#does this even count as fic???

[iamespecter]

"Well shit"

Designs of the entire cast for my fic, "The Unexpected Reunion"! You can read the prologue and the first chapter on my ao3 :) https://archiveofourown.org/works/56008111/chapters/142245028

Bonus with their real names:

[blabberoo]

so theres this one fic....

[hahahalfwit]

I HATE MIRROR MIRROR IM GOIGN TO FROW UP

[dawnbreakerluna]

EXPECTING (W. SYLUS QIN) wc. 366. involves discussion of pregnancy, abortion. possible allusions to a one night stand/multiple affairs. reader has conflicted feelings about pregnancy. sylus is oddly sweet. (he's a good man savannah)

it’s a nerve wracking sensation when you type out the text, more so when you press ‘send.’ (“do you have time to talk? it’s urgent.”) while you were initially set on one decision about the newfound knowledge of what was happening with your body, you felt it was only right to reach out to the other person responsible for this change.

sylus responds to your urgency with a phone call, and you don’t sugarcoat a thing. you don’t give him time to finish greeting you with that grating lilt of his smooth voice.

“missing me al—” “i’m pregnant.”

it’s funny how quickly he leaves the n109 zone, to be by your side in linkon city. no matter the feelings you had before, and no matter the mystery of what you two saw each other as after you mission wrapped up, you’re grateful he’s made it a priority to be with you in this moment. a reminder that his good graces always surrounded being at your side in an instant whenever you called.

you didn’t realize how much you needed him, needed someone, until you’re both sitting down in your living room and talking about everything in depth. in short, sylus supports you with whatever choice you settle on. but as he begins to explain the logistics of aftercare following an abortion, talking about doctors and clinics he knows of… you find yourself feeling oddly emotional.

despite the shared feeling that neither of you sought out the ambition to have children, you see yourself with sylus, raising a powerful, compassionate soul. a being that would be so precious and dear to the both of you. someone who would hold a piece of you, a piece of him. in your lost thoughts, you don’t recognize the slow onslaught of tears that fills up in your eyes, and it’s sylus’ touch brushing against your cheek to catch the droplets before they fall entirely.

“whatever you choose, i won’t hesitate to be by your side. you are my priority, above all else.” he assures you in an oddly tender tone, “this is your choice, and no one will take that from you. they wouldn’t even get the chance.”

[izzystizzys]

Half the jobs Fox is sent on are not within his jurisdiction. This certainly isn’t.

Planetary protection unit, they said. Military police. Orbital security force.

And now Fox is being pointed at Count Dooku on some backwater planet and told to fetch. How the mighty have fallen.

He’s pretty sure Kenobi, Skywalker and their units could’ve karked this all up perfectly fine on their lonesome; they don’t need three Guardsmen there to watch them do it. But the Chancellor says jump and Fox surpressed the urge to bash his head in with a durasteel chair. So it goes.

Which is when things start going terribly, terribly wrong, of course.

“Is that Spinder?!”, Skywalker exclaims, arms wheeling out in the air wildly to try and catch his balance. “The Count fucks?!”

Across the room, Cody rips his helmet off, several shades redder than a baseline human should be. “The Count fucks my brother?!”

Two lightsticks hover uselessly in the air, Skywalker’s zig-zagging in a relentless hum with his gesturing. Fox stands stock-still, in the hope that maybe he’ll spontaneously turn invisible if he does. Around them, 501st and 212th troopers gape through helmets. Behind him, Nuisance gasps for air amidst screaming laughter.

Ping, went Fox’s comm unit, in that unmistakeable lascivious jingle sound. Ping, answered Count Dooku’s within a split second. Match found close by.

For a moment, Fox considers what it would be like to run at the Count’s lightsaber at full speed.

…not like that.

“Count”, Kenobi says, with a face like he’s bitten into a rotten fruit. Not that Fox knows what fruit tastes like. “This is a highly… unexpected development.” He fwoosh-es his lightsaber shut, obviously having given up on fighting. “I’d call it a conflict of interest, but I’m not sure that applies?”

“Oh, it’s gonna be a conflict of something, for sure”, Cody hisses, fists clenched at his sides. He looks about ready to boil over, with Crys and Waxer inching closer in preparation. “What have you done to my brother, you monster?!”

“I don’t think you want to know that, Commander”, Nuisance gasps out between barks of laughter, proving why he’s eternally Fox’s least favourite. Cody’s splotchy red complexion slowly fades into ghostly white as a sheen of horror settles over the room. “Thanks for the fancy chocolate bouquet last week, Count!”

Dooku, who has been thus far staring at the floor with an empty thousand-klick stare, looks up at that. Fox has seldom seen a man that defeated outside of the mirror, he has to admit - but shudders when he remembers exactly what the chocolates were for.

Oh Force, he’s sexted Count Dooku into buying him gifts. Does that make him a Seppie spy? Traitor by proxy?

“I feel”, says the Count, gravely, still holding his long red laserknife in a white-knuckled death-grip, “that I have been taken for a fool.”

“Uh”, says Fox, nervously. All eyes snap to him. Oh Force, oh Force, oh Force. They’re going to invent a whole new kind of decommissioning for this and name it after Fox.

“Is it really scamming if you actually get what you pay for?”, asks Grids, considering. Fox slowly pulls off his helmet just for the comforting feeling of burying his head in his gloved palms. The sounds of a struggle ensue, and Kenobi makes a choked-off noise. Maybe if he’s embarrassed enough he’ll give himself an aneurysm.

