#ceramic fixed braces

[eternal-smiles-dental]

Exploring Modern Dental Solutions: Clip On Porcelain Veneers, Ceramic Fixed Braces, and Quality Solihull Dental Practices

If you’re looking to improve your smile, modern dentistry offers many options that blend aesthetics with functionality. Whether you’re interested in a quick enhancement like clip on porcelain veneers or a more lasting orthodontic solution like ceramic fixed braces, understanding these choices can help you make an informed decision. Solihull dental practices provide these advanced cosmetic solutions, offering patients new ways to enhance their smiles with minimal hassle and maximum results. In this guide, we’ll explore the benefits of these popular treatments and how they can transform your smile.

[chatfieldbraces]

Ceramic braces have been around for several decades. They are of the same size and shape as metal braces, only that they have a tooth-coloured like appearance that is known to blend with the teeth. That said, they work in such a way that every orthodontics patient can achieve the much straighter teeth they desire, without having to sacrifice their white smile.

[leahrintarou]

✩₊˚.⋆ PUSHED BUTTONS ! - katsuki bakugou / 10.19 / kinktober

CW: hardom!bakugou (kinda), pet names, female anatomy reader, she/her, fingering, teasing, overstimulation, brat taming kink ofc, that's all

Word Count: 2.5k

Author's Note: another late chapter guys sorrryy I'VE BEEN SO BUSY :'(. i hope you enjoy reading tho! leave a like or reblog to show support. next chapter will be out later tdy <3

y/n had been pushing bakugou’s buttons all day, and he was running out of patience. she knew exactly what she was doing, testing him with every sly remark, every deliberately careless action. bakugou could feel the heat rising in his chest, but he wasn’t about to give in just yet. part of him knew y/n was doing it on purpose, and another part of him was almost enjoying it—almost.

it started early that morning when y/n “accidentally” knocked his mug off the kitchen counter. the crash of ceramic breaking against the floor was loud and sharp, followed by an innocent shrug from y/n.

“oops,” she said, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

bakugou’s eyes narrowed, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he stood there, fists clenched. “that’s the third one this month, y/n. you gonna clean that up or just stand there smiling like an idiot?”

y/n leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “i dunno, maybe you should clean it up. you’re good at fixing things, right?”

his glare sharpened, the threat of an explosion simmering just below the surface. “don’t push me.”

she raised an eyebrow, clearly not deterred. with an exaggerated sigh, y/n bent down to pick up the pieces, but she did it slowly—way too slowly—taking her time just to watch his reaction. bakugou’s gaze stayed locked on her, a mixture of annoyance and warning.

“you better not be messing with me,” he muttered under his breath, though loud enough for her to hear.

y/n only smiled, not saying a word, just continuing her painfully slow pace. bakugou watched every deliberate move, his irritation growing, but he stayed quiet. for now.

later that day, the two were out running errands. bakugou was focused, as usual, but y/n seemed to be on a mission to poke at him. when he told her to hurry up, she slowed down. when he asked for silence, she hummed loudly. every little thing was a challenge, a direct test of how far she could go before he’d break.

it was when they got home that bakugou’s patience hit its limit.

“you gonna act like a brat all day, or are you done?” he asked, dropping the bags onto the kitchen counter with a heavy thud. his tone was sharp, controlled, but barely.

y/n looked at him, feigning innocence. “what do you mean? i’ve been an angel.”

bakugou’s eyes flared, and he took a step toward her. “an angel, huh? is that what you think you are?”

“i don’t know, you tell me.” she tilted her head, that same smirk playing on her lips again.

bakugou’s patience snapped. in an instant, he had her backed against the counter, his hand braced next to her head, caging her in. his face was inches from hers, and the low growl in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. “you think it’s fun messing with me? think you can act like a little brat and get away with it?”

y/n’s breath hitched slightly, but she didn’t drop the act. “maybe. what are you gonna do about it?”

his eyes darkened, and his other hand came up to gently grip her chin, forcing her to look directly at him. “oh, you’re gonna find out. you wanna play games? fine. but don’t cry when i play rough.”

y/n’s heart raced at his words, the teasing smirk faltering slightly, but she wasn’t ready to back down yet. “maybe i like it rough.”

bakugou’s lips twitched into a wicked grin. “oh, i know you do.”

before she could respond, he spun her around, pinning her against the counter. his hands held her wrists firmly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her who was in control now. y/n squirmed, half-playful, half-serious, testing his grip.

“you like being difficult, don’t you?” he muttered in her ear, his voice low, almost dangerous.

she didn’t answer right away, still trying to get under his skin. “maybe... or maybe i just like seeing how far i can push you.”

bakugou chuckled darkly, his breath hot against her neck. “well, you’ve pushed me far enough, princess.”

y/n shivered at the nickname, the tension between them crackling like electricity. bakugou’s grip tightened just slightly, his tone shifting from playful to commanding.

“now, you’re gonna behave, or i’m gonna show you exactly what happens when you don’t.”

y/n’s heart raced, the thrill of the challenge and the excitement of bakugou’s dominance sending adrenaline coursing through her veins. she knew she’d been pushing him all day, and now, she was about to see the consequences of her actions.

“fine,” she whispered, though the glint in her eyes told bakugou she wasn’t quite done yet.

he smirked. “good. now let’s see if you can actually follow through.”

bakugou’s grip on y/n's wrists tightened just a bit more as he pressed her against the counter, his body flush against hers. she could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension between them almost tangible. his breath was hot against her neck as he leaned in closer, his voice a low growl in her ear.

“you think you can mess with me all day and get away with it, huh?” he muttered, his lips just barely grazing her skin.

y/n’s breath hitched, her pulse racing. she tried to keep her cool, but the way he had her pinned, the way his presence consumed her—it was impossible to ignore. “maybe i just like seeing you like this,” she teased, her voice breathy but still defiant.

bakugou chuckled darkly, his grip shifting as he spun her around to face him. now, with her back against the wall, his eyes bore into hers, intense and unwavering. “oh, you like this, do you?” he whispered, his thumb brushing against her lip.

y/n smirked, refusing to back down. “you know i do.”

in one swift motion, bakugou lifted her up, pressing her harder against the wall as her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. his hands gripped her thighs firmly, his lips ghosting over hers, teasing her with the closeness.

y/n’s heart raced as his lips finally crashed into hers, rough and demanding. the kiss was a mixture of frustration and desire, both of them feeding off the energy that had been building all day. her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss as he pressed his body even tighter against hers.

his hands slid up her sides, gripping her waist before moving under her shirt, his touch sending shivers down her spine. “you’re such a fucking tease,” he groaned against her lips, his breath ragged.

“and you love it,” y/n shot back, her voice barely a whisper.

bakugou’s eyes darkened, a wicked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. his hands gripped her tighter, his lips trailing down her neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

y/n’s breath came in short gasps, her body responding to every touch, every word. she could feel the raw power in him, the control he had over her, and it only fueled the fire between them.

“you wanna keep testing me, sweetheart?” bakugou murmured against her skin, his hands gripping her hips with just enough pressure to make her squirm. "maybe."

without another word, bakugou’s hands moved to the hem of her shirt, yanking it over her head with a rough, fluid motion. his lips were back on hers before she could even catch her breath, the kiss more urgent, more demanding. he pressed her harder against the wall, his body dominating hers as they both gave into the moment.

“fuck, you drive me crazy,” bakugou muttered between kisses, his hands roaming her body with a rough but careful touch, his fingers tracing every curve.

y/n grinned against his lips, her hands running down his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt. “good,” she whispered, her voice full of mischief. “then i guess i’m doing something right.”

“you really don’t know when to quit, do you?” he groaned in her ear, his voice low and filled with a dangerous edge.

before she could respond, bakugou’s hips pressed against her, the hardness of his tent rubbing against her ass, sending a jolt of electricity through her body. she gasped, her breath catching in her throat as he held her in place, the friction undeniable.

“this what you wanted, huh?” he muttered, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her neck. “mess with me all day just to get me like this?”

y/n swallowed hard, her heart racing, but she wasn’t about to let him win so easily. “maybe,” she whispered, her voice teasing even though her body was reacting to every move he made.

bakugou’s hand slid down to grip her hips, pulling her even closer to him as he rubbed against her again, harder this time, his breath becoming more ragged. “you think it’s fun pushing me? ‘cause now you’ve got me right where you want me, sweetheart.”

y/n bit her lip, a thrill running through her as she felt his control slipping, his restraint barely hanging on by a thread. “maybe i do,” she said, voice breathless.

bakugou let out a low chuckle, his lips grazing her ear as he pressed his body against hers, the heat between them intensifying. “you have no idea what you’re getting into.”

his hips moved again, a deliberate motion as he rubbed his tent against her once more, the pressure sending a shiver down her spine. his hands held her firmly in place, making sure she felt every second of it. y/n’s breath hitched, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of a full reaction, even though her body was betraying her, leaning into him.

“still gonna act like a brat?” bakugou whispered, his voice rough as his hands gripped her tighter, his body pinning her harder against the wall.

y/n smirked despite the heat building between them. “maybe i like being a brat,” she shot back, her voice barely more than a whisper.

bakugou groaned softly, his lips brushing against her neck. “then you’re gonna find out exactly what happens when you keep it up.” his hand reached around her, gripping the hem of her skirt and pulling it up to her waist, revealing the fabric of her panties. his hand cupped her sex, pulling her closer towards him as their panting breaths filled the room.

bakugou’s grip tightened on y/n’s thighs as he held her against the wall, his fingers rough but deliberate as they slid between her legs, teasing her just enough to make her squirm. his touch was light at first, drawing out a gasp from her lips, but he wasn’t in the mood to play for long. with a low groan, his fingers pressed harder against her core, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over her panties.

“you like this, don’t you?” he muttered, his voice dark, breath hot against her neck as his lips trailed along her skin, his teeth grazing her collarbone. y/n’s breath hitched, her body reacting to every touch despite her attempt to stay composed.

his other hand slid up her body, tugging her shirt higher until he had full access to her bare skin. his fingers splayed out against her waist, feeling the tension in her body as she shifted against him. with a sharp tug, he pulled her panties aside, his fingers finally dipping between her folds, teasing her entrance but not giving her what she really wanted yet.

“you’re soaking,” he hissed, his breath ragged, voice filled with both frustration and desire. “you’re such a fucking tease, but i knew you’d like this.”

his fingers moved faster now, sliding against her slick heat with precision, each motion drawing a soft moan from y/n. her hands gripped his shoulders tightly, nails digging into his skin through his shirt as she bucked her hips against his touch, chasing the friction he was giving her.

bakugou’s lips found hers again, rough and hungry, his kiss demanding submission. he swallowed her moans, his fingers sliding in and out of her with increasing intensity, every movement precise, every sound she made pushing him further into his own haze of lust and control.

“you like pushing me?” he growled against her lips, his fingers curling inside her just enough to make her gasp. “then take this, brat.”

he increased his pace, his thumb pressing against her bud with firm, relentless pressure, his fingers working her faster, deeper.

bakugou’s fingers moved with relentless precision, the friction driving y/n closer to the edge. her body reacted instinctively, hips bucking against his hand as she chased the release he was teasing just out of reach. her breath came in ragged gasps, each one mingling with the low, guttural sounds escaping bakugou’s throat as he watched her squirm beneath him.

“katsuki—” y/n’s voice was breathless, a mix of desperation and defiance.

he smirked at the sound of his name, his thumb pressing harder against her clit as his fingers curled inside her, hitting the perfect spot with ruthless accuracy. “what? you got something to say, princess?”

her nails dug into his shoulders, a sharp hiss escaping her as she tried to maintain some semblance of control, but it was slipping fast. “fuck… i—” she bit her lip, cutting herself off as another wave of pleasure washed over her.

bakugou’s grin widened, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “what’s the matter? not so tough now, are you?”

his words were punctuated by the rough, steady rhythm of his fingers, each thrust sending y/n closer to the edge. her legs tightened around his waist, her body trembling as the tension built to a breaking point. “katsuki, please…”

his eyes flashed with a wicked light, clearly enjoying every second of her unraveling beneath him. “you’re gonna beg now? after all that shit you pulled today?”

y/n’s head fell back against the wall, her resolve crumbling under the relentless pace of his fingers. “i’m— i’m sorry, okay?” she gasped, her voice barely a whisper, laced with desperation.

bakugou chuckled darkly, leaning in to press his lips against her ear. “too late for that, sweetheart.”

with one final, deliberate thrust of his fingers, he pushed her over the edge. y/n’s body tensed, her breath catching in her throat as her orgasm crashed through her like a tidal wave, the intensity of it overwhelming. her legs shook around him, her grip on his shoulders tightening as she rode out the high, every nerve in her body on fire.

bakugou didn’t let up, his fingers continuing their relentless pace, drawing out every last bit of her pleasure until she was trembling, barely able to keep herself upright. when he finally slowed, his fingers stilling inside her, y/n was left breathless, her body slumped against the wall, completely spent.

he leaned back slightly, pulling his hand away, his eyes locking with hers. “had enough, or you still wanna act like a brat?”

y/n managed a weak smirk, her breath still coming in shallow gasps. “maybe next time… i’ll let you win.”

bakugou raised an eyebrow, clearly not amused. “oh, we’re not done yet, princess.”

before she could respond, he scooped her up, carrying her towards the bedroom, a determined look in his eyes. y/n’s heart raced as she realized just how far bakugou was willing to take this.

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[godihatethiswebsite]

Simon Riley x reader - Hot Cocoa

CW: childhood abuse, implied alcohol and drug usage, angst/comfort

You didn’t know it at the time, but it was more than just a cup of hot cocoa.

Soft hands–so unlike his mothers–never having been braced against the impact of another’s cruelty, yet clutching his with the same maternal insistence as you slip the steaming mug of sweetness between the gnarled, calloused proof of his misfortunate life. 

There is no preamble of cracked leather; no metal branded welts to be found from a diseased monstrosity who does not care if they are hidden. Simon’s knuckles are intact, not bruised nor split against his sperm donor’s chin. Sentinel instincts are rendered obsolete without the triggering sniffles of his traumatized sibling. No need to keep playing the brave little soldier – the screams of nearby children are not born from brutality.

Doe eyes gaze up at him with an exuberant sparkle, no glassy haze plying you into absent submission. Water molecules of heated breath turning crystalline vapor in the frosty night air hold no trace of ABV – no lingering aroma of whiskey sorrow. The tremble in your bones is from a lack of knitted mittens, not survival induced adrenaline spikes. Frozen fractals catch in silken strands kept immaculate and washed, a polished sheen so unlike her familiar limp straw, reflecting the untarnished soul within he’s done his best to keep pure.

The failure of his mother’s visage haunts his waking past, but the dying warmth of her love renews in an unexpected presence.

He never told you of the act – the ritual of younger nights in a bygone civil hellscape. When the door had finished rattling on rust weathered hinges and the taillights of abuse were all but distant fireflies. When his brother crawled out from his false sanctuary of childhood innocence, having braved the monsters beneath the bed rather than the one he still called ‘papa’. When the woman who should’ve loved them better remembered who she was, the pain of mottled flesh replacing the lucidity of the mind. When he saw his mother for who she was: a woman worn down by sadistic malice. Who was just as much a victim with the scars left on her skin, the pockmarks on her elbows forced there by a stronger hand, the blonde hairs scattered and bloody pulled like cobwebs from her scalp.

Red rimmed eyes spoke wordless apologies for the naivety of her past; for the regrets of choosing wrong the father of her children, the life she wished she had the chance to go back and undo. 

A dead end promise to fix the mistakes of their future – someday.

He clung to the cheap disposable cardboard like the memory of crawling into a threadbare twin, shadows kept at bay with the weak glow from Tommy’s nightlight. The kettle whistled as the pair of them settled, packaged powder dumped into chipped ceramic and brought to them with a shaky smile. He would never voice aloud his own preference for less marshmallows, to give force to the cracks already shattering her resolve. If not for her sake than for his brother’s. 

The expression on your face brings him back from gloomier times, wrapped up in festive cheer all windswept and frost bitten, a backlight of radiance from the bustling market stand you purchased the beverages from. He watches as overeagerness singes your tongue, the small yelp of complaint soothed by a mouthful of whipped cream, the pain doing nothing to retract from the unbridled joy you feel in this simple cherished moment.

You. 

A gift–he knows–sent from heaven by the broken woman he forgave so very long ago. Her promise to him taken physical form.

It’s so much more than just a cup of hot cocoa.

It’s healing.

Masterlist

[inhuman-obey-me]

👁️ for Satan with Mc included please? Also, congrats on the 4k followers!! :D

"Won't you show me your weakness?" - Satan/MC

The library armchair is as plush as ever, but no matter how much you shift around, you can't seem to get yourself comfortable in it tonight. Your thoughts are too loud, and for the umpteenth time, your eyes drift away from the book in your hand to the crackling embers of the fireplace.

