter whines high in his throat. “Kind of wanted to put on a show.” His cock is so hard, rutting into the dips of Peter’s stomach. “Bet he’ll watch. He just doesn’t want to admit how good you look. My perfect boy.” He grabs both sides of Peter’s head, fingers tangling in his hair so hard Peter can’t look anywhere but straight ahead.

Peter presses his hands flat. “Mr. Stark, I…” He closes his eyes tight. “What do I do? This is crazy.” Not last week Tony had been helping Peter with relationship advice, how to get a girl’s attention, clapped him on the shoulder and called him champ like he was going to take Peter to the baseball game later. “You’re…” 

The first time Tony kisses him, Peter’s brain doesn’t care about the drugged nature of it. It’s everything he wants, everything he thought it would be in his wildest dreams. It’s possessive, almost bruising, like Tony is boiling over and he’s going to fill Peter up with it. Teeth nips at Peter’s bottom lip until he makes the smallest sound, a little desperate. What? That’s Mr. Stark’s tongue in his mouth.

Tony’s hands slip down under the waistband of Peter’s until he touches hair and Peter writhes, knees clanking together, trying to hide himself even though Tony groans again like he’s found nirvana. His nails rake up the sensitive skin near Peter’s groin. “So soft and beautiful.” Tony bites into the meat of Peter’s shoulder, hips still rutting in a sinful rhythm. “Knew you would be.”

“Are you sure about—ah, about this, Mr, Stark?” Peter tries. His tongue is so thick in his mouth. He can hardly process anything. Beyond Tony is the dingy gray walls of the warehouse, the open space, anyone could walk in and they’d see Tony pinning Peter down with his body. Tony has never looked at him this way; not that Peter hasn’t tried. “You’re…you’re going to hate me later.” He covers his face with his hands, feels the heat on his cheeks.

When he turned seventeen he’d pushed his luck. He touched more, took more. Kissed Tony on the cheek goodbye until he was daring enough to slip, catch just the corner of Tony’s mouth. Peter remembers it, it’s was Monday, rainy, because he’ll never forget the way Tony had looked at him after. Terrified. Disgusted, even. Of Peter. Of Peter kissing him.

Right now, Tony needs more than a sidestep kiss and pat on the shoulder. He needs a hole, something to fuck into, something to take apart piece by piece, and he’s already let Peter know he wasn’t interested in that with him. Peter’s brain is spinning, the reality of the situation started to seep in through the cracks of his shock, and he wonders if he’s being an opportunist by taking Tony’s wandering hands in stride. 

“Oh, darling.” Tony leans in and presses a wet kiss to Peter’s shoulder. “I could never hate you.”

The sound of the zipper fills up the whole room. The space is public, with the open floor and windows and sun streaming down, but it’s quiet, save the police sirens outside. Tens of people, probably, just a flimsy wall away while Tony Stark gets his cock out with a groan. 

It’s thick, uncut, slightly to the left, and nestled in a thick and well-groomed swath of dark hair. Peter knew all that from the videos, the tapes he keeps on his phone for the lonely nights, but that’s just an old image of Tony. Right now, Tony is on his knees above Peter and he grins, circling his cock with his fingers so Peter can watch it twitch. He’s still a bit gray, he looks sick, and his hair is slick against his neck. Peter has always liked that, when it curls there, but Peter can’t look away from the curls around Tony’s cock right now because he’s just a man and his mouth is watering.

“You’re going to be the best thing I’ve ever felt,” Tony says through that wicked grin, eyes dazed — mind far away, probably, since the fight has left him. He leans over, lets his cock drag over Peter’s stomach. Peter feels pre-come in a smooth line and it makes him whimper. “I’ve fucked royalty, the most powerful people in the world, the most beautiful, but I know you’re going to feel the best.”

He kisses Peter then, when Peter opens his mouth and moans at the idea. He brings one thick hand up to Peter’s neck and just holds him, all threat but no pressure, and opens up Peter’s kisses with the flat of his tongue until Peter is weak and loose on the floor. Those fingers pull his mouth down, slip in and feel his tongue slide under the fingertips, and Tony doesn’t have to tell Peter to suck because this has happened in Peter’s head at least twenty five times.

Tony tastes like metal and lotion and salt. He presses on Peter’s tongue until Peter drools around his fingers, grinding his cock into Peter’s hip and rolling his thigh up between Peter’s legs. “Knew you’d melt for me, sugar in the rain, just like that.” 

Peter thinks his eyes might roll back in his head. Is he the one that got caught in the sex pollen nightmare? He feels giddy, almost drunk, and he lets more drool come out of his mouth and slick up Tony’s fingers. He knows where they’re going.

Tony is less single-minded than Peter would have thought, because he’s slow to pull his fingers away and he’s slow to lift up Peter’s leg and he spends an awed moment just looking, which borders on being too much. Peter can feel his ass clench when Tony runs a thumb over the pucker, and his legs tighten around Tony’s hips.

“Just, uh…” Peter wipes his mouth and hides his face in his elbow. “You can start, just…whatever you need.”

Tony presses in gently with the pad of his thumb at the same time he tugs Peter’s arm away from his face, just in time to see Peter’s expression slip into something feral. “Need to see you.” Tony bites into the meat of Peter’s shoulder and laves at it with his tongue. His goatee scrapes across Peter’s skin so good, and Peter curls up until his arms are curling over Tony’s head, hovering, unsure whether to bring him closer or pull him away. “My good boy.”