“Grandmaster, why are you paying people for naked pictures of themselves on the holonet?!” Kenobi asks, despairingly. “Aren’t you a little old for that?”

“Oi, no one said I was naked!”, Fox exclaims, head whipping up.

“So naked”, Nuisance laughs, palm thumping against the floor. He might be crying.

“I’m not decrepit”, the Count blusters, and Skywalker makes a gagging noise. “I have - there are needs, and they are perfectly natural!” It takes three troopers to restrain Cody from launching himself at the Count.

[violent138]

A nefarious, as yet unknown Gotham villain sends a message to the Batcave that the annual Gotham Easter egg hunt contains eggs that are poisonous/explosive. Jason and Dick are annoyed that a city like Gotham even has an Easter Egg hunt, while Damian reports that all his classmates and definitely half the city's children will be scouring the streets for eggs.

"Idiots." He scoffed, shaking his head. "Egg hunting is a massive waste of time."

"Yes, thanks Damian, that's what we need to hear right now." Tim smiled flatly at him, predicting where this was going.

In order to avoid panic due to the unconfirmed possible bombs, the Batfamily splits into teams to go find eggs, check them and return them back to the hiding places if they aren't explosive. The news picks up on it, rather confused to see the Red Robin, Spoiler, Signal, Orphan and Robin at it, but whatever they're kids. And Orphan looks particularly delighted to find eggs before hiding them somewhere better and Signal lights up the eggs a little and charms the kids.

However, Red Hood and Nightwing look a little more ridiculous, especially since Batman decided to scour the city for the villain instead of the eggs.

"No because he'a a [Censored] coward." Red Hood grumbles to a reporter when asked if Batman will also be participating.

"Oh look I found another one." Nightwing reported excitedly in the same broadcast and Red Hood immediately goes over, both of them examining it.

The side effect of them being out is that more kids decide to look for eggs. There's a mild panic and Steph questions the logic of not telling people the eggs are maybe bombs.

The day comes to a nail-biting end with zero maiming and Alfred reveals it was him and that he threw a pretty extravagant dinner to reward them for their hunting.

Bruce snickers at the look on the kids' faces.

[nenoname]

stan twins the canon cptsd brothers i will always think about all your unaddressed issues that would make perfect plot fuel for your spinoff

and also the whole 'stan getting that poem by bill via a website which contrasts with bill getting one from the axolotl via a website' foreshadowing thing

like idk i would love something like su future but like more optimistic, aka not an accumulated breakdown that has to be mostly resolved off screen at the end :/// but something thats being kinda addressed throughout? (although would love to see one of them turn into a monster thats always fun lol)

stan having severe issues from his dad and those years of being homeless that we keep on getting more info on but never really getting confronted on (the drifter catalogue and tijuana incident...), him being completely alone for like twenty years when running the shack before soos comes along to the point that 1998 is noted as his low point, and him not really learning about bill+what he did to ford until ages after he killed him if he ever did get the full context

while i think amnesia and everyone seeing him as a hero actually helped with stan's 'i'm a worse version of my brother' thing its still a lingering issue too and we now got him being insecure over his own hands

ford being immediately thrown from 'being tortured by bill' to 'being stuck in the multiverse and being chased by bounty hunters constantly', him fully expecting himself to die when destroying bill, and him only now being safe for the first time in 30 years ....relatively safe, he's still in constant danger because of course he is

idk in the end the series wants them to be happy and they deserve it, its why i wasn't too worried about the book being like 'ooh bill is back!! and the book is haunting ford' thing cos i knew they'll be ok

[wanderingblindly]

7 (a kiss to shut them up) + landoscar?

in my mind, this is a uni au. but that's also like, not overly important? anyways, I wanted to try and have Oscar be the rambling one, hope it worked hahahhaha ^^; link for prompts!

Heartrates

Not that Lando's keeping track too intently, but he's fairly positive that Oscar's heartrate hasn't fallen below one hundred in the hour and a half they've been on the couch – tucked under a blanket, Oscar sort of spooned against him, Lando's arm thrown carelessly against his chest.

The movie they turned on, some overly artsy thing George said would make him look smart on a second date, is drawing to a close. The sun has long since set, the living room growing orange, then pink, then dusty blue.

Oscar's heartrate betrays his demeanor, the steady flutter of his lashes as he relaxes into Lando's chest.

Maybe Lando lied. Maybe his attention has been caught elsewhere. He hasn't watched a single bit of the film, far too focused on studying Oscar's minute expressions as he watches it. Which is, by his standards, basically the same thing.

Oscar's eyes flick to the side, meeting Lando's for a brief moment before returning to the TV.

His heartrate spikes higher, thrumming heavily against his chest.

"Oscar," He whispers into his ear, resisting a smile as he feels his heart dance again.

Oscar turns his head a bit, leaving them almost nose to nose. "Yeah?"

"It's not a scary film, mate," He smiles, eyes flicking down to Oscar's lips. He can almost taste them, and the thought makes his spine tingle.

"I know?" Oscar sounds confused, brows furrowed. It's one of the expressions that haunted Lando since they met at their seminar, the tension making his face sharper, addictive. But his response, again, doesn't align with what Lando can feel; he slides his palm over Oscar's chest – mentally cursing that he's still wearing a shirt – until it still over his heart.

"You nervous then?"

Another perplexed face. "Not really?"

"You're a good liar," Lando teases, tilting his head to the right, letting his lips part – inviting.

"Have I seemed nervous?" Oscar asks, tone a bit more urgent than Lando would expect from someone he's signaling to snog him. "I mean, like. I'm not sure what you saw? My mum always says that I'm hard to read, not that I'm being… defensive, or something."