"You always look so happy-go-lucky," Solomon's words from earlier echo in your head again.

It had been an innocent remark, just a random observation, while you and the Cat Chat spent a peaceful, fun afternoon at the Cat's Eye at Satan's request. After all, the sorcerer always likes to see you looking happy, and it was true, you had been enjoying yourself there with the two of them. It wasn't as if he'd meant anything by it.

Still, the words swirl around in your mind like an accusation.

You're not always happy-go-lucky, even if you look it. Actually, you wouldn't say you're very happy at all, lately. It's just that the smile finds its way to your face every time, without fail, when everyone else is around. Your cheerful attitude always brightens everybody's day -- that's what they tell you. And maybe for that reason, you find yourself acting cheerful when they're around, even as a dark emptiness grows in you in the times in between.

No, best not to dwell too hard on that. Don't think about that part of you screaming in your head in the silence. Don't think about that part of you that wants to rip it all down.

You tighten your grip around the warmth of your mug, squeezing your eyes shut as you try to fill the cold pit in your stomach with a hearty gulp of hot chocolate. The Seven Lords, Vol. 11 droops limply in your other hand, and with a shake of your head, you attempt once again to escape into the fantastical, faraway world where Henry can keep being exactly what everybody needs, all the time.

The Lord of Masks has got nothing on me, you think to yourself bitterly, and as you set your cup down, the hard clang of the ceramic against the metal coaster rings a little louder than you intended.

From the other side of the table, Satan's head snaps up at the sound. "Hey," he barks with annoyance, and you wince, bracing yourself for a sharp rebuke for interrupting his own reading.

Instead, however, his expression softens almost immediately. "Hey," he says again, more gently this time. "Are you still bothered by what Solomon said earlier?"

"What do you mean?" Automatically, you paste on an oblivious smile again, hiding your surprise. He knew?

He fixes a hard stare upon you as he chooses his words. "You know, you can't fool me of all demons by doing that."

"Doing what?"

"That. Smiling like that. You do it all the time. But I know that smile. I do the same thing." He moves closer and kneels down next to your chair, taking your hand. "I'm the Avatar of Wrath, I know when you're frustrated or upset about something. When you're unhappy, you don't have to act so strong about it. You can be honest with me. If you're unhappy, just be unhappy."

"I'm not trying to be strong," you argue, even as the corners of your mouth stay stubbornly upturned. Your voice cracks slightly, unsure yourself whether it's true. "I'm not trying to keep smiling. I just...do. Even if I don't want to, I can't help it."

He nods with understanding. "Alright. Smile unhappily then. But you've got to stop holding it in underneath. Come on, won't you show me your weakness? Scream if you want to. Get angry if you want to. Just let it out until you can't smile anymore."

[oomisluvr]

YOURS, MINE, OURS (I COULD DO THIS FOR HOURS)

SYNOPSIS: kiyoomi sucks at housework and you are absolutely no help.

WARNINGS: none! probably some swearing, but that’s all :’) useless!sakusa, never-learned-now-to-hang-a-photo!sakusa, also the beginning of domestic!sakusa, sfw!

“It’s a little crooked. Tilt the left side up a bit–No! My left, not yours.”

“We’re facing the same direction, love. It’s the same left.”

“Don’t sass me.” You suck your teeth, “You’re the one that asked for my help.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Kiyoomi dismisses you, arms still outstretched to successfully level the small frame, “Does this look any better?”

It doesn’t. It's actually worse now.

“Looks fantastic.” You quip helpfully.

With a final huff, Kiyoomi steps back to look at his handiwork, hands braced on his hips like a proud father. Silence weighs heavy between you two. He sighs.

“I’m gonna burn down this entire building.”

“It’s not that bad, babe.”

“This looks awful. I mean, did I put this up during an earthquake? What even happened?”

“It’s an easy fix. 30 minutes max.”

“Tiktok made it look so easy.” He groans, heading for the kitchen, “‘Quick-and-easy home project’, my ass. This whole ordeal has been lengthy and difficult.”

“You’re not gonna fix it?” You ask, a bit shocked. Kiyoomi’s never been the type to abandon a project of any kind.

“I know my limits. It’s tomorrow's problem.” He decides, grabbing a bowl from the cabinet and hunting for some cereal. Brown eyes peer into your own, “Do I have you for the weekend or are you going home?”

“I think I’ll stay.“ You hum, watching him pour milk into the small ceramic bowl, “Only if we get breakfast in the morning.”

You’ve been told Kiyoomi’s been less uptight since dating you. More friendly. Open-minded. Willing to try new things. You’ve watched him grow significantly since when you first started seeing him, and you’re secure enough in this relationship to say you’ve loved every version of him. You were friends before you were anything more, and dating him has made your relationship even stronger.

“Done.” He nods, capping the milk, “I’ve been meaning to give you something, by the way.” You watch him rummage through the kitchen drawer, a slight tremor in his movements. Whatever he was searching for lands in your hand with a light toss, the object softly clinking when you catch it. “I want you to have this.”

Unequivocal access to his private space. The key to his house. You blink. 

“A key? You want me to start picking up your mail?”

He rolls his eyes, “What I would like is for you to move in with me, but I figured this is the first step.”

“This is…” You swallow, staring down at the metal as if it were alien, “A very big step.”

“I know. I trust you, though.”

To say you’re shocked in an understatement. Your relationship has been nothing short of amazing, but Kiyoomi’s always valued personal space. You expected this stage to come much further down the road.

“My lease ends in a few months.”

“I know.” You see it now, the nervousness radiating off of him. “Believe it or not, I like having you around.”

Shaking your head, “You’ll get sick of me.”

“Impossible. I adore you.”

“I’m messier than you. I’ll leave my clothes everywhere.”

“Then we’ll just have to do laundry together. You wash and I’ll fold?”

“I can’t cook.”

“Me neither.” He suppresses a grin, “But I trust that we’ll figure it out.”

You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’m not going to win this, am I?”

He shakes his head, black curls bouncing effortlessly with the movement, “Nope.”

Your expression softens, “I’ll drive you crazy.”

He hums, dipping down to press his lips to yours, “You already do.”

Jumpcut to all the pictures falling off the wall and shattering because Kiyoomi has no life skills :D

THANKS FOR READING!!

[starcolonelkatrinamoon]

Feet First into the Sun

Content Warning: BattleTech typical violence. Trauma. Generally Heavy.

The shadows of the mechbay contained devils, Katrina decided. Drifting above her Iron Cheetah, she picked through the sensor datafeed hoping to find something, anything to fix. Nothing could be found, as she had repeated this routine for hours each day before turning in for dark hours. With a gentle sigh, she yanked the data cable out and let herself drift closer to the cockpit entrance.

Bracing against the frame of the entrance, she ran her hand over the lovingly painted scrollwork surrounding the warmachine’s entrance. Names of those lost in battle, of support personnel who had died unfortunate deaths, and of those who she would never see again. Much of the machine was similar - murals hand painted across its armor in ceramic armor glazing, currently obscured with arid snowfall pattern urban camo.

The hiss of the mechbay's door sliding open didn't disturb her. She generally knew who it was. After a few moments, a weight gently collided with her and a hand pressed against the armor plating next to hers. An arm snaked around her waist.

“Hey," breathed out Violet, her Star’s abtakha. The woman rested her head against Katrina's arm, looking over the scrollwork as well.

“You’re doing it again, aisling. You should come spend time with the rest of us before the drop. It would be good for you and us, yeah?”

The statement was punctuated with a gentle tug on Katrina's waist. She rested her hand over Violet's, squeezing slightly.

“I will be there soon, my pulsar. Okay? Just let me reminisce for a little longer.”

She heard a vague noise as a response. A kiss was pressed to her cheek before the other woman pushed away, drifting back out to the corridors of the dropship. A gentle sigh escaped her as she drifted her fingers over the names once more before pushing herself away, towards her voidbound family.

______________________________________________________________

It was Duram who caught Katrina in a hug as she drifted into the command Star’s common area, their arms sturdily holding the Elemental born. A soft “thank you" came from the Star Colonel as she separated and drifted over to Brune and Gregory, her arms wrapping around the two of them at the same time.

Then finally she separated and drifted over to Violet, colliding full on with the woman and pressing their lips together for but a moment. Gone as quickly as it started, Katrina slid herself into one of the booths of the common area to regard the four warriors standing in front of her with a somber gaze.

“So,” she started, taking a pause to collect herself. She felt raw. Every drop felt like this. "It is that time again. Do we have any regrets?”

There was a quiet chorus of ‘no’s in response to her question. A momentary pause.

"One not quite a regret.” Violet stated softly, managing to look bashful as she floated in her combat harness and cooling gear. “I haven't asked you for your lifebond yet. Once this drop is over, would you…?”

A gentle expression crinkled the skin around Katrina's eyes as she nodded.

"When we survive this drop. Not if, when."

______________________________________________________________

With their rituals done, it was time for final preparations. General quarters alarms had gone off in the dropship, prompting them to their mechs quietly resting in their drop cocoons.

Settling into the seat of the Iron Cheetah, Katrina's Nighthawk XXII armor gently hummed. She pulled the modified PA(L) Neurohelmet on, linking it to the ‘Mech and beginning the readout configuration.

Neural link online.

Communications online.

Star BattleComs online.

Cluster CommNet online.

All that was left was to wait for the signal to power up.

…

There! A buzz over the communication network.

Reaching out and working on muscle memory, the Star Colonel began to punch in the startup sequence. The OmniMech stirred to life beneath her and then she was one with it - her muscles were its myomer, and its servos were her joints.

Reactor online. Sensors online. Weapons online. All Systems Nominal.

She queued into the Star’s BattleComs, satisfied to see all four other signals linked. The secondary relay was set to project to her whole cluster. It was time for the call and response.

“WHERE ARE WE GOING?”

“STRAIGHT TO HELL!”

“AND HOW ARE WE GETTING THERE?”

“FEET FIRST!”

“DAMN RIGHT! All units prepare for drop! First wave, ready your magnetic catapults and drop cocoons! This is gonna be one hell of an op - we will be dropping feet first into hell, ladies and gentlemen, and today hell is full! Let us fix that for those bastard Blakists and send them straight to the purgatory they deserve!”

The jerk of her mechs’ drop cocoon locking into the catapult snapped Katrina into focus. She started to punch in battle orders into her command console, forwarding them to the relevant Star Captains. Finishing as quickly as she started, Katrina deactivated her link into Cluster CommNet.

“Violet, would you do the honors? You know my taste in music is the least popular.”

A perky “aff!” across the Star’s BattleComms jerked a smile onto Katrina’s face. She muted herself as she hummed a gentle tune, finishing performing a manual synchronization of the reactor’s power output. The reactor in her mech output roughly 300 megawatts of power and the automatic balancing typically ran it at 3,000v output and somewhere a bit over 1,000 amps. She preferred to resynchronize the power balancer to run at 1,500v and operate in the realm of 2,000 amps. All of her components were tuned to operate at that voltage and it allowed most of her weapons at least a quarter second improved cycle time, if not a half second. Plasma rifles required a high energy ignition, after all.

The Iron Cheetah hummed as the catapult charged. And then, jerked - the drop cocoon hurtling through the black towards Helios.

______________________________________________________________

The temperature gauges had been climbing on the panel readouts for the past three minutes. Altitude read 3,000 meters before cocoon split and 5,000 before counter-thrust. Katrina grimaced as she checked her readouts. Scanners looking hotter than desired. No time for adjustments. The altitude gauge was dropping faster than they had time to compensate for.

Split altitude hit and the cocoon splintered around the Iron Cheetah as the explosive bolts detonated and threw the fragments away from the OmniMech. A violent shaking rattled Katrina in the machine as she fired the jumpjets, slowing the 100 ton machine to land. She felt the strain in her knees as servos heaved to compensate for the impact.

No time to recover. Lasers and autocannon fire were already heating the air around the Star. Throwing her weight into the controls, the Iron Cheetah groaned into a right anchor turn as the torso slewed hard to the left. The first step was unsteady and skidded slightly across the dirt and grass beneath but a pulse of the jumpjets corrected the momentum. In seconds the ‘Mech was pounding across the terrain at 64km/h, heading towards a ridge.

Two targets blinked in her HUD. One far to her right, to the right of her approach vector and nearly in her rear arc. The other was off her left, in a treeline. Her arms spun and she gritted her teeth against the sensation of the screaming servos. The arming indicators for the plasma rifles mounted in her arms blinked green, winking to red the instant the reticles whipped over each target. Two molten slugs slammed into the Word of Blake light mechs, punching through the frontal armor and hitting the internals right as her targeting systems resolved them as a Flea and a Commando.

A target lock warning blared to life in her skull. She felt the laser AMS in her shoulders hum to life and twitch to aim into the incoming arc of the missiles. The pulsing of lasers could be heard over the environment mic as the twin AMS ate an entire volley of SRMs. Pleasant warmth bloomed over her shoulders from firing heat bleeding through the armor.

The fight was on and it was time to begin their hellacious work.

______________________________________________________________

Everything was becoming worse and worse. The closer the command Star fought to Ford Bayeux the thicker the dug-in formations got and the more concentrated their fire. Point 2 of her heavy battle star had already suffered internal damage resulting in a loss of performance and her own star wasn’t faring much better. Point 3 had taken an engine hit to his Dire Wolf while Point 4 had lost a laser on their Timber Wolf. And Point 5’s Hammerhead was getting sandpaper’d into oblivion. She hoped that Gregory hadn’t taken any hits in the peppering his mech had sustained.

Her plasma rifles were at half ammo and the fighting had only gotten worse. At this rate she would have to resort to the medium pulse lasers at brawling range, utilizing the barrels on the main weapons as something to bludgeon other mechs with. Katrina would worry about it when she got to that point.

A heat warning screamed as she unleashed another molten slug from a plasma rifle towards a Crab trying to hide in an ambush position. A lucky shot, it blew through the front of the cockpit and went internal, a gout of flame rushing out from the front.

Six different lock warnings came to life at the same time. With a jolt, Katrina double checked to make sure her ECM was still engaged - fully engaged and no issues. It had been protecting her Star most of this time. But now it was being cut through and by six locks - which could only mean one thing.

The Celestials had arrived.

Punching her shutdown override, Katrina began to maneuver the Iron Cheetah into formation. She fired several pings across the Star’s BattleComms, receiving several affirmative pings in response. The jumpjets on her ‘mech screamed to life as she leaped over a section of trees, landing heavily and whirling to fire a plasma rifle slug point blank into the back of a Malak that had been trying to sneak up on her Star.

The slug penetrated deep, but the machine was still moving. A second slug dumped directly into the space that held the reactor caused the horrible mech to stutter to a stop, toppling onto its front.

Eight shots per plasma rifle remaining.

A shout over the comms was cut short as the Dire Wolf’s reactor was punched through. The assault mech collapsed mid-stride, smoke raising from the through and through slug.

“Fuck! Brune!” Katrina hissed out as she slewed the Iron Cheetah’s torso to bring her heavier frontal armor around to face the direction the gauss rifle slug had been fired from. None too soon as the scream of tortured armor and agony of pierced myomer lit up from her right arm, a slug penetrating through and nearly separating the arm from the actuators. She would be lucky if she could accurately fire with it more.

“Violet! Get that fucking Deva!” She barked out, not listening for the acknowledgement. Her only immediate goal was moving forwards, into cover. PPC and laser fire either near-missed or only scored the armor of her mech as she made it safely into the treeline.

The Timber Wolf following her was not so lucky as one of its legs was taken out from under it. It slammed into the dirt, skidding along for a few meters. It did not move again. Duram was likely unconscious.

In her rear arc view, Katrina watched as a Phoenix Hawk IIC 7 practically tackled a Deva off of a ridgeline. It punched the other mech in the cockpit, sending splinters of armorglass flying everywhere as its LB 10-X autocannons roared, slowly shredding armor off of the heavy mech.

The Deva engaged its retractable blade, parrying a punch and managing to stab directly into the feed mechanism of the LB 10-X mounted in the right torso. The stab would not save the heavy as another punch rocked into its cockpit, crushing the armor in and reducing anything inside to a fine slime.

Katrina weighed her options. They were down two mechs. The enemy were down two. The Hammerhead wouldn’t be up for much longer if things kept up this way, but asides from her arm and ammunition problems, her mech was relatively fresh and so was Violet’s. But that didn’t mean they were in a good place. Far from it, actually. If this was a true mixed Level II, that meant they had nearly another 300 tons of OmniMech to chew through before they could move on. They were 65 tons short of those 290 tons, and that was before accounting for their damage and limited ammunition.

A missile warning blared before a volley of MRMs crashed into her right flank. The AMS hadn’t had time to react and Katrina’s Iron Cheetah rocked under the fire. Wrestling with the controls, she stomped on a control pedal and started the assault mech into an anchor turn, her targeting systems searching for what she knew in her heart was a Grigori. The plasma rifle in her right arm crackled with power as she readied to fire, though she knew with the damage there was a strong chance it may miss.