“Mr. Stark.” Peter presses Tony into his shoulders, another bite, and Tony slips a spit-slick finger inside quick and easy. “Oh, god, I didn’t think—I never thought—”

That’s a lie. Peter thought about it a lot, the way Tony might work him open. Tony’s fingers curl smoothly against Peter’s walls, one to two and then three, a little dry but Peter doesn’t mind when it hurts a little because sometimes soft and sweet feels dull. Sometimes he wants someone to rip him open and make him cry and if Tony is going to do it right now, under threat of death—

“Think about you all the time,” Tony croons heavily against Peter’s skin. He pulls away, purposeful, and Peter blinks. He wonders hysterically if the fog melted away, no more sex magic or whatever it is that’s making Tony want to destroy him, but Tony just draws closer until he can slap his cock around Peter’s swollen mouth. “Get me wet. I’ll make you stop thinking for good.”

Peter groans, an open invitation. This is insane. He shouldn’t enjoy this because Mr. Stark is drugged into wanting him and it’s a huge breach of trust and privacy but Peter scrambled up onto his elbows so Tony can feed him his dick, thick and perfect. He grabs Tony’s hip so hard he thinks there might be bruises but Tony fucks a little harder into his mouth, smooth.

There isn’t a lot of time for sex in his line of work, he’s busy, he’s pining over a man who doesn’t want him, not for real, but Peter isn’t too good to get on his knees in the back of a club and swallow someone down. He knows what he’s doing, throat opening up until the head of Tony’s cock hits the back of his throat. He hums. He loves this. He loves sucking people off, makes his head floaty and easy, and he’s got his eyes closed just to revel in it. He lets drool pool in his mouth again, knows it’s going to make his life easier. 

Tony’s thumb wipes a tear off Peter’s cheek, and it’s only then that Peter opens his eyes and finds his lashes damp, stuck together, watery. “There’s my boy.” It’s so fond. “Don’t cry. You’re doing so well.”

Peter’s hips fuck up into the air and he pulls off, suckling at the head before letting it rest gently on his bottom lip. “I’m good. I’m good, Mr. Stark.” He feels Tony twitch against his mouth. It’s incredible. 

It’s nothing compared to Tony rolling him over on his side, the obscene way Tony hikes up one of Peter’s legs and spits in Peter’s hole and feeds Peter the head of his cock so fast it burns a little, the way Peter kind of likes but won���t admit. It hurts and then his body knows it like this and everything evens out and Tony growls when he thrusts fully into Peter. His skin slaps hard against Peter’s hips, rocking Peter with a surprised cry further across the dusty ground. Tony just smoothes his hand over Peter’s hip, under the knee, and rocks into him. He bites feral at Peter’s neck and shoulders like he’s here to take and claim, like he’s going to want to see the shape of himself on Peter later.

“Oh, Mr. Stark, I’m, ah, oh, please.” Tony brushes up against his prostate and Peter jolts forward, bracing himself with his free hand on the ground to stop from being fucked flat into the floor. “Oh, please. It’s good. It’s good, it’s good.”

Peter isn’t sure Tony can hear anything anymore, but he takes his hand off Peter’s knee and wraps it around Peter’s throat, pulling him back so their bodies are flush and rocking hard and tight into Peter’s body. It’s hard to remember this is just drugs, this is just another day on the job getting fucked by the unrequited love of his life, when Tony watching the way Peter’s eyes roll back so closely. When Tony kisses Peter he tastes like blood but feels like gold, wrapping Peter up tighter. Peter couldn’t leave if he wanted to. He doesn’t want to. He’ll never want to.

“You take me so good, kid,” Tony says against Peter’s jaw, kisses wetly at the skin there. “Thought about this, about opening you up in the lab.”

“Ngh.” Peter is beyond speech, just like Tony promised, but his hand flies back to dig nails into Tony’s hip. His cock aches, dribbling precome onto the dirty floor and the tangle of his ruined clothes. 

“It’s bend you over and slip inside and you’d just—fucking—let me.” He thrusts hard into Peter’s hole, punctuation, and the sound Peter makes is ungodly. “Thought about it when you glued yourself to the wall, just ripping your clothes off—mmm.” A slow roll Peter can feel in his toes. “Find you already open and dripping because I know you fuck yourself sometimes before you come in. FRIDAY can tell.”

Tony isn’t squeezing his throat but Peter can’t breathe.

There are a million and one first hand accounts of Tony Stark’s stroke, but Peter doesn’t think any of them compare to the real thing. On the ground, in the warehouse, while Captain America tries to stop New York’s Finest from throwing open the door and seeing Peter pinned here in the dirt, spread open—

“That’s it,” Tony whispers, gravel. He scratches down Peter’s chest and wraps his hand around Peter’s cock. “You’re so good. Go on. Make a mess. Daddy will clean it up for you.”

It’s deep in Peter’s stomach, rolls up until it burns in his chest and chokes him. His hips cant back, trying to take more of Tony, more more more of something that isn’t here, out here in the open. Everyone knows they’re doing this right now. Fuck. Tony’s suit is still there; FRIDAY is recording all of this, the way Peter shudders and writhes and comes and comes and comes all over Tony’s fist. 

He falls flat on his stomach, Tony’s hand still pumping lightly until Peter is pushing back against Tony’s thrusts just trying to get away from the sensitivity. 

“That’s it, that’s it.” Kisses all over his neck, his throat, his cheeks. “Let me take care of you. Almost there, so good. So perfect.”

There’s no condom. That’s the last thought Peter has, as Tony comes thick and hot in Peter’s ass and grunts, bites one more time. No condom. Very messy. It’s fine, probably, since Tony said he’d clean it up. 

The adrenalin drop hits, empty, and Peter fades away into something deeper than sleep with his cheek pressed into the cold ground and Tony pulling out of his body, wet and sloppy.