Lando lets his tongue slide slowly across his lower lip before tugging on it, reveling in how Oscar's breath ghosts across his skin. He's listening, a little – attention focused mostly on how Oscar's mouth moves when he talks, the obvious tension in his jaw.

"…anyways, I just get quiet when I'm focused. Not nervous. Or scared. Yeah, it wasn't scary. The film, I mean."

Lando cuts him off with a hum, letting his fingers twist in Oscar's shirt – heart still racing against his hand. With another lazy smile, eyes almost fluttering closed as he leans a hair closer. "Can I kiss you?"

"You want–?" In that same tone, deceptively calm.

Softer than a whisper, their lips a hairsbreadth apart, "Stop talking,"

"Yeah,"

Lando sighs into it, the relief at getting Oscar's lips on him nearly tangible. He's soft, melting into his touch like ice against a flame. And as he tries to gently guide Oscar's head to the side, letting them slot together as easily as breathing, Lando realizes it – that maybe this is Oscar's first kiss, that maybe he really was nervous.

"Is this ok?" He asks, sliding his tongue against Oscar's lip to drive the point home.

"Yeah. Am I, uh." Oscar mumbles, hands hovering awkwardly. "Ok?"

Ah. Lando presses his lips to Oscar's again, smiling into it a little. "More than ok, I'll show you."

[bloomyblemy]

Sleep thoughts

You know? 

I was always confused when SJ immediately forgives and trusts YQY when he reveals the truth.

Nort because I don’t think the he wouldn’t immediately forgive him because as we know he would BUT in my (personal) opinion I think we should explore the broken trust you know? Because not only does YQY keep this very important secret (I don’t really blame him for that of course) but he also said things (wether intentional or not) to make SJ look worse  (YQY with his foot in mouth syndrome)  while making it look like he was in SJ side which he isn’t  not when it matters anyway

Like ok let’s look at this from SJ perspective 

You waited for your Qi-ge to come until you couldn’t Waite anymore already assuming he’s dead , working with the devil until finally you managed to escape , then then you see him. He looks cleaner , better -fancier- clothes , even healthy. And when you ask him ‘ why didn’t you come back’ he looks at you he looks at you as if you were an abandoned dog waiting for it’s owner to come back  , and the only thing the only thing he said to you was ‘sorry’ 

Why? ‘Qi-ge is sorry’

Why are you just apologizing? ‘ I’m sorry Xiao-jiu’

Did you forget about me?

Is it because I would’ve pulled you down?

Why?

Why?

Anyway time skip your a Qing Jing  disciple and your aiming for the top -maybe he isn’t telling you because you aren’t important enough? Well let’s aim for second in command! Then he’ll tell me-  maybe then he’d also stop calling you that 

And  then you do

And he doesn’t -to either of those -

Instead he treats you like a troublemaker who just won’t listen , he never asks if you actually did it or not he just believes them , so now your just angry

Time skip again he tells you the secret of why he couldn’t come.

And.

And you don’t know how to feel anymore 

You should forgive him right?

He did all of this  for you.

But.

Did he do it for you or for Xiao-jiu?

Is he even your  Qi-ge anymore?

Does he even want  SJ? 

Or does he only want Xiao-jiu?

Cause time and Time again he showed he never liked SJ.

[oh-no-its-bird]

Look all I'm saying is that if I were going to make a minecraft movie.

Well, first off I'd put down the first person to even reccomend we do it in cgi. Not just because it looks objectively terrible and half of the magic and nostalgia factor of minecraft is in its texture but holy shit budget much??? You are literally looking at a situation where the cheaper option is also objectively the better option. What the fuck are you doing

But I mean, after that.

Second off, all my writers must watch popular smps and minecraft roleplays/let's plays to understand the "magic" of the game. That's how we're studying for this, not the game books or whatever. Those guys are clearly doing smthn right, and as the executive/writer who knows very little about mineraft that I am in this hypothetical scenario, I need to do my best to make money. And that means learning what people like about the game and community.

Maybe even bring on some popular (non controversial please god) smp writers for consulting. They literally make minecraft movies as their fucking job, they are the expert u need to consult

Story wise, you NEED to choose if you wanna play this straight or silly. I'm so sick of movies trying to be all emotional and "ohh this world is so beautiful,, if u could only understand,, woaa" with their epic sound track and dramatic lighting, but then the dialogue being ripped out of a stupid marvel knockoff trying too hard to be witty

Anyways. Give me a generic "kid has a hard life and uses [thing] to escape it but then their parent trashes [thing] to teach them a "lesson"" movie.

The thing is minecraft and this kid is totally in love with letsplays and smps and has a server with their online friends (get a sponsorship from discord for that good good film sponsorship money, have them play while in call)

The mom or dad or maybe both trash the kids computer for some reason (bad grades maybe or one of those shitty "you need to talk to us more!!! That computer is killing ur brain!!! You don't love us as much as you should and it's that damn games fault!!!" But like it's actually just a kid being a normal fucking kid and having normal fucking kid hobbies things and the parents are dicks)

They delete the minecraft world rip

Them boom, kid somehow gets stuck in the game

Switch to NON CGI FILMING IN MINECRAFT. If you really need to add your stupid shitty fucking cgi then at least make it look like an ACTUAL MINECRAFT ANIMATION holy shit

It'll save us so much money too

So main plot is this kid, being trapped in minecraft, actually falling through different minecraft servers.