The targeting beeped. She dragged the reticle over the 60 ton mech, priming the firing stud… and watching as the molten slug half splashed off of the mech’s right torso. Fire erupted from the Grigori’s MRM rack and the missiles pounded into her Iron Cheetah, several knocking away chunks of armorglass from the canopy. Warning lights lit up before a shot cracked the glass, heat and soot spilling into the cockpit.

“Fuck!” The Star Colonel bit out, one hand punching the SOS beacon while the other punched the ARM for the ejection seat. A heavy THUMP indicated the SOS beacon had fired and without hesitation she grabbed the activation lever, cranking it up as hard as possible.

Explosive bolts detonated above her and threw layers of armor plating away. More missiles cracked into the cockpit, slamming and rattling Katrina in her seat. Heat bloomed beneath the seat before it rocketed up and away, hurling her into the atmosphere.

Reality was bleary as Katrina struggled to stay conscious after getting rocked by missiles. The emergency drag chute on the ejection seat deployed, slowing the fall of the armored woman. She slammed into the deck, blearily blinking up at the sky through the visor of her neurohelmet.

“...-ina…!”

Her radio crackled.

“Katrina! Respond!”

That was Violet, wasn’t it? She should say something. She needed to say something.

With a loud groan, she clicked off the restraint harness and rolled out of the ejection seat. Heaving herself to her feet, she performed a quick assessment of her status. Armor good. Servos good. Neurohelmet good. Meat concussed, but good. Ready to go.

Reaching out, she grabbed an Avenger shotgun out of the ejection seat’s weapon rack. The BattleROM unit was next, the chip slotting into a dedicated storage slot on her armor. Then the SERE kit - a low-mounted hardcase that she clipped onto her armor. Turning towards where the combat was still roaring, she racked a shell into the chamber of the shotgun.

“This is Katrina. Landed safely. Moving in to engage.”

Her Nighthawk’s jumpjets screamed as they propelled her into the air, back towards the fight. At the height of her jump she saw Gregory’s Hammerhead locked in a brawl with a Preta and winning handily. Violet’s Phoenix Hawk IIC had just given the Grigori a Highlander Burial, crushing its center torso on landing.

Then the terrain obscured the fight again as the Star Colonel landed, breaking out into a sprint over the ground. Her armor beeped once as the stealth armor systems engaged, then beeped again once the jumpjets were ready. They fired and she flew once again, looking over the battlefield.

Gregory had won his brawl with a punch to the center torso, ripping out just enough of the internal components to disable the Preta. The mech slewed its torso to one side rapidly, taking weapons fire across its shoulder plating instead of its damaged torso armor. The hardened armor glowed hot as the Hammerhead swiveled to return fire.

The next landing was rough. Katrina’s armored boots slipped on gravel, nearly sending her onto her face. Recovering with a hiss, a swear, and a grumble she began to sprint once more. The jumpjets were getting hot, but nowhere near the warning levels that would begin to worry her. She fired them once more.

And the world stopped. Time slowed as Katrina watched a bolt of lightning arc out from an Archangel's Heavy PPC, the contained energized particles screaming through the air. They traced their way across the battlefield and slammed into the cockpit of the Phoenix Hawk IIC 7.

The Phoenix Hawk IIC 7 fell like a puppet with its strings cut, slag pouring down its frontal armor.

A storm brewed in Katrina’s chest. Her heart hurt. Her flight nearly destabilized, but she managed to land without hurting herself.

“Violet?! Violet respond! Say something!” She gasped and begged over the BattleComms. Silence answered her.

She needed to get to Violet. To the Phoenix Hawk. Violet had uparmored her cockpit, so surely she must still be alive. She had to be. They had made a promise.

But a Heavy PPC was more than that armor could take.

A rumble of the ground underneath her dragged her back into the moment with alarming alacrity. She had to be careful outside a mech like this. That meant taking one before anything else. Ensuring her stealth systems were engaged, she began to stalk through the undergrowth, towards the rumbling. A shadow loomed out of the trees. Initially, Katrina thought it was a Summoner. But it soon became clear it was something else - a Ragnarok. It hadn’t noticed her yet and the movements were slightly lagged, as if the pilot were used to a lighter class of mech. Their movements were fluid, true, but they still were not quite on the same page yet.

None of that skill would matter in a moment.

Firing her jumpjets, Katrina angled towards the side of the cockpit. The mech began to turn - likely noticing the heat signature on radar - and a burst of her left side thrusters changed her trajectory slightly. She crashed against the armor, her armored gauntlets scraping and piercing into the armor plating as she got hold. Looking about swiftly, she saw the primary access panel. Her shoulder mounted grenade launcher clicked into battery as she rotated towards it. A saboted penetrator round blew the armor panel right off the access controls and she immediately took advantage, rapidly routing the cockpit release options.

The Ragnarok’s pilot was panicking now. The ‘mech thrashed back and forth as it tried to shake her off, but her armored gauntlet was lodged too deeply into the ‘mechs plating for her to be dislodged. Finally she routed the release for the cockpit access and she scrabbled across the armor, readying her shotgun.

Dropping into the cramped hatch, she kicked out and smashed the pilot’s arm against the wall of the cockpit. A gun clattered to the floor. Keeping the arm between her boot and the wall she hipfired the shotgun twice point blank, blood spattering across the controls. Grabbing the body and tossing it out of the hatch unceremoniously, she dropped her shotgun into the ejection seat’s gun rack, settling into the cramped cockpit.

Wiping blood away from the readouts, she grabbed the synchronization cable and plugged it into her neurohelmet. Static whined in the back of her skull. And then it disappeared as her helmet’s synchro chip kicked in.

The Ragnarok breathed beneath her. She took a moment to simply… feel the mech. Its power, its armor, the myomer.

It was an incredible machine.

Just enough to kill that Archangel. That was all she needed to do. The emergency beacon had already been fired, meaning the Black Watch should be on their way. But she needed to kill that Archangel before it killed Gregory.

Kicking the machine into gear, its heavy lumbering steps shook the ground. Katrina felt the reactor surge under her as she commanded the machine into a sprint. It was foreign. The balance was off.

But the weight was right. It was responsive enough. She could do this.

The weapons ignited as the Archangel came into visual. The C3i system didn’t distinguish friend from foe - that was supposed to be done by the pilot, who would hopefully have more discretion than to lock a friendly.

And she was going to take advantage of that. The twin light gauss rifles shook the BattleMech. Two slugs slammed into the legs of the Archangel, heavily staggering the assault mech. Heat bloomed underneath Katrina as she let loose with the LRMs, watching as the missiles impacted and threw the balance off even more.

The distance was closed. Twisting the torso of the Ragnarok, she fired the weapon that the TRO had spoken horrors about. The lava gun erupted in hellfire, blowing away the missile-damaged right arm completely. One arm reached out and she grabbed onto the forearm of the Archangel’s left arm, then slewed the torso as hard to the right as she possibly could. A horrible screeching of metal erupted as the arm separated from the OmniMech, cabling sparking as it pulled free.

She spun the hand around and then slammed hard left, anchor turning the Ragnarok and driving the Archangel’s left arm blade deep into the Omni’s left torso. The ‘mech toppled into the dirt, pathetically wiggling around in what was quickly becoming a combat mire.

Katrina knew what she had to do. Jumping out of the pilot seat and powering down the Ragnarok, she grabbed her shotgun. She climbed out onto the top of the chassis, staring dispassionately down towards the Archangel laying in the mud.

Firing her jumpjets, she landed next to the cockpit access for the Archangel. She knew the access codes by heart. Fighting the Word of Blake had been her life. But that wouldn’t be necessary here.

The shoulder mounted grenade launcher on her Nighthawk loaded a new penetrator shell and locked into battery. Slinging the shotgun, she dug the PA(L)’s armored gauntlets into the frame around the cockpit armorglass, firing the penetrator slug directly into the sheet of semi-transparent material. Spiderweb cracks radiated out as the panel barely held, finally yielding when she drove her armored fist through.

She ripped and tore plating away until she could access the cockpit. The pilot - Manei Domini - had grabbed an infantry weapon and aimed to fire. The grenade launcher barked another shot and the kinetic penetrator blew the gun and the arm holding it across the right side of the cockpit.

Katrina reached in, grabbing the pilot and dragging him out. The cybernetically enhanced pilot struggled in her grip and tried to fight back, but an Elemental’s strength enhanced by power armor was a frightening thing. She slammed him down against the frontal armor of the Archangel, a snarl erupting on her face under her helmet.

“You-” SLAM “-fucking-” SLAM “-took-” SLAM “-her-” SLAM “-from-” WHAM! “-me!”

Blood coated her gauntlets. There were drips on her visor plate. It ran down the front armor of the Archangel’s smoking corpse.

She was hollow.

This wasn’t her body.

Where was the Cheetah?

Why was the meat not in the Cheetah?

Two gunshots rang out as she finished the cyborg with two shells from her shotgun.

There was no glory in this. As always, this field held nothing but pain and grim resolve.

Fighting the Word of Blake always did.

She would return to the Ragnarok for now. It would permit her to fight on, to potentially keep Gregory in the fight. They would take the fort. And then maybe they could rest. Maybe Brune and Duram weren’t dead.

Katrina looked up to the sky and wondered if the streaks of fire were Black Watch or shrapnel falling to earth.

[bumbburger]

Tiny Soap Part 2 that I forgot to upload here forever ago. .. SORRY

Simon yawned, closing his laptop as he felt he had gotten everything done that he needed to. Soap had not magically returned to his size during his nap, and he was certain he'd get an earful when he woke up.

Simon had spent most of his time communicating over secure lines with Price, discussing the intel they had collected to form their next mission. That wouldn't be for a couple weeks still, so he wasn't particularly worried about it. He stretched his arms over his head and cracked his neck, feeling a new soreness from keeping it craned down to stare at the screen. He sighed quietly as he reminded himself to do some stretches later, he hated feeling stiff.

Simon felt his own stomach growling under his hoodie, he hoped his tiny Soap wouldn't wake up from the noise (mostly because he didn't want to hear the whining). He looked down at his pocket, and once certain that the little man was still sleeping soundly, he swung his legs over the couch and stood up. He placed a hand over his pocket protectively, as if something would just attack at any moment. No attacks came, seeing as they were just alone in their own secluded house. It was ridiculous to fear for his safety like this, but Simon just couldn't bear to let his guard down around his even more fragile than before Soap.

Not that Johnny was fragile before his mishap, he was incredibly capable really, and downright dangerous to fight. Simon knew this, yet he couldn't help the heat that boiled in his blood when he knew Soap could be in danger, in any capacity. He'd protect him however long he needed to, and as aggressively as his brain warranted.

Simon grunted, dissipating the thought and returning to the kitchen. He was fixing to make a can of chicken noodle soup, or whatever else they had available. He figured he could at least give Soap a bit of broth, or maybe let him nibble on a noodle…

He shook his head again and carefully reached into the cupboards for the nearest can. He was incredibly aware of his movements so as not to jostle his pocket Soap. He pulled the easy tab and grabbed a reasonably sized ceramic bowl to prepare his soup.

His pocket rustled at the sound of microwave buttons being pushed.

There was a little yawn, and soon small hands stretched from the pocket and blue eyes stared up at Simon.

"Mornin'." Came Simon's gruff response.

Soap looked down at himself in dismay.

"I'm still pocket-sized?!" His voice wavered. Simon spared him a glance of pity.

"You aren't gonna start crying, are you? I'm making soup." Simon scratched at the back of his head. He watched as Soap took a deep breath, and he braced himself for the earful he was about to receive.

"How am I s'posed to do any of the stuff I love to anymore! I can't kiss ye, I can't cuddle ye, can't do shite!" Soap rubbed his eyes angrily.

Simon's lips pulled into a gentle smile. He carefully pulled Soap from his pocket and kissed his face, more so just pressing his lips onto him to be safe. Soap reached his arms over Simon's cheeks and hugged his face that way.

"That better?" Simon mumbled.

"No. But it'll have to do…" Soap gave him a dramatic sniffle. Simon huffed and pulled Soap away to set him back on the table. He shifted the subject to their lunch.

"Want some soup? I can give you a noodle, maybe…"

Soap shook his head a little.

"Still full…"

"From the berry? That was like 3 hours ago, you should just have a little. Nutrition and shit." Simon crossed his arms.

"I dinnae think that's how that works-"

The microwave sounded and Simon took out his soup, putting the bowl down on the table.

"Just have a little, then. You'd throw a fit if I only ate berries for breakfast too."

That seemed to shut him up. Soap would definitely pester Simon if he tried to skip on meals.

"Just a noodle…" He gazed up at Simon as he reached into his bowl with a separate spoon, placing it beside Soap, noodle secured.

"It's hot. Let it rest a minute before you try anything."

Soap huffed.

"As if I'm eager to burn my taste buds off-"

"Alright, calm down sassy."

"Sassy?" He scoffed. "Oh I'll show you sassy, you just wait until this plague wears off-"

Simon chuckled a bit.

"I look forward to it." He brought some soup up to his own lips and gently blew the steam away from it.

Soap waited for his meal to cool down a bit, kicking his feet idly as he waited.

He pursed his lips as he thought, mouth parting to ask Simon a question.

"What if it doesn't wear off?"

Simon drew a breath and put his spoon down in his bowl.

"Nonsense. You clearly just pissed off some celestial creature, I doubt they can just leave you inhumanely tiny, that'd interrupt the natural order… or something." Simon wasn't sure he believed the words himself, but he didn't have much of a choice aside from blind faith.

The answer made about as much sense as it could, Soap supposed. Satisfied, he turned to his cooler noodle and began to work on it. Simon returned to his meal as well, making short work of it.

Once he'd finished off his bowl, he returned to the cupboards and retrieved another can of soup. They weren't incredibly big portions to start with, so Simon didn't mind having another. He opened the new can and placed it in the microwave, leaning on the counter as he waited.

Soap was less successful with his portion. Tiny bite marks lined the noodle laying in the spoon, but it was hardly progress. Simon would be lying if he said the sight wasn't just slightly amusing.

"Too much?" He glanced down at the sad sight on the table.

Soap shook his head indignantly.

"No- I've got it just fine, thank you very much." He huffed and sat back, taking a break. Life was truly hard.

Simon kept cracking that pretty smile of his, and Soap almost considered staying tiny forever just to see it more often.

He glanced down at him curiously.

"What are you starin' at, you little bugger-" Simon prodded in a playful tone.

"Jus' yer smile. You always talk about mine but that there is real sunshine." Soap responded smoothly.

Simon quirked his lips closed, staring down at Soap with a redness over his features. Was it that easy to embarrass the big scary man?

It seemed it was.

Simon quickly turned once the microwave sounded again, and he resumed his ritual, bringing the bowl back to the table.

Soap was still watching his features with great adoration. Simon let his smile creep back up again.

He reached over the table to poke Soap's belly affectionately, similarly to how he handles their kitten they adopted.

"Alright enough staring, you little romantic. Eat your lunch." Simon brought his hand back to rest on his lap as he worked on his new bowl of soup.

Soap gave him a sarcastic salute as he straightened his back.

"Yes sir!"

(From other tiny Soap shenanigans on Twitter)

[jazlynriddle]

Welcome to your life - Pt 1:

Everybody Wants To Rule THEIR World Ch 12:

Summary:

"You need only close your eyes to it and be happy and safe with us."

The Keeper (player) has already secured the repository and Sebastian's loyalty, emboldening his descent into darkness. Now, they just need to win over Ominis, cure Anne, and create a domain to call their own.

And not necessarily in that order.

The Keeper's tale, a post-game story of a morally-grey, pragmatic, Chaotic Neutral, non-binary, muggleborn, orphan player character, so burned by 1800s orphanages, that they became a power hoarder who demands more payment for quests, burns paintings but doesn't want to rule the world, just their own territory and the two boys who'd caught their eye.

Warnings: Sebastian x MC x Ominis! Spoilers! Dark content! Slow-burn canon-compilant corruption! Fucked up 1800s orphanages! MC has no love for Anne or Solomon! Dubious happy ending (it's happy for MC, Seb and Ominis at least).

You can also read on AO3! (chapter specific warnings below)

Notes:

Warnings: Mentions of past House Elf abuse.

Anyone notice that I made Professor Flitwick’s goblin ancestor the Keeper’s bank account manager? xD

"Put these two with the three Bloodroot pots we moved to the southern grove."

Tynx nodded at the Keeper's instruction, snapping his fingers, and directing his magic into the earth. The soil cracked in a line around the plant before the entire chunk of earth, and roots, were carved out and levitated into a nearby pot.

As he worked, Tynx eyed the Keeper curiously. Their behaviour was most unusual. He knew of human masters who were relatively nice to their kind, like Tibsy's late owner, but their new master didn't strike him as a particularly gentle or kindly person.

The Keeper's eyes were often cold and hard. At times, angry, like his previous master's. Despite that, they hadn’t been violent towards him nor Tibsy.

Yet.

As Tynx potted the second plant, a loud crack came from behind him. Turning, he watched in horror as Tibsy and a potted plant fell from the second floor of the castle ruins with a high-pitched scream, the rotted wooden floorboards giving way under her feet.

Tynx quickly moved to snap his fingers and catch her, but he knew his magic wouldn't reach her in time.

To his surprise, the Keeper, who was standing only a few steps away, dived forward to catch the small elf. Turning their back towards the falling pot and shielding Tibsy’s small body from the spray of sharp ceramic shards with their larger frame.

Tynx ran over quickly, looking around at the broken pot pieces. He had to fix this quickly before their master punished her!

As his eyes took in the sight of the damaged plant, however, Tynx's heart sank in despair. He could fix the pot, but the plant was beyond saving. He turned to face the Keeper, bracing for the worst as their master straightened.

His stomach twisted in fear, Tibsy didn't have the normal and immediate self-punishing instinct because her previous owner didn't demand it. Tynx's late owner would never have tolerated that. He doubted this one would either.

"Are you alright, Tibsy?" The Keeper frowned, looking the elf over carefully as she trembled in their arms.

Tynx’s jaw went slack. Wait. What?

"What happened!?" Ominis called out as he hurried towards them, his wand outstretched and pulsing with red light.

"Tibsy fell from the second floor, do you know if wiggenweld works on elves?" The Keeper asked as Ominis came to a stop beside them.

"I believe it should." Ominis nodded.

The Keeper turned back to face Tibsy, who seemed to be recovering from her shock. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

"N- no hurts on Tibsy…" She answered shakily as the Keeper carefully set her on the ground.

Tynx could barely believe his eyes, Tibsy had broken a valuable item and the Keeper was more concerned for her health?

"Tibsy is sorry for breaking Master's flower-" The elf wrung her hands anxiously.

The Keeper shook their head. "Accidents happen, it's good that you weren't hurt, but you should be more careful in the future."

Tibsy nodded earnestly, while Tynx eyed the Keeper as they stood. A grimace passed across their face, and he scanned their body more carefully.

"Master. You're injured." Tynx spoke cautiously, frowning at the small cuts on their arm, left by the shards of ceramic.

He flinched as the Keeper immediately shot him a dirty glare.

"You're hurt!?" Ominis exclaimed in alarm, reaching a hand out towards the Keeper.

Sighing lightly, the Keeper took his hand gently, stopping it from reaching their arm and pulling Ominis close. "It's just a few small scratches, nothing a little wiggenweld won't heal."

As the humans spoke, Tynx carefully inched over to Tibsy, whispering quietly. "Might help if you fix the pot."

"Oh, right!" Tibsy squeaked, looking at the messy pile, she snapped her fingers, making the shards tremble and swirl around, before they re-joined into an unmarred ceramic pot.

Tynx and Tibsy turned back to their owner as the Keeper placed a kiss on Ominis' cheek and withdrew.

Their master's normally piercing eyes were surprisingly gentle, as they fished out a vial of wiggenweld potion from their pocket and drank a mouthful.

Ominis sighed. "Well, I checked the fog bank surrounding the castle grounds and the moisture levels should be suitable for the mandrakes."

"That's good to hear." The Keeper nodded, glancing over to the elves hovering nervously beside the repaired pot. Their master hummed approvingly.  "Good initiative, dispose of the remains and move the pot back into storage."

"Of course, Master." Tynx bowed deferentially, relieved that no punishment had been meted out, quickly snapping the plant and soil away.

"That reminds me, I wanted to discuss the placement of the Mimbulus Mimbletonia pots." Ominis spoke again, drawing the Keeper’s attention back to him.

"Sure." The Keeper nodded, giving Tibsy a once over, before waving dismissively towards the elves. "The two of you may take a break while we are occupied."

Tynx blinked in surprise but bowed again. "Thank you, Master."

No punishment and a break? He really had no idea what to expect from this human anymore.

Glancing at Tibsy, Tynx noted that her knees were still shaking slightly, he sighed. "Go sit down Tibsy, I'll put the pot back."

Perhaps he should just stop trying to put their new owner in the same box as any owner he'd heard of before.

As Tynx crushed soil clumps with a rock to harvest clay from it, he watched the Keeper carefully. While his owner collected small oval-shaped seeds from a few magically enhanced Plantains growing along the side of the castle grounds.

"Any particular reason you're staring a hole into my back?" The Keeper asked casually.

Tynx had to struggle to suppress his instinct to apologise emphatically and punish himself. It was terrifying to try and test their boundaries, but he needed to understand what kind of person their owner was, for Tibsy and for his own sake.

"You are not like any master I've known or had." Tynx took a stiff breath, no going back.

He could feel his heart pounding in his ears, waiting anxiously to finally lose the last of his fingers and be dumped on the side of the road without magic, like his previous master had promised.

The Keeper snorted and Tynx jumped half a mile. "Oh, you don't say."

Tynx stood there, frozen in confusion as the Keeper shot him a small, amused smirk before returning to their task.

As his heart rate returned to something more reasonable, Tynx felt something new. Curiosity. What was up with this strange human that he was bound to serve till his or their death?

Tynx had never really had the luxury of caring what type of person he was owned by, but if this owner wasn't bothered by his interest…

"You don't hurt us, but you're not trying to free us either." Tynx prodded cautiously.

He knew of the occasional human who tried to 'free' house elves. They rarely succeeded and even more rarely did anything better than give hope to elves doomed to die in agony when they outlived their use.

Even if they did succeed, freed elves were outcasts amongst their kind, wandering without purpose and shunned by their own society. One that has formed a culture of pride around their slavery.

Sure, no one got to choose their owners, but that didn't stop them from comparing or deluding themselves into feeling like they had better owners because they deserved better owners.

"I require aid for my plans to come to fruition, in exchange, I spare two elves a life of suffering under a needlessly cruel master." The Keeper answered after a moment, tucking the seeds into a pouch. "Simple as that."

Tynx blinked, well, that certainly did sound simple.

Maybe it really was. A cautious hope bloomed in his chest. Had he actually struck gold? Had he and Tibsy found themselves the property of the mythical good owner?

The Keeper paused as they walked past him, tossing a small pouch at him. "Also, here. Take these coins and buy some cloth to make into clothing that the two of you can wear. I'm not giving them to you, I'm lending them. I won't have my elves walking around in rags, I think that's ridiculous."

Catching the pouch, Tynx nodded and tied it to the rope around his waist, clearly from their wording, their master was no fool.

He regarded the Keeper with newfound respect. "How would Master like the clothes to look?"

The Keeper hummed thoughtfully, giving him an appraising look. "I think I'll let the two of you decide, just don't get overly glaring colours. I'd like to keep my eyesight when the two of you are apparating around."

Tynx's eyes widened, feeling his stomach clench nervously, he'd never thought about what he'd want to wear if he could. The very idea of choosing his own clothing would have been ludicrous a month ago.

"Y- yes, Master…" Tynx nodded, his mind drawing a blank as he tried to think of something he'd like to wear. What colour did he even like!?

"Oh, hey Sebastian." The Keeper greeted as the boy approached. "So, what do you think?"

Sebastian sighed, draping himself over the Keeper's back tiredly, his arms hanging from their shoulders. "It looks like the measurements check out. We should be able to create a gate in the design I came up with."

The corner of the Keeper’s lip curled upwards. "Excellent, then we can begin drawing up blueprints."

"Ugh, can't we wait till we get our magic back? It's a pain to draw everything by hand." Sebastian complained, dropping his head on the Keeper’s shoulder with a thump.

The Keeper rolled their eyes. "The sooner the plans are ready, the less problems we'll have to fix later, and this is the best time to do so, while the materials are being prepared."

Sebastian released a muffled groan. "Yeah, you're right, bloody Ministry and their ridiculous Underage nonsense."

With a fond smile, the Keeper stoked their hand over Sebastian’s wavy hair, the boy leaning into the caress contentedly.

Tynx observed the interaction, intrigued by how patiently and tenderly the Keeper behaved towards their partners.

Admittedly he hadn't had the opportunity to see their master with other humans, but from the way the Keeper held themselves when their partners weren't around, he doubted they were normally quite so soft.

"Come on then." The Keeper patted Sebastian's arm and he straightened, stretching a bit as they turned their head towards Tynx. "Finish up here, then you and Tibsy may take a break to go acquire proper clothing."

"Yes, Master." Tynx nodded, returning his attention to the soil clumps as the two humans left on Sepulchria.

"So, I was thinking that we could use Machicolation floor openings between the supporting corbels of the battlements, that'll enable us to fire spells directly downwards towards anyone trying to scale the walls." The Keeper explained, making several quick sketches on the papers spread across the table, describing it verbally as well for Ominis' benefit.

Sebastian nodded. "Which would make getting to the bridge over the walkway impossible without a broom, but even with a broom it'd be difficult because of how narrow it is."

"It would also prevent rainwater or snow from gathering on the battlements, they would just pour down the Machicolations." The Keeper added.

Ominis hummed from his spot sitting cross legged on the bed. "I don't suppose there's a way to prevent the second front gate from being breached with the same method as the first?"

Sebastian grinned. "I did in fact have a brilliant idea, if I do say so myself. We build a wall directly behind the first gate. To reach the second gate, you must first walk through a right-angled corridor that leads away from the first gate. This corridor opens up to another right-angled turn that leads to the second gate. In other words, you have to make two right angle turns to get from the first gate to the second gate."

Ominis blinked for a moment before smiling fondly. "That does sound rather brilliant, well done."

"I do try." Sebastian smirked cockily, as he returned to sketching out the blueprints for the gate.

The Keeper chuckled as they compared their notes carefully, checking Sebastian's calculations on the distances and widths their bricks would need to be placed to implement his idea.

It was fortunate that Sebastian was both good at reading and mathematics. His ability to understand the equations in their books was honestly quite incredible, if he'd been a muggle orphan, he'd have been adopted in no time.

"The walkway will be positioned off to the south, within the fog bank, so that visibility is limited on the approach." The Keeper decided as they worked on the overall layout.

"It's rather nice that the waterfall causes an airflow pocket that keeps the fog in." Ominis mused.

The Keeper smiled wryly. "The perpetual fog around the castle ruins probably contributed to the low amount of human activity in the area."

Sebastian snorted. "Imagine being scared of a little fog."

"Most people are scared of not being able to see." Ominis gave an ironic chuckle.

"Well, it certainly works in our favour." The Keeper flashed a sharp grin. "I think we should probably put the Keep at the north, being backed up against mountains will make it hard to attack."

"We need a wash closet in it." Ominis cut in immediately.

The Keeper chuckled, amused by Ominis' love for cleanliness and dignity. He would probably pass out, if he ever visited the orphanage they'd been raised in. "The plumbing will be a weak point in the building."

"And I don't care. I refuse to hole up in a building for ages with a stock of rations without a proper loo." Ominis reinforced firmly, drawing a burst of laughter from the Keeper.

Sebastian shrugged. "Well, we can conjure water, so I guess all we'll need is an outlet. If we run it into the underground and out into the moat, it wouldn't be very feasible to use it as an entry point."

The Keeper coughed, wheezing slightly as they suppressed their mirth. "D-depends on what we put in the moat, but very well, Ominis, I'll do what I can to put a wash closet in the Keep."

Ominis gave a satisfied nod, and the Keeper smiled fondly at him, he was so adorable sometimes. The Keeper turned back to the plans they were drawing up, studying the systems they'd begun to draft.

"Hm, we probably don't want to make the castle too tall, we can have more underground space instead." The Keeper mused.

"We can have spires on the roofs to make it difficult to land on too." Ominis suggested.

The Keeper nodded. "Good thought, I was thinking that we can put the vivarium entrances to the east of the castle, the greenhouses to the south and the castle to the northwest."

"That reminds me, have either of you been to Bingle and Blatch’s in Hogsmeade?" Ominis asked.

Sebastian tipped his head to the side in confusion, but the Keeper nodded. "The shop that has three doors at the entrance that leads to different versions of the same room, right?"

Ominis nodded. "We could probably use a similar design for the vivariums, I know you're concerned about safety, but I don't think we have space to house more than a few beasts normally."

The Keeper shook their head. "No, you're right, it wouldn't be healthy for their space to be too small. To be fair, I have more concern for the stability of our home than the beasts’."

Sebastian nodded. "Sounds good to me, how many vivariums were you thinking of building then?"

The Keeper shrugged. "Four would likely be a good number, I will discuss it further with Tynx since he and Tibsy would be in charge of managing the vivariums."

Ominis chuckled. "I imagine Tibsy will be happy to play with the beasts during her down time. Speaking of which, she asked if we could have a wood stove in our kitchen."

"Oh, the kind that has a hearth and bricks over flaming logs?" Sebastian's eyes lit up. "That's a great idea, we can use it for heating during the winter too, it'll keep the castle warm through the ventilation system instead of having to keep casting heating charms."

"Sure, I can rework the vent system a little, with our kitchens on the ground floor and the hall on the first floor…" The Keeper murmured as they started scribbling on a second parchment. "...and with the bedrooms on the second floor and an attic space on the third, heating would travel well through the upper three floors…"

A dreamy smile spread across Ominis's face as he listened to the Keeper's mutterings, envisioning what their home might be like. Crossing his legs, he propped his chin up on his palm and rested his elbow on his knee, enjoying the accompanying sound of quills scratching across parchment that drifted through the room for several minutes.

The Keeper sighed and stretched, feeling the effects of bending over a table for a little too long.

Glancing over to the bed, they hummed curiously at Ominis' soft smile. "Something on your mind, Ominis?"

He shook his head, his cheeks colouring slightly. "It's nothing, I suppose I'm just… happy. I've simply realised, this is the home I've been dreaming of since I was little. Having somewhere I could live with my loved ones."

Sebastian grinned and the Keeper's eyes softened.

"Aw, I love you too Omi." Sebastian cooed in an overly sweet voice, dropping his quill on the table, and practically diving onto the bed to snuggle Ominis.

Ominis yelped as he was bowled over enthusiastically, groaning and protesting. "Hey, I was being serious!"

"Well, so was I." Sebastian beamed, nuzzling his face against Ominis' pink cheeks.

The Keeper laughed at the ridiculous sight of an unamused Ominis trying to wiggle free from Sebastian's gleeful embrace, setting aside their quill as well.

Clearly they were taking a break.

"Do you need rescuing, Ominis?" The Keeper asked jokingly as they stood beside the bed.

"Ha! Gotcha!"

"Wah!" The Keeper exclaimed as Sebastian grabbed them by the wrist and dragged them down onto the bed as well, tumbling over the two boys in a tangle of limbs and blankets.

Ominis sighed, resigning himself to his fate, pinned by the Keeper lying across his torso and wrapped in Sebastian's clingy octopus grip.

"Why am I here, again?" Ominis groaned as the Keeper propped themselves up on their elbows.

"Because we need someone sane in this relationship." The Keeper replied with an exasperated laugh, pressing a light kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Right. An acceptable reason, I suppose." Ominis huffed lightly, tugging them back down for a proper kiss.

Tynx hummed thoughtfully as he and Tibsy browsed the textile shop in Diagon Alley, there were a wide array of colours from pastels to neon, patterns from checkers to polka-dots.

Honestly there was just too many options to pick from, it would probably help to eliminate the ones that would be a bad idea.

'I'd like to keep my eyesight when the two of you are apparating around.'

Pondering their master's words, Tynx immediately ruled out the neon colours and polka-dots. Checkers and plaids would be less unpleasant, but he decided to play it safe and rule those out as well.

Which left solid and pastel colours, paired with non-patterned cloth.

Next, he needed to consider design. The Keeper seemed to be quite a formal, or at least serious, person, from what he could tell. While it wasn’t uncommon for purebloods to have grandiose living spaces, building an entire castle from scratch rather than inheriting it, was less so.

Tynx paused, realising that he didn't even know what his master's blood status was. After a moment however, he shrugged it off. It didn't really make any difference to him.

It did, however, make him uncertain as to how much of the Keeper’s behaviour was their own personality versus how they wished to be seen or perhaps how they were raised to behave…

After several moments of tossing the thought back and forth, Tynx decided that it didn't matter which of the above it was. The Keeper was building a classy castle so he should dress accordingly.

Looking over the materials, he picked out a bolt of dark Oxford Blue coloured Wool Twill which he decided he would use to create a simple coat and pants. Along with a bolt of white cotton for the dress shirt.

Tucking the materials under his arm, Tynx cast his eyes around the shop, searching for Tibsy.

Spotting the blond elf, Tynx shuffled over to her as Tibsy pulled a soft light blue bolt of linen from a shelf.

Coming to a stop behind her, Tynx examined the unpatterned fabric and asked. "What will you be making with that?"