We can have different cameos from popular smps and youtubers, get some old youtubers and gameplay in here too. Get fucking dantdm and the diamond minecarts og series with the lab thing, it'll make the old fans lose their fucking MINDS.

The youtubers themselves don't even have to show up, just shove the kid into settings that are clear references to smps and letsplays. Have them wander through Aphmau's OG minecraft diaries sets or Sundee's lucky block series

The best part is that as backdrops, you don't even have to fully commit to "you'll only get this/find this interesting if you know these guys" bc if your writing is good enough you can still make people care by just. Introducing it correctly. Don't present it as "Aphmau's old minecraft diaries series world" go "oh wow look st this cool village,, woah I wonder who built this ,," And have them interact with NPCs organically

Meanwhile the parents go into the game after the kid to bring them back and we do this whole world hopping adventure where the parents learn that,, minecraft can be fun? Actually?

They find the kid and the kid is like "nooo I'm having too much fun the real world SUCKS!!!" but then we do that "it's cool to have fun and indulge but you still need to be present in the real world and do real people things too in order to have that fun responsibly" where somehow the kid realizes that moderation is good for u.

Maybe they almost die in game fr fr? Every world they enter has its difficulty upped a little bit till they enter *gasp* a hardcore world (oh no)

So like the kid learns that you can't just lock yourself in the room and wish the world goes away while you play minecraft for 12 hours straight, and the parents learn that minecraft is cool and fun and can be a good outlet and outlets are important for adults and children alike. And also that they totally pulled a dick move and they need to try to understand their kid instead of just demanding the kid understands them

Somewhere along the way, the kid ends up in their friends server and the friends help to pull them out of the game w the parents

We end the movie with the kid making an effort to be more present with the parents, and the parents also making an effort to interact with the kid in ways that they know the kid will enjoy and respond well to— shown a family dinner scene where the kid very eagerly eats their food while talking about school, then they all go to play minecraft together

The end <3

Oh right and if you seriously want Jack Black there so fucking bad then make him either the dad or like. School computer teacher who helps the kid use Minecraft EU to learn science (shows off that some schools use minecraft for education purposes) who also helps the kids friends pull them and the parents out of the game

Overall, lots of themes not just about how the game is cool and can let you do cool shit, but also about how the community is cool, and how it's provided so many kids and adults outlets to express themselves and have fun together

That's how you do a game movie

Anyways yeah, minecraft movie looks shit. Hire me instead next time

[bonesandthebees]

sigh feeling nostalgic for my old fics/the old community these days. I miss it man.

[astersofthesky]

I will forever hold this part in the second op of Death Note close to my heart.

L and his lil capoeira.

[max-hubris]

@dreamsaremywords posted a dope prompt for a Clexa Mandalorian AU a while ago, and I own enough Star Wars RPG books for it to be embarrassing, so of course I had to write something. Please enjoy this meet-ugly between a moody bounty hunter and a reckless idiot. Title from a Perturbator-song that I was listening to on repeat when writing this.

She Moves Like a Knife

Stupid, stupid, stupid, Clarke thinks as she blinks furiously to clear the blood from her vision. Her helmet took the brunt of it, but there’s definitely a cut on her forehead, sending rivulets of crimson streaming down and directly into her left eye.

She hadn’t seen the shock baton coming before it literally hit her over the head, and though her armor ensured the electricity coursing through it wouldn’t send her into a spasming pile on the ground, the impact still fucking hurt.

“Fucking Cartel dicks,” Clarke mutters, readjusting the grip on her blaster. She’s a long way from Nal Hutta and Nar Shaddaa both, but the Hutt Cartel’s slimy tendrils are longer. And though she doesn’t speak much Dosh, in-between the harsh hissing syllables from the Trandoshans, she hears the name ‘Cholta’ repeated a few times.

She’s not going to let these amateurs take her anywhere, and especially not to some Hutt Cartel Lord who decided to put a bounty on her for no other reason than, in Clarke’s opinion, to be a real fucking asshole. Can’t even let her subtly loiter at a cantina in peace.

Another volley of blaster fire chips away at the makeshift cover, and she knows the durasteel crate she threw herself behind after kicking her initial assailant in the face isn’t gonna hold much longer. She chances a quick peek out of cover, managing to get eyes on all three of them. They’re all holed up behind the half-oval that makes up the cantina’s bar, a far more fortified position than what Clarke is working with. But… These older cantinas have their quirks, and her helmet’s HUD is still doing its job despite the impact, indicating the small fuel tank hooked up to the drink dispensing system. Clarke grins, happy to have her hunch confirmed.

Thankfully, everyone else had fled once the shooting started, so there’s no collateral other than structural to worry about.

Probably.

It’s gonna take a couple of shots to break through the plating, and Clarke is once again immensely grateful she managed to ditch the E-11 and its shitty accuracy as soon as she hit Elrood. As a manufacturing planet, it had a thriving black market filled with various things that went ‘missing’ from its gargantuan factories, and it hadn’t been hard to talk her way in, though she had obviously opted to forego her armor for that particular excursion. The Rodian manufactured heavy carbine she’d traded for had cost her both the E-11 and two thermal detonators, plus a couple of credits on top, but it was more than worth it for the upgraded precision, plus the extremely satisfying thump-noise it made when fired. Clarke has never been much for subtlety anyway.

To drive that point home, Clarke takes a deep breath, holds it, and pops out from behind her cover. Ignoring the shot that whizzes a little bit too close to her head, she follows the tracking on her HUD and finds the most vulnerable part of the tank easily. She exhales and pulls the trigger once, twice, keeping her wrists tense and elbows locked to manage the stronger recoil. Both shots are good, hitting in almost exactly the same place, and the three mercenaries have no time to react as the tank ignites and a fireball engulfs them.