Tibsy squeaked in surprise, spinning around, and clutching the cloth to her chest. "A-a dress!"

Tynx hummed curiously. "What kind of design?"

Tibsy beamed, happily declaring. "Tibsy doesn't know!"

Tynx blinked silently.

"Tibsy will think while making!" She tipped her head to the side thoughtfully for all of two seconds, before hugging the armful of cloth and bouncing off in the direction of the cashier.

Tynx sighed. He would need to keep an eye on this one.

Notes:

You can also view the artwork in HD for free on my Patreon page!

I had to do a ton of castle design research for this fic and the illustrations were so tedious to draw lol, hopefully they look nice and easy to understand, I think I drew far too many details on the castle- QwQ

And if you're interested, look up some of the constructs I mentioned as well, they're actually really cool!

I've always had issues with the way JK wrote House Elves, like, how does a race that seems so powerful become subservient to wizards? Rather than wizarding history, I want to know House Elf history. What binds them to wizardkind? Like The Tenth Doctor says, a race cannot simply be born to serve, it doesn't make evolutionary sense.

I suppose it's understandable since JK really isn't a world builder, she's a good storyteller but it kinda ends there. Her greatest achievement is crafting a stirring, dramatic and well told story in a world with so many holes that it encourages the readers to fill in the gaps for her.

So anyway, these make it really hard to write from an elf's perspective, which of course, means I had to try xD Since Dumbledore seems to be the most historically successful at creating a place for free elves in Hogwarts’ kitchens, I went with the assumption that freed elves didn't have anywhere to go before then.

Hopefully, the sociology I came up with made sense. More sense than the ministry giving children time turners without a magically binding contract that prevents them from breaking the rules of its usage.

Time travel devices.

For goddamn school.

[sabraeal]

Rarely Pure & Never Simple, Chapter 9

[Read on AO3]

Obiyukiweek 2023, Day 6: Free Day

Bright and early comes and goes with no sign of Obi.

Shirayuki nurses her morning tea at her usual place, hips braced against the sink and eyes fixed somewhere out past Nanna’s curtains. Or they would be, had any of her concentrated efforts to grow extrasensory powers in elementary school panned out the way she’d hoped; instead she’s stuck staring at ninety-percent frill, all that crocheted lace and starched lawn an impenetrable barrier to the outside, even if it only covers three-fourths of the glass. Nothing a quick bounce on her toes wouldn’t solve, but there’s no casual way to pop on tip-toe, no elegant way to stretch up over that homemade horizon that Nanna won’t immediately read as nerves.

And so she stands there with both hands wrapped around the mug, Felix the Cat tick-tick-ticking behind her. The reflection of his tail shimmers across the glass, a ghost of itself where the sun shines through. As long as she keeps her palms pressed against ceramic, it’s impossible to tell if they tremble.

But when the long hand gives one, tenuous tremble past nine o’clock, Shirayuki finally has to admit: he’s late.

“Oh, don’t wear that face,” Nanna chuckles, shuffling up to jog her elbow. And steep her own cup of tea, but that seems a secondary errand next to giving Shirayuki a hard time. “There’s no world under this sun where that boy stands you up. He’s just running a little behind, that’s all. Your father couldn’t read a clock to save his life either.”

Ah, she’d been hoping the furrow between her brow made her look serious and concerned, not…pouty. “I’m not worried about that.”

She might have been a few months ago, back when all this was new, and Obi’s interest seemed at best mystifying and at worst circumstantial. But with almost half a year under her belt, Shirayuki’s firmly aware of where she sits in the hierarchy of Obi’s personal cosmology: disturbingly close to the top, well above his own personal well-being, but somewhere just below food. Or, well, at least below Funyons.

“It’s just…what if something happened to him?” Her stomach clenches considering what sort of grim misfortune could befall him in the three miles between their houses. “You know, they say that the worst accidents happen just outside your own home. What if he—?”

Nanna clucks fondly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “He’s a growing boy, honey. The only thing that’s gone and happened to him is hitting the snooze button too many times.”

“No one presses buttons anymore, Nanny,” Shirayuki sniffs, taking a long sip from her mug. “Everyone’s got phones now, and there’s apps where you can even—”

There’s no time to inform Nanna of sleep rhythm tracking or blue light-induced wakefulness; no, she can’t even express that there’s different alarm sounds before reality frustratingly, inevitably resolves to favor her grandmother.

An ill-tempered groan is all the warning Shirayuki has before Obi’s jeep heaves to a stop at the curb. With a few more metallic grunts, it spits him out on the front walk, whole and intact, at least from where she stands. There’s a chance he might have a scratch or two beneath the thin fabric of his vintage tee, or maybe a skinned knee where the flames at the bottom of his trunks cast a shadow, but well— she probably shouldn’t hope that her boyfriend’s hurt himself, even if Nanny’s going to be unlivable over it.

“Well, would you look at that.” Grandad rests his arm right across the top of her head, squinting right over the curtain. “Positively occult, that’s what I say.”

“Oh, come on,” Nanna huffs, giving her tea a showy little stir. “That’s hardly anything at all. You should see what I can get up to when there’s a baby involved.”

“Not any time soon, I hope,” Grandad snorts, using his arm to tip her head back and remind her, “Don’t get any ideas there, pumpkin.”

Her tea hasn’t cooled a jot, but with one hand clapped to both, her cheeks are still the hottest thing in this kitchen. “Pa!”

It’s no use, Grandad’s already strutted right across to the front door, look all satisfied with himself for a joke well-executed. His hand settles on the knob for a long moment, tentative, like he’s waiting, and then with one swift turn, opens it with a flourish.

“Ah.” Obi’s hand drops from where he’s raised it, hooking it right around to scrub at the back of his head. “Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning, young man.” Shirayuki rarely pities her father, but seeing Grandad turn that grin on Obi, she understand why he might have elected for windows as the main source of entry to this house. “Are you here to pick up some precious cargo?”

“I think cargo would be better behaved.” Obi’s head cranes around the corner, gaze sweeping the kitchen it can reach. “Is Shirayuki here?”

“And waiting!” Nanna’s wrinkled hand presses against her back, guiding her right to the door, tea mug and all. “You two have a good time now. Do you need me to put that in a cup for you, honey, or—?”

“I-I can leave it.” It squeaks out of her, nervous, and ah, last night had seemed like such a good idea at the time, but now when she looks at him—

God. Even now the scrape of his voice leaves tingles racing beneath the frail barrier of her skin, like static electricity waiting to be unleashed on the nearest metallic surface. I would have come for you anytime.

Shirayuki’s cheeks are already flushed, but she could swear the next flood of heat could sear them from the inside out, like a sunburn in reverse.

“Not too good a time,” Grandad tells them, a little arch, but she can see how a smile clings to the corner of his mouth, more teasing than warning. “Don’t need to hear about any trouble after the fact.”

Nanna swats his shoulder. “Oh, really! There’s going to be a hundred kids at this thing at least. How would they even manage to get up to anything in a crowd like that?”

“You must be getting old, Nan.” Grandad hangs from the door just like Shirayuki’s seen boys lean against lockers, giving her a cheeky grin and a wink. “Can’t remember the sort of things we used to get up to when we were eighteen.”

“Oh, hush!” Pink dapples her wrinkled cheeks, and she shakes her head. “All right, off with you two. I don’t need you getting any ideas from this old lecher.”

Grandad only smiles wider as they shuffle past him to the stoop. “I don’t think they’ll need any of my help with that, dear.”

The last thing she heard before the door shuts is Nanna’s huff, that sharp cluck of her tongue before she issues a warning, “Now, Dad…”

And just like that, the sound muffles, leaving only murmurs of her grandmother’s discontent— and the high points of Grandad’s laughter. It’s not long until she hears Nanna’s too, breathless and consternated, the last bastion against his charm. Shirayuki ducks her chin down, burying her smile in her shoulder. Nanna won’t hold out long.

“Man,” Obi sighs, a laugh bubbling under his words. “They’re exhausting.”

“Tell me about it,” she agrees, tucking a chunk of hair behind her ear. It’s only just long enough for a ponytail, and the front pieces keep trying to make a bid for freedom. “I think my heart stops every time they say we might be…”

Having sex. She can’t make herself say it. Can’t even make herself look at him, not when just last night she’d taken that picture he’s sent her and— and—

Please. It’s strange how vividly she remembers the words when she hadn’t ever spoken them out loud. All of it happened strictly in the confines of her own head. I want you. I want you inside—

Fingers slide between hers, gently squeezing as their palms come to kiss. “Hey,” he murmurs, his other hand reaching up to rub at his shoulder. “We’ll do whatever you want when you’re ready for it. I don’t care about what anybody thinks but you.”

It should be easy to tell him that it’s not about other people, and it’s certainly not about what popular opinion has them do behind closed doors, but— but about her. About what she had managed to imagine last night, all on her own, with only his chest and the hint of his erection to spur her on. About what she might be ready for if there was some way to— if only she could—

But she can’t. Not when she can’t even decide what it all means in terms of, er, readiness. So instead she just squeezes back. “I know.”

She dares a glance up at him then, taking in the faint circles around his eyes, the way his hair sticks up wildly from every direction. He must have just rolled out of bed and straight into his car.

“Sorry.” He scuffs his boot shyly on the stoop before hopping down, using their tangled hands to guide her after him. “I, uh…overslept.”

Shirayuki blinks at him, concerned. “Did you forget to set an alarm? I thought that you usually—?”

“Yeah, well, kinda slipped my mind,” Obi mutters wryly, stare pointed even from just the corners of his eyes. “I kinda had a big mess to clean up right before I hit the hay.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks prickle with heat, matching the tingle up her neck, and it’s a good thing he has his back to her to open her door. She doesn’t think she would survive if he could see her too. “That, um…makes sense.”

“And let me tell you, it was an even bigger one this morning,” he continues, so casual as she slips into the seat. “After I woke up to this.”

She glances up right into his phone’s screen, open to their messages. And there it is, in gray and white, I’m stuck

“O-oh,” she breathes, whole face so hot she’s sure it’ll crack to show magma beneath. “I, ah, forgot I sent that. I didn’t think you’d…”

See it, she doesn’t say. Because of course he would; even if he wasn’t awake to get it hot off the presses, Obi would never ignore her texts. And from the way he bends down, one hand braced on the back of her seat and the other on the dash, he’s not in any mood to forget it either.

“Too bad I missed it. I would have loved to help you.” He leans close enough her eyes cross to keep him in focus. “Only would’ve been fair after you gave it to me to so good last night.”

Ah, if he keeps that up, she might just erupt, the way kids in elementary school used to tease her. You got lava for hair, they’d always say, which suited her just fine. That’s how they drew Madame Pele in the books after all, and if it was good enough for her, then—

Obi’s gaze drops down to her lips, and, oh, well, that’s enough for her higher cognitive thoughts. “Did you…?” She licks her lips, nervous. “…Um, like that?”

“Kid,” he breathes, and that’s as much warning as she had before his mouth presses against hers, capturing her bottom lip between both of his. His tongue traces the shape of it, a gentle tease, a promise. Her fingers scrabble against the center console, trying to gain some purchase before she leans in, scraping them over his scalp.

“Jesus.” He pulls back, flushed. “Just…one second. Okay?”

She has enough presence of mind to whimper out, “Uh-huh.”

Obi jerks upright then, spine stiff and limbs loose like a marionette with a poor puppeteer, the tension of his strings all tangled. He shuts her door— gallant, like always; a gentleman, Nanna would hum, too pleased— but when he crosses in front of the grille to make for his, there’s none of his usual swagger. No flirtatious winks, no cat-like prowl that makes her flush, remembering the way those muscles feel like between her thighs. No, now there’s only a sense of urgency, a scramble to throw himself gracelessly into the driver’s seat.

He coaxes the car to a cough, its frame shuddering beneath her feet, still so stiff, not even daring to look at her.

“If you were a cat I’d take you to the vet,” she says, mild. “But I think they’d just tell me you had gas.”

That gets him to blink, to swing his head toward her. “What did you just say?”

“I was just wondering if something was wrong. I mean, if you were…” She hesitates, scrolling through her mental thesaurus until she settles on, “Upset? About something?”

“Upset?” It’s not a question, but a giggle, one that doesn’t so much bubble up as purr out of his throat, and ah, that probably shouldn’t make her toes curl or stomach drop, but here she is. “Kid, I…”

It’s with a sinuous shift that he leans over the gap between them, one hand cupping her jaw and coaxing her up to him. She doesn’t need much convincing; the second his fingers brush over the soft skin behind her ear she’s already reaching up, tongue darting across the space between them. He gasps against her; she drinks it down greedily, and the groan that follows, until he—

He pulls away. Again.

This time it’s not far, just enough to rest his forehead against hers, breath scattering enticingly over her lips.

“Last night,” he hums, breathless. “That was really good for me. So good. Distractingly good. All I’ve been thinking about this morning is how I wouldn’t mind if we” —he hisses, pained, and squirms back, hands gripping ten and two— “Ah, nope, never mind. That’s…we’ll talk about this later.”

Shirayuki blinks, head too clouded to keep herself from blurting out, “Am I in trouble?”

It’s no giggle when he laughs this time, throwing the car into drive. No, that one comes from a deeper place, one that thrums at the same pitch as something just beneath her skin, turning the space beneath her belly molten.

“Yes.” The gaze he turns on her is scorching, enough that every inch of her feels burned. “A lot of trouble. But…” He clears his throat, dragging his attention back out the windshield. “That conversation is going to have to wait.”

Her mouth is so incredibly dry. “Why?”

He snorts, like it’s funny, but she sees his grip shift on the wheel. “Because I can’t drive this car and make you come at the same time.”

“O-oh.” Her thighs clench tight, but that’s not help at all, not when he’s right here. “We could pull over…?”

“Kid. As tempting as that sounds…” The look he slides her makes her skin feel two sizes too tight. “We’re already gonna be late as it is. And the last thing we need is someone speculating what we needed the extra half hour for.”

It’s a reasonable reservation; the kind she should be concerning her with. The kind she would have been, if her body hasn’t suddenly informed her it’s been over two weeks since he’s touched her, a whole sixteen days since he last put his fingers insider her, and— “I don’t think anyone would notice if we’re only a little late.”

His narrow brows pitch toward his hairline. “That so?”

“I mean, we’ve been together for a while now,” she reminds him, voice only quivering with the barest tremble. “We’re old news. I’m sure that, er…”

“A certain friend of your will have an extremely detailed estimate of just what we could have accomplished left to our own devices?” he offers, a grin tugging at his lips. “One that, might I add, assumes quite a a few very complimentary things about my stamina.”

Shirayuki deflates, defeated. “Does that…bother you?”

“That Kihal thinks I could make you taste colors? Are you kidding me? I knew I always liked her for a reason. It’s just…” His grin doesn’t exactly fade, but the mischief leeches from it, leaving it a pale shadow of what it once was. “As happy as everyone is for us, I know some people…maybe didn’t think it would fall out this way. And I don’t want to…to feel like I’m rubbing it in.”

Zen, he means. Who had thought— who everyone had thought would, ah…

“All right.” She reaches over, squeezing his knee. He jumps, ticklish where she presses in. “Let’s behave, then.”

“Fine,” he sighs. “Can’t believe I argued for this.”

“It’s because you’re a good person,” she tells him. “A good friend.”

“No, he’s the good friend,” he mutters, pulling off onto the main road. “I’m just trying to deserve it.”

*

“Well, well, well.” Kihal slinks up jeep-side, taking the cooler Obi hands her from the back. “What’s this? Twenty minutes late and looking refreshed? Wonder what you two were up to.”

“Refreshed?” Shirayuki pants as she swings her beach bag over her shoulder, sweat dripping down her back like a popsicle left in the sun. Obi may not be old enough to drink, but by the title in the glove box, the jeep was. A pity that cars tended to age in dog years. It would have been nice to have the AC on a day so muggy not even the windows couldn’t cut the heat. “That’s a…bit of a generous read.”

“What did I tell you? Complimentary.” Obi snorts softly, shutting the hatchback. “Nice to know the girl thinks I could fuck comfortably on a Slip N Slide.”

Ah, now there’s a picture. “Could you? I mean, in theory.”

His eyebrows waggle in a more certain ‘no’ than any he could put into words. “Wanna find out?”

It’s the sort of tease that should have made her stammer and flush, pressure like a hand on her neck no matter how obvious he made the joke— or it would have, only a month or so back. But now she meets his mirrored lenses and just shakes her head, stifling a giggle. Her hair doesn’t budge from where it’s plastered to her neck and shoulders. “Nope.”

“Aw, kid,” he sighs, slinging an arm around her shoulder as they step under the trees. “Where’s the sense of adventure?”

It’s a short walk to where the seniors— former seniors; or if she really thinks about it, upcoming college freshman— have made camp on the shore, coolers and camp chairs taking up the small stretch of sand where the pine cover relents. It’s packed; if there’s not all two hundred plus of their graduating class here, then it’s close, most of them spread out on towels or splashing in the shallows

“Fyi, stay away from those coolers.” Kihal points toward four hard plastic coolers the size of a car trunk, cozened up under two extra-wide beach umbrellas. “Student Council’s covering drinks— at least as long as they last in this heat— but those aren’t ours.”

“Oh yeah?” Obi’s narrow eyebrows hike over his frames. “Who’s catering?”

Her mouth curls into a sneer. “Beer Barons.”

“Beer Barons?” There’s only a few restaurants in town, but Shirayuki’s pretty sure she’s never heard of that one. “Who’s that?”

Kihal huffs, arms crossing right over the band of her bikini top. “Oh, you know, the idiots who have been stealing from their parents’ mini bars and think that makes them master thieves?”

“What?” She stares at the coolers, nearly as large as the one in the pub’s basement. “That’s all alcohol?”

“Kid.” Obi’s mouth twitches. “Did you not know about this shit? It’s all anyone could talk about for months. This must be their big finale.”

“Their parents have got to know, right?” Kihal cocks a hip, skeptical. “I mean this is too much booze to be a coincidence.”

He snorts. “Oh, they’ve known the whole time. You think all those surgeons and stock brokers couldn’t put together why their mini fridges haven’t been stocked since October?”

“Mm. Good point.” She shakes her head. “Rich kids.”

“Pot,” Obi hums, mouth curling into a smile. “Kettle. Black.”

“Hey.” Kihal whips out a finger, prodding it into his chest. “I’m comfortably upper middle class.”

“I…” Shirayuki’s mouth works, but there’s nothing to say, not when she can’t recall a single thing about it. She’d been more concerned with passing in projects and sitting in on rehearsals and the brief moments Zen would scrounge up to talk to her; it’d been easy for everything else to just blur away like some aesthetic backdrop on a Christmas card. And then she’d slipped into Obi’s car and asked for kissing lessons, and well—

Well, sometimes it felt like her whole world could be just the two of them, if she let it. Less so now that he’s going to Lyrias— no need to try to fit a whole relationship into six months when they have another four years to fly or flounder— but it’s hard not just reduce her attention down to just those moments that are him and her and the way he can make her feel.

“People have been stealing alcohol?” she squeaks out, finally, weathering the wide-eyed stares Obi and Kihal turn on her. “From their own parents?”

Kihal’s quiet for a moment before she snorts, shaking her head. “You really do live in your own world sometimes.”

*

“So…” Shirayuki sits back on her heels, surveying the rumpled edge of her beach blanket. A few more tugs and it might lay flat, but she can’t muster up the gumption when getting it this far has sweat pouring down her spine, drenching the back of her cover up. “Is there anything besides alcohol to drink?”

“Uh, yeah, duh,” Kihal chuckles, spreading her legs out in front of her. “Student Council brought a bunch of soda and some Capri Suns. Should be right over there.” Her chin swings over to where there’s a couple of chest coolers— larger than what the Beer Barons have dragged out, but not nearly as nice— sweating in the sand. “But if that doesn’t move you, your jolly giant friend brought water or whatever. That’s in the bag over there, the soft one— yeah.”

Shirayuki flips open the lid, and there it is— probably twenty or so bottles fit so snugly together the ice has no place to go but on top, scattered in the small crevices between them. Heavenly, in this heat.

“Speaking of tall drinks of water,” Kihal hums from behind her, head propped up on her towel. “How’s yours?”

She blinks down at the Aquafina in her hand. “I…haven’t opened it?”

“Shirayuki, I don’t mean” —a hand flies up to Kihal’s forehead, accompanied by a groan— “I mean Obi. Your boyfriend! The guy with the great ass!”

That gets her to jerk up, scanning the crowd until she finds him crouched over a cooler. One of the alcoholic ones, she realizes, his grin wide as Mitsuhide warms up to the lecture he’s launched into, and well— she hadn’t noticed before, but now that he’s bent down, shirt shucked and swim trunks draw tight over his, ah, backside, it’s clear that they don’t leave much to the imagination. It doesn’t help that for all the stylized flames licking up from the bottom, the top is just a grayer shade of tan, and with it pulled so taut against him…

Well, even though she hasn’t seen him without his pants, she can take a pretty good guess at what he might look like under them now. Skin tone and all.

“So tell me.” Kihal rolls to her side with a smirk. “Is he proportional, or…?”

“Proportional?” She stares down at her, confused. “I haven’t measured, but it looks like his legs might be longer than his wing—?”

“Shirayuki,” she groans. “I mean, his dick.”

Her jaw drops, so dry not even a sip of water soothes it. “I don’t— I wouldn’t know! It’s only been a few months, we haven’t even…”

Seen each other naked. That’s what she means to say, except it gets stuck in her teeth, refusing to budge. Because Obi has, hasn’t he? Between taking off her shirt and getting her off with his mouth, her nakedness is a technicality. But she—

“Really?” Kihal stares at her over the rim of her sunglasses. “I know you said at graduation that you hadn’t done anything but…seriously? He walks around looking like god’s gift to women and you still haven’t torn off the paper?”

—She hasn’t returned the favor. Every glimpse of new skin from him makes her temperature rise ten degrees, and yet here she is, with some…dickphobia convincing her she won’t like the rest. It’s silly, she knows it is, but…

But it’s impossible to explain to someone like Kihal. To someone who knows how to want things.

“I’ve wrinkled the edges a little bit,” she admits slowly, twisting the bottle in her hands. “But I’m, um…savoring it, I guess.”

Kihal huffs, but it’s not judgmental, like she expects. Instead it’s playful, accompanied by a roll of her eyes and a grin. “I should have known. You let your ice cream melt before you eat all of it too.”

“Well, but that’s better warmer!” she protests, crawling back onto the blanket. “Isn’t it?”

“It really isn’t.” Kihal gives her a fond smile before she sighs, “Fine, take your time with him. But you better report back when you have answers. We’re best friends, you can’t hold out on me.”

“I will.” Even if they might be thirty when she does. “I mean, within reason.”

“No, no reason! I want to know every freckle or whatever. I should be able to picture his dick fully formed in my mind, no—”

“If you’re so desperate to know about proportions,” Kiki drawls, dropping down beside them. “Then you should know, Mitsuhide is.”

“God,” Kihal sighs. “I knew it.”

*

There’s a point— later in the day, of course, when some of her fellow former seniors have finally stated to filter out and the crowd thins— where it all becomes a little much. Where the sun and the heat and the nostalgia starts to tire her out, making her feel faded, like she’s bleached at the edges, frayed. This may have been her first year at Wisteria High, but she’s lived in this town her whole life, walked these woods more times than she can count. She even has pictures of herself standing in front of this very lake, baby fat still clinging hard to her cheeks.

The water laps around her legs, sun sinking from afternoon to evening, and all at once, she knows: it will never be like this again. That some of these people will say their goodbyes, and they’ll be gone from her life, forever. There will be high school reunions and chance meetings at the grocery store and social media posts, but—

But this is it. The end of an era. And here’s her, sitting at the end of the dock, tenaciously trying to cling to the last of it. Lingering like if she saves a few sips at the bottle of the bottom, her childhood will never truly be over.

At least, that’s what it feels like before something tan and lean surges up out of the pond, cold water splashing all over the tender skin of her thighs.

“Hey, Kid,” it says, tossing back wet hair with a predator’s smile. “Carrying something heavy there?”

She’d love to wrinkle up her nose at him, to give him a good, honest frown the way she used to when her wayward ASM would get up to no good, but for as much as there’s chaos in that grin, there’s concern too.

“Do you remember when we last came out here?” she murmurs, looking out across the water. “You dared me to skinny dip.”

Most of Obi’s submerged, his arms folded across the dock like a bowline around a cleat, but what she can see— every bit of it goes tense. “Yeah,” he rasps out, turning his head out toward the water. “Kinda…hard to forget.”

She blinks down, practically boring a hole through the whirl of his cowlick. “Really? You were…? Even then?”

“Why d’you think I was so eager to go in after you?” he grumbles, shoulders oddly flushed. “I kinda…listen, I didn’t really get what was going on with me when it came to you, but when you shimmied out of that skirt of yours—”

“You said you weren’t going to look!”

“I wasn’t looking! I was peeking.” Obi does a little bit of that now too, though his eyes skitter away before she can catch them. “It’s different. Anyway, I figured it out real fast. Too fast! Thought that freezing ass pond water would help. Which it did. Mostly.”

Her eyebrows raise. “Mostly?”

“Well, I might have caught a nipple too. You bobbed up a little when you splashed me, and uh…” He casts her a guilty look, though not an ounce of it seems sorry. “Well, it helped with things later. On my own. More than a couple times.”

There’s a prickle of heat between her thighs, enough that she has to clench to keep her head from spinning. “So you…? To me…? Then?”

“Ah, we don’t have to talk about me.” He lets his mouth hook into a smirk. “I think we should talk about you. And how you got stuck last night.”

“Oh!” That had been a conversation she’d meant to have on the ride here, a small victory she thought he’d be happy to celebrate, but now that his cheek rubs against the outside of her thigh, casual like he’s just wiping off a drip of water from his eyes, well— “You don’t need to, um…worry about that.”

“Hm?” His lips linger against the smooth flesh of her hip. “But I have been. All afternoon. Haven’t been able to” —her breath catches as one of his hands drops, tracing over her ankle— “stop thinking about it.”

A sigh trembles out of her, thin and helpless as his thumb smooths over the skin there, so sensitive she almost squirms. “You didn’t…have to…”

“Of course I do,” he hums, playfully taking the edge of her suit between his teeth. “It’s my job to make sure that you don’t get—”

“It’s fine,” she blurts out, hardly able to hear herself over the blood rushing through her ears. “I handled it.”

His jaw goes slack, her suit snapping back against her skin. “Come again?”

“I, um…” She swallows, ever part of her tingling under the intensity of his stare. “I got stuck, but then I, ah…got myself unstuck?”

“On your own?” he asks, strangely distant.

“Ah…” She nods, hoping he can’t see the way her hands tremble in her lap. “Y-yeah.”

A grin breaks out across his face, as bright as the dawn itself. “You wanna show me?”

Shirayuki stares. “What? Now? But there’s people—”

“We can solve that.” His hands wrap around her waist; her only warning before he drags her down, pond water splashing up around her shoulders before she can think to swim.

“Obi,” she yelps, hands scrabbling for his shoulders. She manages to hook one on her own, but he guides her to the other, pulling her close enough that her feet can rest right on his thighs. The muscles tense beneath her toes, hard as the pylons that serve as the dock’s mooring, and haah, well, the water’s a little warmer now that she’s got that in her head.

“See?” he hums, one hand gripping the dock to steady them. “Nice and private.”

She’d like to argue, but there’s no line of sight to the shore from this side of the dock; she’d have to bob up to even see the other one, positioned right across the lake, and well—

“We shouldn’t,” she gasps, fingers clutching tight enough her nails leave little crescent on his shoulders. “Not…not right here. Anyone could just…just swim over…”

The arm around her tightens, and Obi’s grin smooths to something more serious. “You don’t have to, kid. If this doesn’t feel good, then I’ll tease but not touch.”

Her toes curl against the flex of his thighs, and, ah, each lap of the water makes her aware of how close he is, of how much she would like to be touched. “I…um…”

“But…” He leans in close, his grin so wicked her heart skips a beat. “I think you’re into it.”

“O-obi!” It’s hard to hold the moral high ground when she’s so flushed it’s a surprise water doesn’t boil when it touches her. “That’s not…I’m not…um…”

“We’re not going to get caught.” It’s a promise when he says it, a certainty. “But…it still feels a little wrong, doesn’t it? That we could get caught. That someone else could see me touching you, and they’d know how good you get it, how good I can make you feel.”

She hadn’t thought it was possible to tremble like this and be so hot, for her to be fully submerged and yet know that she’s wet.

“Come here.” He parts her legs, wrapping them around his waist, leaving her wide open to him and yet still hidden from view. “Now no one can even tell, even if they do look this way.”

“Obi…” It’s not a no. God, it’s not even a yes; it’s a please.

His grip tightens around the dock. “Show me what you were doing last night. I want to see it.”

His free fingers drop between them, pulling aside the strip of nylon blend that covers her, and haah, the caress of the water against her folds has her hand diving between them before he can ask again.

“Jesus.” Black eclipses gold until only a thin rim of it remains, trembling the way his arm does as he holds them steady. “Kid…”

The pond’s hardly clear enough for him to see the way she drags her fingers over herself, so slick and ready that she tumbles into his hand more often than she manages to brush her clit, but it’s— it’s working, a few strokes bringing her close enough to that painful edge that she whines, head thumping back against the dock.

“Fuck, wait,” he gasps, mouth slack. “Tell me…tell me what you were thinking about. Last night.”

“Obi.” How can he expect her to talk when every bit of her longs to be consumed, when all she can think about is that she’s empty, and she could— he could— “You.”

“Good.” His grin is insufferable, but there’s something about it that makes her gasp, that makes her think about him laying next to her, just watching as he— “What about me?”

“Your picture.” She should be embarrassed, mortified that she’s even admitting to getting off just by looking at him, but it’s hard to remember when he’s so warm under her hand, when he’s looking at her like he can’t decide whether to kiss her or devour her whole. “It was— you were— hard. I wanted…”

A lot more than she’s ready for, she knows that even now. “I wanted it to be you,” she manages instead. “Touching me. In my bed. I thought about good your fingers are, and I—”

She nearly comes right there from the way he groans, forehead resting against her shoulder. “You like that? Me touching you?”

“Yes. And I thought about how I could— how I might—” She whimpers, frustrated, chasing that elusive high round and round, but finding no relief. “Obi, I need— more, please—”

“Fuck. Yeah, okay I” —he laughs, the sound muffled in her shoulder— “I got you.”

Two fingers thrust between her lips, but he doesn’t bat away her hand, like she expects. Doesn’t take over. No, after that first thrust he slows, following the rhythm of her slower strokes, fingers pumping into her with a languidness that has her whining against his throat.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, so low her skin shivers. “What were you think you could do?”

“I”—she’s so close it hurts, her voice barely eking above a whisper— “I want to touch you.”

It’s not the pace of his thrusts or the teasing of her fingers that pushes her over, oh no— it’s his face, the way his mouth goes slack and he flushes straight down to his shoulders, every bit of him vulnerable, every bit of him wanting. A whine escapes her, threatening a keen, but he swallows it as she trembles, pulling her closer even as his fingers never still, pulling each last thread of pleasure out of her.

When she’s done, they’re adrift. Or, well, at least no longer hanging off the dock.

“Well,” Obi chuckles lowly, letting her tortured swim suit snap back into place. “You didn’t do that alone, but I think an assist counts.”

A laugh bubbles out of her as she presses her head into his neck, self-conscious. “It’s just…better when you touch me.”

“Haah.” They’ve floated shallow enough that he can stand, and he does, nearly dropping her straight back into the water. “I’m glad to hear it, but uh…” He squirms, trying to unwrap her from his waist. “I think I got to, er…”

She blinks up at him, only clinging closer. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing! Nothing. That’s was…” His mouth curves, utterly satisfied. “That was great. I just…have something I should go take care of.”

“What do you—?” Something twitches against her, and ah, it’s an answer. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” His flush has faded to pink, but it’s still there, lingering. “And unlike you, it’s, ah, a little more obvious when I handle myself. So I thought I might…”

His head jerks toward the wooded part of the shoreline, lingering just a few elementary backstrokes away.

“Oh, you mean…?” It’s far enough from the beach that she doubts anyone else would be wandering through, but still, she frowns. “In there…?”

“Yeah.” He disentangles himself from her limbs, setting her down gently. “I’ll only be a minute.”

He draws himself up, water coming just under his hips, and ah, it’s not just his butt that those trunks don’t leave to the imagination now.

“Wait.” She catches his hand. “Obi…”

“Really, kid.” His eyebrows raise, emphatic. “It’s not gonna be long. You, ah…did a good job out ther.”

“No, it’s just…” She licks her lips. “Can I…come?”

He blinks at her, eyes so wide she’s sure they’ll fall out of their sockets. “I thought you just did.”

“I mean…” She stands up too, only up to her waist here, shivering when the wind blows over her. “I’d like to see you come again. Maybe even…help?”

His breath catches. “Ah, yeah.” His fingers squeeze tight around hers. “Yeah, I think that would be, uh…fine with me.”

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Down Bad - Chapter 12

Chapter Summary: Amina has to fight to stay true to who she is, no matter what Palpatine or Darth Vader throw at her. But being in Imperial captivity isn't easy.

Word Count: 5.1k+

Pairing: Hunter x fem!Jedi Original Character

Notes: and here's chapter 12! sadly, we still have a few more chapters left of amina in captivity, but it's going to all come back around soon.