The ensuing blast is probably the final nail in the coffin for the already beat-down cantina, and Clarke dives for a nearby window as the force of the explosion starts making the walls around her creak ominously. There’s screams from her would-be captors as they’re caught in the flames, but Clarke spares them no sympathy as she tucks and rolls, kicking up sand as she leaps to her feet and starts sprinting.

The air is scorching hot at this time of day, with Elrood’s arid climate and two suns quickly making Clarke’s armor feel like a sweltering cage, its bright white color not doing much to alleviate it. The commotion and ensuing explosion has drawn a crowd, even here in the slummier part of the planet. Clarke grits her teeth and pulls the long, raggedy cloak tighter around her, despite the heat.

It’s really no place for a lone figure clad in Stormtrooper armor to be seen.

She knows she needs to find her way off-planet soon, because even though Elrood isn’t under Imperial control, she’s seen a few of their ships coming and going from the modest spaceport lately, and though it’s unlikely that they’re here specifically for her, it’s still getting a little too concerning to ignore.

She makes it back to the little abandoned hovel she’d found on the outskirts of the slums, and as soon as she slams the door behind her, she wrenches the helmet from her head, wincing a little bit as the coagulated blood makes it stick to her skin for a moment.

“Eugh,” she grimaces as she sees the mess inside the helmet. She’s gonna need to clean that out somehow. Not to mention she has to take care of the cut on her forehead. She heaves a sigh and drags her feet through the little two-room building, throwing the helmet and her carbine onto the bed as she passes it.

Despite its state of disrepair, the house is very much livable. It stands in the middle of a little cluster of three other houses of similar shape and size, and Clarke’s assumption is that it housed factory workers, once upon a time, based on the logo still emblazoned on the doors. When she’d tried to look up the name of the company, however, she’d found nothing. Most likely, the company had been bankrupted, and its houses left behind. The other three houses were stripped bare, and it’s anyone’s guess why one of them still held its furniture, but Clarke isn’t complaining. The bed, though obviously cheap, is miles better than anything she’s ever slept on. Certainly much better than the shitty beds back at the Imperial barracks. There’s even a little table, and a chair, and a washroom with a sink, hooked up to a water tank outside. It had been dry when Clarke first got there, but figuring out how it worked hadn’t been hard, and she’d bartered two barrels of water from the nearby cantina to fill it up.

Unfortunately, that cantina is the same one she blew up today.

“Nothing good lasts forever…” Clarke mutters to herself in the cloudy mirror. She turns the sink on and leans down, cupping her hands under the faucet to gather water before splashing it against her face to get rid of the blood. She does this twice and tries to move quickly; she can’t afford to waste water now that she doesn’t know when she’ll get more, and—

Something cold presses against the back of her neck. Clarke’s hands immediately shoot out to the sides and stay there.

“Up. Slowly,” a voice says, distorted as if filtering through the voice-box on a helmet much like her own. Clarke curses inwardly, realizing this is it, they’ve found her. “Keep your arms just like that.”

As the voice commands, Clarke slowly comes back up, straightening at the waist first, then her neck. She mournfully glances down at the water that’s disappearing into the sink from the still open faucet, then looks up into the mirror.

And realizes that the person who has the muzzle of a blaster pressed against her neck isn’t who she thinks at all; because it’s not the Imperials come to haul her ass back to the nearest base to beat the shit out of her and put her right back into a squadron.

It’s worse.

“Mandalorian,” she hisses, lips pulling back into a snarl as she sees the all-too recognizable helmet shape, and the silver gleam of beskar plating.

The helmeted head tilts, and Clarke swears she can read amusement despite the lack of facial features. “Stormtrooper,” the voice retorts calmly.

“I’m not a fucking Stormtrooper,” Clarke bites out.

“That’s funny.” The hand not holding the blaster raises and a padded knuckle raps against her shoulder guard once, mockingly. “Because I think you might be.”

Clarke tips her chin up and stares down her foe, hoping her glare is hitting wherever the eyes might be. “I found this. Took it off some idiot I killed.”

“Being an idiot must be contagious, then, because only an idiot would voluntarily run around in that if they are, indeed, not a fucking Stormtrooper.”

Clarke opens her mouth, but whatever she’s about to say is drowned out by a rapid burst of blaster fire, and both of them immediately whirl away from each other, pressing flat against the wall by the door, each on either side of the opening.

“Oh come on!” Clarke shouts as she spots the very thing she was expecting when she was first accosted in her bathroom; that all to familiar white armor, as well as a gray uniform.

“Of course you have backup,” the Mandalorian grumbles, stowing the sidearm blaster and trading it for a much more formidable rifle hanging from their back, something surprisingly sleek though altogether vicious looking. 

“Surround the house! We’ve found the deserter!”

Clarke can’t help but feel a surge of vindication as the Mandalorian’s helmet snaps to look at her, and she grins, despite herself. “Fucking told you.”

“Great. Just an idiot.”

Deciding that doesn’t really qualify for a response, Clarke sets her eyes on the carbine still leaning against her bed. “Cover me,” she says, and absolutely does not wait for any kind of confirmation before she dives through the doorway, towards the bed and her carbine. 

Perhaps unsurprisingly, no covering fire is provided, though Clarke manages to snatch the carbine from the bed and drop into a low crouch behind the bed frame in spite of the uselessness of her new not-quite companion. 