TW: torture (physical and mental, not heavily described), main character not in a great headspace (but no depressive, suicidal thoughts)

also, can we just talk about this scene!? it's so perfect i'm gonna cry.

Series Masterlist - Chapter 11 → Chapter 13

AO3 Link For Chapter

It was the third day she was on Mustafar and she hadn’t seen Vader since their last interaction.

Not that she was complaining, she was reading holobooks that were ‘approved’, meaning they weren’t educational, nor gave her any knowledge of what was going on in the galaxy.

She was reading a book on her datapad as she walked into the dining room and grabbed a glass of water. Amina sat down on one of the chairs and took a small sip.

Heavy footsteps could be heard as she continued to read her book, not paying any attention to Vader walking into the dining room. His presence, however, was hard to ignore in the otherwise silent castle on Mustafar.

"Amina," Vader's voice echoed in the dimly lit room, cutting through the stillness.

She looked up from her datapad, her expression guarded but curious. "Yes?" Her tone was neutral, though internally she braced herself for whatever interaction was to come.

Vader approached the table with deliberate steps, his cape trailing behind him like a dark shroud. His mask, an imposing presence, betrayed nothing of the conflict that Amina knew lay beneath its surface.

"I trust you are finding your accommodations suitable," Vader intoned, his voice a low rumble that filled the room.

Amina looked back down at her datapad. "As suitable as can be expected," she replied evenly, refusing to let him see any vulnerability.

"You have been here for three days," Vader observed, his tone almost conversational despite the underlying weight of his authority. "Have you reconsidered your position?"

Amina's jaw clenched momentarily before she replied, her voice firm. "My position remains unchanged." He stayed silent, his breathing filling the void of silence as he walked around her and grabbed something from a droid before standing across the table from her.

“You need to eat,” he said.

"I'm not hungry," Amina stated, her eyes fixed on the datapad in front of her, refusing to acknowledge Vader's presence more than necessary.

Vader stood across from her, his towering figure casting a shadow over the table. Despite the mechanical rasp of his breathing, there was a hesitancy in his demeanor that belied his usual stoicism. He placed a tray on the table between them, the clink of utensils against ceramic echoing in the quiet room.

"Amina," Vader began, his voice a low rumble, "you must eat. You need to regain your strength."

She glanced up briefly, meeting his masked gaze with a mix of defiance and weariness. "Why does it matter to you whether I eat or not?" Amina's tone held a note of accusation, a hint of the anger that simmered beneath her outward composure.

Vader paused, as if considering his response carefully. "Your well-being is... advantageous," he replied vaguely, his gloved hands resting on the back of a chair. "You are more valuable to me alive than... otherwise."

Amina snorted softly, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "So, I'm a 'valuable asset' now," she mused, her voice laced with sarcasm. "What happened to reminding you of your former self?"

Vader's masked visage betrayed no emotion, yet Amina sensed a flicker of something behind that impassive facade. "Circumstances change," he stated simply, his tone brooking no argument.

She looked down at the tray of food, her appetite nonexistent despite the gnawing ache in her stomach. "I'm not hungry," Amina repeated, her voice softer this time, tinged with resignation.

Vader regarded her for a long moment, his gloved fingers drumming lightly on the back of the chair. "You will eat," he insisted, his voice holding an edge of command. "It is not a request."

Amina's jaw clenched, her fingers tightening around the datapad. "And what if I refuse?" Her voice was a challenge, a daring defiance aimed squarely at the Sith Lord before her.

Vader's mechanical breathing seemed to fill the room, a constant reminder of his formidable presence. "You will comply," he stated evenly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

“I will not. You can’t force someone to eat when they haven’t had more than a small piece of bread for over 3 months.”

"You will comply," Vader repeated, his voice a low rumble that reverberated off the stone walls. His tone brooked no argument, carrying with it the weight of authority that came with being a Sith Lord. The plate with a whole muja fruit, her favorite, and a few slices of Haroun bread were Force pushed closer to her.

Amina met his masked gaze with unwavering determination, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "I will not," she declared again, her voice tinged with both exhaustion and defiance.

Vader's gloved hand tightened into a fist, the leather creaking softly. "Your stubbornness will not serve you," he warned. “You will eat, Amina."

She shook her head, her eyes blazing with a fire that even Vader couldn't extinguish. "I won't be coerced into submission," she retorted, her voice steady despite the tumultuous emotions swirling within her. "Not by you, not by anyone."

For a moment, Vader seemed almost taken aback by her resolve, but it quickly passed as he lifted the muja fruit in the air and closed his fist, causing the fruit to splatter across the dining table.

The plate also shattered as a shard cut her palm. Amina let out a small sound, close to a squeak, as she felt fear run through her body and tears start to form in her eyes. She grabbed her datapad, blood smearing on the back of it as she ran to her room and locked the door.

As Amina rushed back to her room, the sting of fear and pain pulsated through her hand where the shard had cut her palm. She leaned against the door, her breathing ragged, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. Her mind raced with a mix of emotions- anger at Vader's callousness, frustration at her own helplessness, and a deep-seated fear that seemed to clutch at her heart.

She sank to the floor, clutching her bleeding hand against her chest, trying to steady her breathing. The room felt oppressive, suffocating, as if the very walls were closing in on her. Amina knew she couldn't stay locked away forever, but in this moment, the safety of her room offered a fleeting sense of refuge.

Her datapad lay on the floor beside her, smeared with her blood. She picked it up gingerly, wiping it off on her pants, though the stain remained. It was a small reminder of the brutality of her existence here.

Tears fell down her face in rapid streams, as footsteps moved closer to her door and then stopped. She felt Vader’s presence behind the door, still strong as ever, as she tried to calm her breathing.

Amina had never been scared of Anakin- or Vader before. But something as simple as getting angry at her and crushing her favorite fruit with the Force scared her straight.

"Amina," his voice echoed through the door, its mechanical tone cold and yet strangely tinged with something she couldn't quite place.

Amina remained silent, her back pressed against the door as if it could shield her from his presence. She wiped tears from her cheeks with her uninjured hand, steeling herself against the fear that threatened to overwhelm her.

"I'm sorry," Vader's voice came again, surprising her. "I did not intend to frighten you."

The apology was unexpected, and Amina hesitated, unsure how to respond. She didn't move from her spot, her gaze fixed on the door as if she could see through it into the soul of the man standing on the other side.

"Why did you crush it?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, a mix of confusion and lingering fear evident in her tone.

There was a pause, Vader seemingly considering his words before he replied, "I... reacted impulsively. I was frustrated, but that is no excuse."

Amina took a shaky breath, her hand still pressed against her chest where her heartbeat pulsed painfully against her palm. "You've never scared me before," she admitted quietly, almost to herself.

Vader's presence remained palpable outside her room, a silent sentinel in the dimly lit hallway of his fortress on Mustafar. His mechanical breathing seemed to echo through the silence, a constant reminder of his power and the distance he maintained from emotions.

"Amina," Vader's voice came again, its tone softer than usual, betraying a hint of something she couldn't quite place- regret, perhaps, or even remorse. "I did not intend to cause you fear."

Despite herself, Amina felt a surge of anger mingled with fear. "Intentions don't change actions," she replied, her voice trembling slightly. She wanted to be strong, to stand up to him, but the vulnerability of her situation was starkly apparent.

There was a pause, as if Vader was considering his next words carefully. "I... reacted impulsively," he finally admitted, his voice carrying a rare note of admission. "I was frustrated, but that is no excuse."

Amina closed her eyes briefly, taking another deep breath to steady herself. "You've taken everything from me," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the castle's machinery. "My freedom, my family... everything."

Vader stayed silent, and soon after not replying, walked away from her door, leaving her alone once again.

---

On the fifth day of staying on Mustafar, Amina and Vader flew back to Coruscant. Once back in her cell, she used her spoon to mark five more days, making it 98 days in captivity.

She heard multiple footsteps approaching her cell as Amina turned onto her stomach before the stormtroopers entered.

Amina was used to it now, they would come in and torture her, but only whip and burn the backside of her body, never the front. Maybe they did have some humanity left in them, what other reason would they have to not look into her eyes while they torture her?

The door creaked open, the harsh light from the corridor slicing through the darkness of her confinement. Two stormtroopers entered, their white armor gleaming ominously in the dimness. They moved with practiced efficiency, devoid of any emotion or hesitation. Amina closed her eyes, steeling herself against the onslaught of pain that was to come.

Whips cracked through the air, accompanied by the hiss of a thermal device. Amina bit down on her lip, stifling the cry that threatened to escape her throat. She focused on breathing, on the rhythm of the strikes against her back, trying to find a sliver of detachment amidst the agony.

After what felt like an eternity, the stormtroopers ceased their assault. Amina lay still, panting softly against the pain that radiated from her wounds. But, instead of gathering their things and quietly leaving, one of them spoke, “on your back.”

Amina froze, her breath catching in her throat. She’d grown accustomed to their routine- whips and burns, but never on the front of her body. This new command filled her with dread, her mind racing with possibilities. The stormtroopers' cold, emotionless gazes bore into her as she hesitated, trying to summon the strength to comply.

"On your back," the trooper repeated, his tone mechanical yet insistent.

With a trembling hand, Amina turned onto her back, feeling the fresh pain of her wounds pressing into the hard surface beneath her. Her heart pounded in her chest, the fear of the unknown clawing at her sanity.

They approached her, instruments in hand, and she braced herself for the worst. The first lash hit, but this time it struck her lower stomach, and she gasped, unable to stifle the cry of pain that escaped her lips. She squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on her breath, willing herself to endure this new torment.

The session was brutal, each strike sending waves of agony through her body. Amina's mind drifted, seeking refuge in memories of happier times, trying to escape the unrelenting pain. But the stormtroopers were methodical, their cruelty precise and unyielding.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they ceased. Amina lay there, panting, her body a canvas of fresh and old wounds. She heard their footsteps retreating, the door slamming shut behind them. The silence that followed was deafening, her own ragged breathing the only sound in the cell.

---

There were only a few times in her life when things got truly difficult. Too difficult that she couldn’t crack a joke or make a sarcastic, witty remark.

Those things were quickly taken away from her in the first few weeks she was here. But, when she was in front of Palpatine, she made sure to continue her remarks, if only to anger him further. Or, at least try to.

Amina was on her knees in front of Palpatine’s throne, her first daily dose of torture. The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing ominously across the cold stone floor. Palpatine, cloaked in black, sat upon his throne, his piercing yellow eyes fixed on her with a mixture of amusement and malice.

"You disappoint me, my dear Amina," Palpatine crooned, his voice a twisted melody that sent shivers down her spine. "Your resistance is futile. You cannot defy the will of the Empire."

Amina gritted her teeth against the pain, her muscles screaming from the strain of being forced into such a vulnerable position. She refused to meet Palpatine's gaze directly, instead focusing on a point just above his head.

"You were once a Jedi, a defender of peace and justice," Palpatine continued, his voice dripping with mockery. "And now look at you, broken and helpless."

Amina clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She had endured countless sessions like this, each one designed to strip away her spirit, to break her down into submission. But she refused to surrender, to let them extinguish the spark of defiance that still burned within her.

Palpatine gestured lazily, and two Imperial guards stepped forward, each wielding a shock prod. Amina braced herself, knowing what was to come. The crackling energy surged through her body, sending searing pain coursing through every nerve. She gritted her teeth, trying to stifle the cry that threatened to escape her lips.

"You see, my dear Amina," Palpatine's voice cut through the haze of pain, "there is no escape from the inevitable. You will serve the Empire, willingly or not."

Amina's breath came in ragged gasps as the shock prods continued their merciless assault. Her vision blurred with tears, but still, she refused to beg for mercy.

"Enough," Palpatine finally commanded, his voice echoing through the chamber. The guards withdrew, leaving Amina trembling on the floor, her body aching and bruised.

Palpatine rose from his throne, his robes swirling around him like a dark cloak. He approached Amina slowly, his yellow eyes boring into hers. "You have such potential, my dear," he murmured, almost tenderly. "If only you would embrace it."

Amina closed her eyes tightly, not wanting to look into his eyes and see yellow irises looking back at her, reminding her of Anakin burning on the shore as his own eyes turned yellow. Palpatine’s hands descended on her chin, forcing her head up. “Look at me,” he commanded softly. Amina’s gaze met his, filled with defiance but also a hint of resignation.

Amina clenched her jaw, refusing to dignify his words with a response. She knew the game he played- tempting her with power, with promises of control over her destiny. But she was no fool; she had seen what embracing the dark side had done to her brother, to the galaxy. It had brought nothing but pain and destruction.

Palpatine circled her, his presence like a shadow that threatened to engulf her. “Your spirit is strong,” he continued, his tone almost conversational. “But it is also your weakness. You cling to hope, to ideals long lost. You must learn to let go of such sentiments.”

A bitter laugh escaped Amina’s lips, startling even herself with its bitterness. “You mistake my defiance for weakness,” she retorted, her voice steady despite the fear and anger churning within her. “I will never serve you, Palps. No matter what you do to me.”

Palpatine’s eyes gleamed with amusement, as if he found her resistance entertaining. “You defy me now,” he acknowledged, his voice dripping with malice. “But you will come to see the futility of your defiance. In time.”

Amina’s breath caught in her throat as she felt a sudden surge of pain through her body. The shock prods again, their crackling energy coursing through her nerves, sending waves of agony radiating from every point of contact. She gritted her teeth, fighting against the pain, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her cries.

Palpatine watched with cold satisfaction as she endured the torment, his gaze unwavering. “You have great potential, Amina,” he repeated, his voice cutting through the haze of pain. “Do not let it go to waste.”

The shock prods finally ceased, leaving Amina trembling on the floor, her body racked with pain. She fought to catch her breath, her vision swimming with tears. But still, she refused to yield, to bow before the darkness that threatened to consume her.

Palpatine regarded her for a moment longer before turning away, his cloak swirling ominously around him. “Take her back to her cell,” he commanded the guards, his voice echoing through the chamber. “Ensure she understands the consequences of her defiance.”

The guards moved forward; their hands rough as they lifted Amina to her feet. She stumbled, weak from the ordeal, but her spirit remained unbroken. She refused to look at Palpatine again, her gaze fixed on the ground as they escorted her back to the darkness of her cell.

---

Days blurred into weeks as Amina endured the relentless torment of Palpatine’s interrogations and the cruelty of her captors. Each day brought new pain, new challenges to her resolve, but still she clung to the flickering ember of hope within her. It was all she had left- the belief that someday, somehow, she would be free.

In the solitude of her cell, Amina often found herself thinking of Hunter and the rest of the squad, like she always did. She could only hope that they rescued Omega before Hemlock took her away. That was more important than saving her; it would always be more important.

Amina looked at the wall that held 127 tally marks. A few weeks ago, Palpatine had his stormtroopers try a different method of torture with her, along with the shock whips, electroshock collar, and burning stones. Breaking bones.

While Amina’s had many broken bones throughout the Clone Wars, something about a stormtrooper on either side of her body, forcefully pulling and manipulating her arm was much worse than getting shot at by a clanker or falling out of the sky.

So, around the 115th mark, she started to use blood from the torture sessions to mark the rotations instead of her spoon, which she didn’t have the strength to use most days.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor outside her cell, drawing her back to the present. Amina pushed herself up onto her elbows, her muscles protesting with every movement. The cell door creaked open, and two stormtroopers entered, their helmets concealing their faces.

“On your feet,” one of them barked, his voice devoid of any humanity.

The command shocked her, they had never asked her to stand up.

Amina struggled to comply, using the wall for support as she staggered upright. The stormtroopers grabbed her roughly, their grip like iron around her bruised arms. She gritted her teeth against the pain, refusing to show any weakness in front of them.

They led her down the narrow, winding corridors of the Imperial facility, past rows of identical cells that housed countless other prisoners. Amina spared them only a fleeting glance, knowing the futility of seeking solace or companionship in this place. Each prisoner was a ghost, a shell of their former selves, broken and forgotten.

Finally, they arrived at their destination: a small interrogation chamber with a single durasteel table bolted to the floor. A cold chill ran down Amina’s spine as she stepped inside, her eyes scanning the room for any sign of Palpatine or his sadistic interrogators.

One of the troopers pressed his blaster against her back, moving her closer to the table as she slowly got onto it.

The door opened again, as more footsteps entered. Two scientists strapped Amina down to the durasteel table, securing her ankles, wrists, and torso with leather belts, she gritted her teeth against the familiar wave of dread that washed over her. The stormtroopers stood guard by the door, their presence a silent reminder of her helplessness.

One of the scientists, a man with wearing goggles and a clinical demeanor, checked the restraints meticulously, ensuring they were tight enough to immobilize her but not tight enough to cut off circulation. His colleague, a younger woman with a grim expression, adjusted a control panel embedded in the table, activating various monitors and instruments that hummed to life with ominous purpose.