Undeterred, Clarke blindly fires a few shots over her shoulder, ignoring the painful jolt of the carbine’s kickback from firing one-handed as she glares back at the faceless figure. "Some help you are! I thought Mandalorians were good at fighting!" Clarke complains, and squeezes the trigger a few more times for good measure. A yelp of pain tells her she might have gotten in a lucky hit, and there's more shouting from outside as the sound of the small unit regrouping can be heard. It buys her enough time to scramble back to her original position, next to the Mandalorian that seems perfectly content to let Clarke do all the hard work around here.

Fuck, and the fucking sink is still running.

Having grown up around faceless comrades, heads encased in white plastoid for the majority of their time spent together, Clarke is plenty used to relying on body language to discern emotion. Which is why it's so frustrating that she can't quite seem to get a read on this person, no, this woman, Clarke is pretty sure. Normally, she's not so bothered by not being able to see someone's eyes, hell, she prefers it most of the time. But now, she is irked by the fact that she has no idea where this annoyingly cocky bounty hunter is looking.

"And why would I help you, exactly?" The Mandalorian drawls. "You're clearly more trouble than you're worth."

Clarke grits her teeth at the unexpected ice-cold rush that courses through her chest and down into her stomach at the words. It's certainly not the first time she's heard almost this exact phrase, and while there's absolutely no reason it should hit her so hard, coming from a perfect stranger that had a blaster to her head a few minutes ago and knows absolutely nothing about her, it triggers painful memories, starkly reminding her of just why she's even on the run in the first place. All the things she's done that still weren't enough.

She fights down the unease and fixes the Mandalorian with an unimpressed look. "That officer out there has already reported back that a Mandalorian has been seen with me. Even if you leave me to get captured, you'll be a loose end, and the Empire does not leave loose ends. They'll start flagging ships in the spaceport looking for yours, and haul you in without a second thought. You're not getting off this planet now."

There is a subtle flex in the gloved hands where they wrap around the blaster rifle. The tiniest crack in the wall. Clarke is almost certain that they are now staring each other down, heedless of the smattering of blaster fire and shouting from outside.

"This isn't making me less tempted to shoot you," the Mandalorian says finally, and Clarke tips her chin up defiantly, feeling victory within her grasp.

"That'd make you the idiot then, because you need me. If you want to get past their sensors, you need someone who knows how to fool them. I do."

There's a beat of silence. Then two. Then, without any warning, the Mandalorian surges out of cover and has kicked open the front door and is in the middle of the fray faster than Clarke can blink. Clarke watches, jaw slack, as she moves forward, completely ignoring the hail of blaster fire that goes completely wide. With a powerful roll of one shoulder, the carbine in her hands is hefted and then three precise shots ring out, ventilating three Stormtrooper helmets in short order.

Without a second's hesitation, the Mandalorian strides towards the last man standing; the officer who is now fumbling for the small blaster sidearm he has forgone from drawing in favor of yelling orders instead. He stumbles backwards just as the Mandalorian raises her arm, and two wires shoot out from the grappling device strapped to her wrist.

With a sharp yank of her arm and a show of strength that Clarke was wholly unprepared for, the officer is pulled through the air and collides with an awaiting fist. The crack of a beskar reinforced gauntlet against his jaw echoes off the walls, and he slumps like a bag of space debris.

A high-pitched whistling noise, the wires retract back into the wrist grapple, and the helmeted head turns to look directly at Clarke as the carbine is smoothly exchanged for the sidearm again, and Clarke feels the eyes on her as two shots are fired directly into the unconscious officer's chest.

There is absolute silence for several moments as they stare at each other. Clarke has no idea what the face underneath that helmet is doing, and she honestly isn’t sure what expression her own face is wearing at the moment. There’s a non-zero chance it’s some form of wide-eyed awe.

Still. They can’t stand here staring at each other.

“Where’s your ship?” Clarke asks, with more courage than she’s feeling.

Heaving a full-body sigh, the Mandalorian steps over the dead officer. “C’mon. But if you bleed all over my seats we’re gonna have a problem.”

[strangersteddierthings]

Porcelain Steve - Part 6

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Part Nine

Even though he's expecting company, Eddie still jumps and yelps when his front door flies open without so much as a knock, revealing Dustin and Will.

"I know I said to let yourselves in, but a warning knock would have been nice," Eddie shoots them a glare, not bothering to stand from the couch where he'd been pretending to watch whatever terrible daytime movie was playing.

"Sorry," Will apologizes sheepishly while Dustin just laughs.

"Which of your moms dropped you off? If it's Claudia, I'm filing a complaint about how you were raised."

"Har har," Dustin says, swinging his backpack off and knelling down to unzip and dig into it. "We biked here."

"Lucky you, then. The complaint will wait."

Dustin wrestles a blanket from his backpack. Unwrapping it reveals Steve, hair rumpled but otherwise unharmed. "Alright. Delivered safely. We gotta go meet El and Mike now but we'll see you on Saturday, right?"

Eddie sets Steve on the couch, angled towards the TV. "Yeah. I get the feeling if I don't show for the barbeque that Joyce will show up here and drag me there by my ear."

"She would," Will confirms with an easy shrug. The boys turn to leave before Will exclaims, "Oh! Almost forgot!" before digging into his pocket for something, turning around to give it to Eddie.

"What?"

"El and Steve spoke again. He had a lot of things to say. I spent a good portion of the last three days writing down everything as El repeated it to me. This is your letter," he says, having successfully pulled out what looked to be a folded piece of paper out of his pocket.

"Oh," Eddie takes it, and realizes it's not just one folded piece of paper, but three. "Wow."

"Seems you are Steve's second favorite," Dustin grins at him from the doorway.

"You are first, I assume?"

"No. Robin is. She got five pages."

That tracks, actually. Eddie's not surprised Robin got the most pages.

Soon enough, the boys are off and Eddie returns to the couch, pulling his legs up to sit crisscross. "Alright, Stevie, let's see what you have to say."

He unfolds the pages completely and is met with Will's now familiar penmanship scrawled across the sheets of wide rule paper that has clearly been ripped from a composition notebook. He's seen Will's handwriting plenty over this last year, quickly scribbling notes during DnD sessions and on the little item cards Will makes himself to hand out when he DMs.

Will's handwriting isn't always the neatest, but this looks like Will took time, wanted his writing to be legible. Flipping through the papers he sees it is two pages, front and back, of a letter, and the third page is a list of questions in a different, neater handwriting. He gets the feeling that Will probably didn't paraphrase anything. How many people got letters? How much of Will and El's time was devoted to doing just this?

Eddie feels emotional over this, misty-eyed and a lump in his throat, and he hasn't even read the damn letter yet.

"Shit, Stevie, do you even realize how loved you are?" Eddie asks out loud, turning to look at Porcelain Steve like he might answer him this time. Blank hazel eyes stare forward. Eddie shakes his head, to clear away his thoughts, and gets to reading. Not out loud, because he doesn't want Steve to hear how wet his voice will sound.

Eddie,

I guess the first thing I want to say is thank you. I was kind of freaking out when I first woke up like this. It was calming, that day on the lawn, after Robin and Nancy found me. You were so chill and just chatted my ear off like you would have if I were, like, there. I mean, there there and not like, doll-there, if you get what I mean.

Shit, man, being stuck like this would have been a hell of a lot worse without you, I'm certain. Everyone's been great, of course, and, like, no offense meant, Will and El, but you act most normal. Helps me feel, well, I don't know how, exactly. Describing emotions is not something I'm like, good at. Robin's great, too, but she catastrophizes, you know? And since I can't speak back, she can get herself pretty worked up about this and I hate that. Hate that I can't do anything to help her.

Shit. This isn't your issue. Don't include that. No, wait, do. Sorry, El. (It is here, off in the margin, that Will has added 'I wrote everything word for word. Enjoy the asides to El and me.) Hanging out with you helps her, I think. She seems less anxious on days we spend with you. So, I guess, I also want to thank you for that. For being there for Robin when I can't.

Eddie has to pause there because he had no idea. Robin has been a grounding force for him this whole time. He had no idea he was doing the same for her. She never said, or let on... well, that was probably her goal and now Steve's spilled the beans.

This is getting easier to say, even if I still don't know how to feel about the other two people who are going to be privy to everything said, or I guess from your end, written here. (Here, Will has transcribed a conversation they seemed to have had in the middle of writing this up.) Oh. He means us. - El Yes. Don't worry Steve, we'll do our best to forget everything you've said once it's written down. - Will Steve laughed and says thanks. - El I appreciate that but- well, being honest there's some things I want to say but I don't want anyone else to hear. Those conversations are better left face to face, anyway. So, uhh, what else did I want to say?

Oh! Yeah, I told Robin she could drive around the Bimmer, so she can have a car while I'm- so she doesn't have to bike everywhere but knowing her she probably won't take me up on that offer. Maybe you can talk her into it? Or, maybe she'll be willing to drive your van around and you can take the bimmer.

"Jesus, Stevie, can't you just be okay with existing?" Eddie says it under his breath and tenses instantly. For a moment, he forgot that Steve was right there on the couch with him, could hear him. Now he has to explain himself because Steve's already heard, and without the context of how Eddie really means those words, they can sound judgmental. "Shit. Sorry. I just read the part about your car and, dude, you just don't know how to not try and be helpful, huh? I bet it's destroying you on the inside that you can't do anything. But Steve, you gotta know, we don't care about you because you're useful."

Steve, of course, can't reply, so Eddie goes back to the letter.

Uh, what else was there? Oh! Yeah! I don't get migraines here. Or, in this body? Or, whatever it is. I haven't had one since this happened. Also, no hearing issues. Though I find myself wishing to be completely deaf sometimes. I get that Max can listen to Kate Bush for a week straight, but I'd like a little variety. God, what I wouldn't give to listen to the Top 40 again. Don't say anything, Munson. I can already see your judgmental face at my music taste. Unlike you, I have the ability to like multiple types of music. The Top 40 AND that one song from, uhh, shit. Might not have migraines or hearing issues at the moment, but the memory is still as it was. Which means it is shit. That one song by that metal band where their name sounds like it's metal? You know who I mean. (In the margin, Will has just written five little question marks in a row ?????)

"The band you were thinking of, it's Metallica," Eddie says.

Not important. But, uh, the reason for telling you this. I was hoping you might smuggle me to a show the next time your band plays at the Hideout? Last time I tried to go it was too loud and gave me a migraine, you remember, but I think that I could listen to your whole show like this. We might as well take advantage of the perks of this shit situation, right? So, uh, I wouldn't mind if you did that. Or, like, had Robin or someone else bring me. Whichever.

Actually, wait, I lied, I do care which way. I've already had them pen down Robin's letter, so you'll have to pass this on, but I want Robin to take me. So, I can also watch the show, not just listen. That was the part I liked most, when I went last time, before I had to leave. Wait. Scratch that. Ask Argyle. Other than you, he seems like the only person willing to be caught holding me in public, mostly because I don't think he even knows how to be embarrassed. Jesus that was such a weird sentence to say. Holding me in public. Such a weird thing to experience, too.