Amina's heart pounded in her chest, adrenaline coursing through her veins despite her efforts to remain calm. She kept her gaze fixed on the ceiling, refusing to acknowledge the scientists or the stormtroopers. They were faceless instruments of the Empire, devoid of compassion or humanity.

The man looked over to her, “the Emperor decided to change things for you. You will be undergoing psychological conditioning.”

Amina's heart sank at his words. She had endured physical torment, but the idea of having her mind tampered with filled her with a new kind of dread. She fought to keep her fear hidden, knowing it would only fuel their efforts to break her.

The female scientist finished adjusting the control panel and nodded to her colleague. "We're ready to begin," she said, her voice emotionless.

The man turned his attention back to Amina, his fingers hovering over the controls. "This will be a series of sessions designed to alter your perceptions, your thoughts. You will find it difficult to distinguish between reality and the illusions we create."

Amina glared at him, her defiance still burning despite her fear. But she didn’t speak.

He pressed a button, and a wave of disorienting sensations washed over Amina. Her vision blurred, and the room seemed to twist and warp around her. She fought to hold onto her sense of self, to remember who she was and why she was resisting.

Images flashed before her eyes- scenes from her past, her training as a Jedi, moments of triumph and loss. She saw Anakin, her brother, before he fell to the dark side. She saw Hunter and the rest of the squad, their faces a source of strength and hope. She clung to these memories, using them as anchors to keep her grounded.

But the illusions grew more intense, more invasive. She saw herself betraying her friends, succumbing to the dark side, becoming a tool of the Empire. The images were vivid, almost real, and they chipped away at her resolve.

The scientists watched her closely, monitoring her reactions. "Increase the intensity," the man ordered.

The woman adjusted the controls, and the illusions became even more powerful. Amina's sense of time and reality began to fracture. She could no longer tell how long she had been strapped to the table, how many sessions she had endured.

---

The psychological conditioning sessions continued, each one more grueling than the last. Amina's mind was a battlefield, her willpower the only thing keeping her from succumbing to the illusions. She held onto her memories, her hope, and her determination to resist the Empire's attempts to break her.

One day, after a particularly brutal session, she was thrown back into her cell, her body and mind exhausted. She lay on the cold floor, staring up at the ceiling, trying to piece together her fragmented thoughts.

A soft knock on the cell door drew her attention. She turned her head to see a small, hooded figure slipping inside. The figure approached her cautiously, and as they drew closer, Amina recognized them.

"Omega?" she whispered, her voice weak.

Omega knelt beside her; her eyes filled with concern. "Amina, we don't have much time," she said urgently. "We have to get you out of here."

Amina shook her head, her body too weak to move. "You shouldn't be here," she said. "It's too dangerous."

Omega's expression hardened with determination. "I'm not leaving without you," she insisted. "The others are creating a distraction. We have a chance."

But something about what she saw in front of her was too good to be true. She reached out a hand and placed it on Omega’s shoulder.

It went through her.

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t-

Amina curled in on herself, her body protesting against her position, the whiplash wounds pulling tightly against her skin.

The door to her cell creaked open again, as a figure stepped inside, silhouetted against the dim light of the corridor. Amina tensed, readying herself for another round of torment, but the voice that followed was familiar, comforting even amidst the darkness.

"Amina," the voice said softly.

She turned her head to see Hunter standing there, his expression a mix of concern and determination. His presence alone seemed to dispel the lingering effects of the illusion. Amina pushed herself up onto her elbows, her muscles protesting but her spirit burning with renewed hope.

"Hunter?" she whispered, hardly daring to believe he was real.

"Yeah, it's me," Hunter said, moving closer to her. He knelt beside her, his hand reaching out tentatively as if afraid she might vanish. When she didn’t, he gently brushed a strand of hair from her face. "We're getting you out of here."

Amina's eyes welled with tears, overwhelmed by the sight of him. "How did you find me?" she asked, her voice trembling with emotion.

Hunter’s expression darkened slightly. "It wasn’t easy," he admitted. "But we knew you were here. We've been planning this for weeks."

She nodded, understanding the risks they must have taken to locate her in the heart of the Empire's stronghold. "Thank you," she said sincerely, her voice barely above a whisper.

Hunter’s gaze softened, his thumb brushing gently against her cheek. "We're not leaving without you," he vowed, his voice firm. "Tech's got a plan to get us out of here."

“No.” She cried quietly, “no, no, no, no, no…” Amina curled in on herself again. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.

Tech was dead, it couldn’t be real.

Amina spared another glance at the cell door, the room empty other than herself.

---

She could hear Palpatine chuckling to himself as he watched Amina fight 5 Inquisitors on her own in his throne room.

Amina dodged a swing from one of them and slid underneath their legs.

As she slid underneath one Inquisitor's legs, she rolled back onto her feet, a lightsaber flashing to life in her hand. The crimson blade clashed against another Inquisitor's saber, the sizzle of energy filling the air with tension. Amina knew she couldn't afford to hesitate; every strike had to be precise, every move calculated to keep her opponents at bay.

"You fight well for someone so young," one of the Inquisitors taunted, his voice laced with a mixture of admiration and malice. He lunged at her again, but Amina sidestepped his attack, countering with a quick series of strikes aimed at his exposed flank.

She could hear Palpatine's low chuckle echoing through the throne room, his amusement at her predicament evident even from afar. It fueled her determination further. She couldn't allow herself to falter, not when the lives of so many depended on her survival.

Amina pivoted on her heel, parrying a strike from another Inquisitor and using the Force to hurl him into his companion. They collided with a resounding crash, momentarily stunned. It was her chance to press the advantage.

She leaped forward, her lightsaber spinning in a defensive arc as she engaged both Inquisitors simultaneously. Their attacks were relentless, each blow pushing her back towards the edge of the room.

In a quick move, she went behind the Inquisitor as he turned around, giving her the ability to twist his arm and take his lightsaber out of his hand.

Amina quickly knocked him down as he kneeled in front of her, the lightsabers creating an ‘X’ around his neck. Anger surged throughout her body, as she pressed the lightsabers closer to the Inquisitor’s neck, the heat singing his skin.

The other Inquisitors moved to stand up, but Palpatine waved his hand, silently commanding them to remain still. The room was charged with tension as Amina's grip tightened on the lightsabers, the heat from the blades causing the Inquisitor to wince in pain.

Amina's breath came in heavy bursts, her muscles screaming in protest from the extended combat and the months of torture. She glared at the Inquisitor kneeling before her, her anger barely contained.

"Kill him," Palpatine's voice was a silky whisper, filled with dark anticipation.

Amina's heart pounded in her chest. She glanced up at Palpatine, then back at the Inquisitor. The choice he was offering her was clear: give in to the rage and hate or hold onto the sliver of light that remained within her.

Her grip faltered, and the lightsabers trembled in her hands. "No," she said, her voice hoarse but resolute. "I won't become like you."

Palpatine's eyes narrowed, disappointment flickering across his features. "Foolish girl," he hissed. With a wave of his hand, the Inquisitor was pulled away from Amina, and she found herself lifted off the ground by an invisible force.

Pain exploded through her body as Palpatine squeezed his hand into a fist. "You will learn," he growled. "You will break."

Amina gasped, her vision darkening around the edges. But she refused to scream, refused to give him the satisfaction. Instead, she focused on the faces of her loved ones, Hunter, Omega, Wrecker, Echo. And even Luke and Leia. They were her anchor, her reason to endure.

The pressure suddenly released, and Amina crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath. Palpatine stood, his cloak billowing around him as he approached her. "Take her back to her cell," he commanded the Inquisitors. "And ensure she contemplates the consequences of her defiance."

Two of the Inquisitors moved forward, roughly hauling Amina to her feet. Her legs barely supported her, but she forced herself to stand as they dragged her out of the throne room.

tags: @callsign-denmark

[usafphantom2]

How military airfields could fix themselves with a new type of concrete

Fernando Valduga By Fernando Valduga 04/23/2023 - 16:00in Military, Technology

For those who have stumbled on a sidewalk or garage, cracked concrete is a problem. But what if the concrete could be fixed? Buildings with cracks can erase the damage before it spreads or before the structure crashes. Or, a concrete runway cracked by wear and tear - or devastated by enemy bombs - could fill the holes by itself and allow aircraft to take off.

The Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA), the Pentagon's research office, wants to prepare exactly this type of concrete for military installations. The Bioinspired Restoration of Aged Concrete Buildings (BRACE) program will merge biology and concrete to make this reality.

It's a strange mixture. In literature and cinema, concrete is often portrayed as the antithesis of life. However, BRACE actually incorporates biological organisms to create what is essentially a vascular system within concrete. This type of circulatory system can heal cracks from the inside before they reach the surface of a structure, allowing concrete to "cure" as living creatures do. It can also be used to diagnose why the concrete is deteriorating.

“The central hypothesis of BRACE is that concrete can be infused with self-repair capabilities typically found in living organisms, inspired by the vascular systems found in humans and vast networks of filamentous fungi that can cover hectares of land similar in scale to concrete buildings,” DARPA says in a recent press release. "These systems can provide a transport network for curing in the depths of the material to repair cracks before they reach the surface and cause failures."

BRACE will examine several biological approaches inspired by fungi and bacteria, said Matthew Pava, program manager at DARPA's Office of Biological Technologies. “Although biological strategies are a potential technological approach that the program will explore, bioinspired approaches based on enzymes and ceramic-like materials are also being investigated.”

The goal is to insert the BRACE "into cracks and voids of aged concrete to start the repair and then remain present to cure additional cracks that arise over time," says Pava.

Concrete is a challenging biological environment. It is highly alkaline "as a drain cleaner," says Pava, and there are few organic compounds, such as proteins, to sustain life. On the other hand, concrete is not incompatible with life. " Biology is ubiquitous and recent research has shown that even concrete has its own microbiome. We plan to incorporate 'designed living material' to help solve this problem, limiting carbon production associated with concrete construction and possibly reducing civil and military infrastructure repair costs."

One question that the U.S. military will certainly ask is whether self-repairable concrete can be used in combat zones to strengthen airfields, roads, bridges and other infrastructure. Although it is too early to determine if this is feasible, BRACE will follow two paths: a strategic route aimed at large permanent structures, such as missile silos and naval piers, and a tactical route for rapid repair of temporary airfields used by expeditionary forces.

BRACE will last 4.5 years, as several contractors - including the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, the University of Colorado Boulder and the Battelle Memorial Institute - use different approaches in the development of technology.

Perhaps because BRACE uses biological organisms and processes, the DARPA announcement emphasized that "safety is fundamental and all research will be subject to regular reviews by an independent laboratory and regulatory agencies to ensure that BRACE technologies do not pose a threat to human or structural health". Researchers will be required to work with experts on the "ethical, legal and social implications" of the technology, in addition to meeting EPA requirements when testing BRACE outside the laboratory.

“DARPA does not assume security,” explains Pava. "We carry out tests to empirically determine whether the technology meets the appropriate safety standards and we do so in accordance with the appropriate regulatory bodies, including, but not limited to, the Environmental Protection Agency."

The concept of self-repairable concrete, or "bioconcrete", is not new. But the benefits for military use can be enormous. The ruined facilities in the U.S. military facilities have become a big problem: the structures are old and are falling apart, from barracks to buildings, warehouses of supplies that could be repaired would save money and improve morale. In combat, a self-repairable runway would save on maintenance - and complicate the task of an attacker who could not be sure if the air base would return

And maybe one day, the sidewalks will be fixed.

Source: Popular Mechanics

Tags: Military AviationDARPATechnologyUSAF - United States Air Force / U.S. Air Force

Fernando Valduga

Fernando Valduga

Aviation photographer and pilot since 1992, he has participated in several events and air operations, such as Cruzex, AirVenture, Dayton Airshow and FIDAE. He has works published in specialized aviation magazines in Brazil and abroad. Uses Canon equipment during his photographic work throughout the world of aviation.

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[amddentalclinic]

Invisible braces is a type of modern braces having great variety offer a discreet alternative to metal braces (or fixed braces). It comes in trend or becoming more popular from another braces due to its design and its exceptional results. Invisible braces provides a professional and affordable tooth straightening options to patients of all ages. Invisible braces are of three types as follows: Lingual braces, Ceramic braces, & Invisalign (most popular), they have their own individual tooth straightening methods. All invisible braces have the ability to help straighten your teeth, its depends on you and the discretion of your orthodontist as to what invisible braces you select. Invisible braces time period depends on the type of treatment you choose. Fixed braces and lingual braces are typically worn between eight months to two years. You will have a better idea of how long you will have to wear braces after your free consultation with Dr. Milli Gupta Owner of the AMD Dental Clinic Jaipur provides Best Affordable Invisible Braces in Jaipur. Or connect with us! @ https://www.amddentalclinic.com/

[1projects12]

How a Warwick Dental Clinic Can Help You Achieve Your Dream Smile Without Braces? -Warwick Family Dental Care

Advancements in dental technology have removed the need for braces to correct common issues like misaligned teeth, overcrowded teeth, bite issues, and aesthetic appearance. An experienced dentist in Warwick can suggest many options that don’t require wearing braces to correct common dental problems.

Here’re non-bracing options for fixing dental issues related to aesthetic

Invisalign (Clear Aligners)

Custom-made from medical-grade plastic, clear aligners are invisible and removable braces. They are replaced every 1-2 weeks until they shift the teeth into place. Clear aligners are a popular choice because they can be removed whenever needed. For example, you can remove your braces while eating and brushing.

2. Dental Veneers

Problems like uneven or stained teeth, gaps, and minor alignments can be fixed using dental veneers. A dentist will fix custom-made shells of porcelain on your teeth to improve their shape, size, and color. Veneers are stain-resistant and durable. Also, they give quick results. You can smile soon after the veneer treatment.

3. Dental Bonding

Dental bonding is a great way to fix chipped or cracked teeth. You need to visit a Warwick dental clinic for treatment. The treatment involves reshaping or resizing problem teeth with a putty-like resin. The resin is applied to chipped or cracked teeth to bring them into their original shape. It is quick and looks natural.

4. Retainers

Retainers can help with slight teeth shifting. You only need to wear the braces overnight for a couple of days or until your teeth are properly aligned. They are cost-effective, invisible, and great for maintaining results after orthodontic treatments.

5. Lingual Braces

Lingual braces provide a great alternative to traditional metal braces required for complex dental procedures. The advantage of lingual braces is they are placed behind the teeth. Their placement makes them invisible or less noticeable. You can eat, drink, and smile wearing lingual braces.

6. Clear Ceramic Braces

Braces are necessary, but you have the option to wear clear ceramic braces that are less noticeable and more comfortable. Made of matching material, these braces work like their metal counterparts. However, they won’t show up to others while eating, drinking, or smiling.

7. Teeth Contouring (Tooth Reshaping)

It is a minimally invasive procedure involving reshaping or resizing teeth using laser or drill technology. An experienced dentist in Warwick can reshape or clean uneven or maligned teeth. It is a painless procedure, and its advantage is that it gives immediate results.  

[dentalclinicsca]

Your Way to a Sure smile with Braces in Carlsbad

Orthodontics in Cardiff, we're pleased to serve the networks of Cardiff and Carlsbad with a full scope of orthodontic medicines intended to assist you with accomplishing a solid, delightful smile. Whether you're thinking about conventional Braces or investigating other high level choices, our group is here to give master care and direction constantly.

Orthodontics in Cardiff: More Than Just Straightening Teeth

Orthodontic treatment offers something beyond stylish upgrades - it's fundamental for working on generally oral wellbeing. Skewed teeth can prompt issues, for example, trouble biting, jaw agony, and, surprisingly, an expanded gamble of tooth rot and gum infection. By amending the arrangement of your teeth, orthodontics can assist with improving both usefulness and appearance, setting the establishment for long haul dental wellbeing.

Our Cardiff-based orthodontic group utilizes the most recent procedures and innovation to convey customized care to every patient. We offer different medicines, including Braces, Invisalign, and other custom answers for meet the remarkable requirements of each and every smile.

Braces in Carlsbad: Traditional and Clear Options for a Straighter Smile

Braces are one of the best and solid answers for fixing teeth. At Sanctuary Orthodontics, we offer both customary metal Braces and more unpretentious choices, for example, ceramic Braces, which mix with your regular tooth tone for a more prudent look. Braces are profoundly successful for tending to complex arrangement issues, giving reliable outcomes and an anticipated treatment timetable.

Our accomplished orthodontic group will work intimately with you to make a customized treatment plan, guaranteeing that your Braces process is smooth and effective. From standard acclimations to keeping up with oral cleanliness, we'll direct you through each stage with care and backing.

Start Your Journey with Haven Orthodontics

On the off chance that you're looking for orthodontics in Cardiff or searching for Braces in Carlsbad, our sympathetic group is prepared to help. Plan an interview with Safe house Orthodontics today and venture out toward a better, more sure smile.

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