Uh, anyway, I think that's it for now. Thanks for everything, Eddie.

"I think you're handling this loss of bodily autonomy rather well, Steve. This letter is a lot more positive than the one I would have written if our roles were reversed," Eddie says with a sigh. He can't help but wonder what Steve would have said in this letter if it hadn't had to be filtered through two teenagers first.

He looks to the last page, the list of questions, and is surprised to see that, mixed in with questions about which sports team is winning (he is not going to watch Sportsball for Steve. There has to be a line drawn somewhere and this is it. He will ask Wayne about it later and hate the glee he sees in his uncle's eyes because now he's going to have to pretend to like sports for the unforeseeable future) and for honest updates about their friends are questions about Eddie's campaign that he's rambled on about since Steve can't escape. Steve wants spoilers, wants to know what Eddie has planned.

Steve has actually been listening. He'd been operating on the assumption Steve just tunes him out when he gets going, unable to stop his brain to mouth filter when it comes to talking about Dungeons and Dragons and his current campaign.

"I'm at your list of questions now. I can't answer anything about sports, and don't think I'm unaware of how you asked me and not Lucas. I see what you are doing and I'm not going to fall for it. So, your first non-sportsball question here; How is Dustin doing, really? Well, that's a whole thing but overall, okay."

[oneshotgremlin]

First impressions on Fake Peppino Friday (aka how Pep and Fep first met in my interp):

(Context: Back in the earlier versions of pizza tower, the tunnel chase was a lot harder, and there’s this one drop that immediately goes into an overhang. When I say that I tried SO many times to grab slide through it but because of how little space there was I just KEPT GRABBING AT THE WALL OH MY GOD

Anyways, I like to keep my failures in my interpretation. Adds a je ne sais quoi to some of the character dynamics [judgement and concern])

No because this is actually so funny if you think about. Imagine being in Fake Peppino's shoes, right?

You're alone in in your restaurant. Waiting. Anticipating. And then you hear it. Footsteps.

You turn around and you see...You. You, but not. The You you've been watching on static riddled TV screens. The You you've heard your pizza-headed creator curse out so much, yet fail to measure up to.

It's the You you should've been.

You scream and you scream with him. "He can't get past you. Don't let him get to staff only." It's the one task your creator drilled into your head, above pizza making.

You attack.

And you can't keep up with him as you fight. Even in person, giving everything you've got, even getting some hits in, you still fail to compare to him.

But when the floor beneath both of you breaks, and he speeds away running for his life, he crashes into an overhang in the tunnel you've fallen in.

As he panickedly scrabbles against the dark stone, you finally catch up to him and. Bite. Down.

The world goes black. Then you're standing back in your restaurant. You aren't entirely surprised, nothing truly stays dead or destroyed in this tower. From the levels to the pillars to even the people, they all come back one way or another.

You hear footsteps. You turn around.

It's You.

...[TWO HOURS LATER]...

Oh Cheesus Crust it's You again.

You don't know how many times he's gone through your boss room, and at this point you're too afraid to keep count.

He doesn't even scream after walking in anymore. Neither do you. You're unspeakably worried for this man's sanity, assuming that it exists in the first place (you're less and less sure it does with every reattempt he makes).

You're not actually sure if he's even trying to get past you at this point. If anything he's decided to have a blood feud with one particular overhang in the tunnel and is somehow sorely losing.

Again.

At this point, you're pretty confident you know every single Italian and American swear in the global lexicon, along with some new ones that were invented within the last two hours alone.

As you once again catch up to him, you don't even bother biting him. Clearly getting repeatedly crushed into pulp is not the deterrent it is for every single other creature in this tower. You scruff his shirt with your teeth and carry him out and he just lets you like he did for the past hour or so. Soon enough he'll be back re-doing the same song and dance you've done for 2 hours straight before racing off to fistfight The Wall.

You don't know what this man's malfunction is but maybe you should be a little grateful that you aren't entirely like him after all.

(Bonus doodle for the peeps that read through it all):

[blueeyedgrlwrites]

Sunday Sentences, November 3, 2024

Hey, it's Sunday again! And you know what that means! I means I was tagged by @onthewaytosomewhere @kiwiana-writes @suseagull04 @sophie1973 @thesleepyskipper and

@seths-rogens to share words.

Enjoy this small bit from the upcoming chapter of (the only truth) everything comes back to you:

Alex glances down as Henry shifts a little, stretching to try and get more comfortable. Alex tugs off his shirt, rolls it up, and carefully slides it under Henry's neck. Henry opens his eyes and looks at him, after thoroughly scanning over the long expanse of Alex's torso. "Are you trying to seduce me, darling?" "Why? Is it working?" Alex grins. Henry rests a hand on his chest and closes his eyes again. "Love, you have bewitched me, body and soul." "I always knew I was the Lizzie to your Darcy." Alex covers Henry's hand with his own and threads their fingers together. "You've never even read the book," Henry teases. "But I have seen the movie," Alex counters. He feels Henry's gentle laugh under their hands more than he hears it.

Gentle, no pressure nudges to: @anincompletelist @cha-melodius @caterpills @stereopticons @stellarmeadow

@sparklepocalypse @porcelainmortal @getmehighonmagic @thinkof-england @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

@firenati0n @wordsofhoneydew @inexplicablymine @nocoastposts @henryspearl and, as always, an open tag because my memory is shite and I'm sure I've left someone off my list and I just really want to yell and scream over what you've written.