#ghost eyes tapas

[kittzuxp]

I need these three to be put in a room and interact with eachother.

(Also i just realized all 3 of em are blue coded. Like, blue is a big part of their lore/design)

[multiplebirthinwebcomics]

Multiple Births

Round 1 Poll 13

Read Ghost Eyes

Read Hooky

Submitted context (possible spoilers) and propaganda below the cut

Ghost Eyes octuplets : C'mon now. They were raised in a church in the woods. They used to do wolf roleplay. Their parents are murderers. Their family is haunted by mysterious beings. The only other teens they know are each other. THERE ARE 8 OF THEM!!!

Dani and Dorian : honestly one of most accurate sibling depictions of all time: funny, heartwarming, tragically bittersweet all at once. their dynamic and how they are always there for each other even when they have (very realistic) fights reminds me of my own siblings. wytte twins forever!!

[autumnalplague]

This has never happened in the comic... yet

[bitterishvices]

HEY finger game posting am i tripping or was the opening originally a different verse of ‘you are my sunshine’.

because this is. not an actual verse of the song. and i distinctly remember that it WAS because i looked it up and FOUND THAT IT WAS

I REALLY FEEL LIKE IT WAS THIS AND THEY CHANGED IT

[retrospectislame]

me: hm, im really in the mood for a webcomic right now... wonder which one i should read

the hundred or so webcomics im subbed to but have yet to read: finally! hes gonna read one of u-

me: *starts to reread webcomic that ive read 10+ times*

[a-p3r50n]

just some ghost eyes characters-

characters are nOt mine- they are made by mr. circus papa from a comic called Ghost Eyes on i think webtoon and tapas-

characters left to right- mattias, carmelo, luther, emilio, tobias, rudolph.

[slytherinweeb7]

I know someone has probably done this by now but

Tobias schneien

control-Halsey

[waaanderingluna]

🥀 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕮𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖑𝖊: 𝕶𝖊𝖊𝖕𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖆𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝕰𝖞𝖊

[furiarossa]

"Half-ghosts (although the correct term was grade three ectocontaminated) could not drink alcohol: their bodies were different from those of humans and they metabolized alcohol too slowly, as well as coffee and other drugs, with the result that the effects of those active ingredients were amplified and lasted much longer than they did with pure humans. Vlad knew it." [x]

A little ballpoint pen illustration for Stupid Danny, you've got slices of ham covering your eyes. We absolutely love the trope that halfas bodies do not respond to substances the same way regular human bodies do.

[Oh, and a lot more of our Danny Phantom fanarts: Here’s our tag]

★ FurAffinity|Deviantart|Commission prices|Tapas|Pillowfort★

[on-a-lucky-tide]

For the brilliant @devil-in-hiding. Thanks for trusting me with your idea.

Ghost and Price share a bath after a difficult mission. They fuck the last of their energy out of their systems.

cw: sexual content, hand/oral job (brief), anal sex.

Ghost watched the whirls of smoke curl above his head with unfocused eyes. Tendrils of greyish-white circled the murky lampshade before being whisked through the cracked window into the late Spanish summer. His mind felt like it was being cushioned in cotton wool, and his senses spread out to touch the world around him because they weren't needed to guard his body. The man at his back had him covered; Ghost laid comfortably, safely, between Price's legs, reclining back against his chest.

He could hear kids playing in the street, the clatter and chatter of busy restaurants with their tables splashed out onto the plaza, the honk of fizzies as they weaved in and out of traffic, their helmetless riders taking their life in their hands as they threw gestures at bolshy taxi drivers. He could feel the occasional whisper of the breeze over the beads of sweat on his brow alongside the deep, throbbing heat of the bath water soaking through every aching muscle.

There was a petrichor on the air, the promise of distant rain clouds rolling in from the west and the greasy goodness of the tapas from the kitchens below, but, more than anything, he could smell the rich cigar smoke and the musky sweat pushing through the deodorant of the man behind him.

A puff of grey smoke burst into his eyeline and then, “What you smirkin’ at?”

Ghost felt the question vibrate through his back. A low, lazy grumble that reminded Ghost of rolling thunder. He had forgot about his lack of a mask. Price had peeled it off his face earlier with a deep frown - “fuckin stinks worse than the rest of ya” - and chucked it in the heap with the rest of their bloodied, mud-soaked clothes. So every one of his expressions was visible, every grimace, every frown, as his body unwound. Price had to have been watching him to see it though, and the thought of those intense blue eyes focused on the scars and lines of his face made his chest feel tight.

“You smell good,” Simon replied. His voice felt thick and sticky in his throat, like the steam had soaked through his skin and melted his voice box. Even speaking was an effort, his chest lifting in a deep sigh as he twitched minutely between Price's legs.

“Gonna eat my liver with some fava beans?”

Ghost felt Price shift, reaching to tap his cigar against the nearby paper cup that was serving as his ashtray. Crouching in the shadow of the nearby cathedral, the hotel was cheap as chips, but it was clean. There was a fully stocked bar downstairs, and two rooms hadn't set them back much; the two sergeants crowding into one and Ghost gladly taking the other side of Price's bed.

The promise of an exhausted, lazy fumble in a clean sheets after the shitstorm of their most recent mission had been enticing enough, but whoever had retrofitted a hotel into this gothic-esque monstrosity had seen fit to deck out the bathrooms with tubs big enough for three normal-sized people, or two battered soldiers, so now he got to lounge in a bubble bath with the captain's thighs bracketing his hips and his thick chest cushioning his head. A small slice of heaven on an otherwise hellish operation.

“Naw, give me gut ache,” Simon replied, smoothing his fingers through the ginger-blonde hair on said gut. “‘Mount of scotch you drink, reckon it's pickled ‘n’all.”

“Rich comin’ from you,” Price said, and Ghost could picture the wry smirk on his face without even looking, whiskers twitching. “Surprised your drug screenings don't flag your blood as fifty percent bourbon.”

“They do. I jus’ go at it with the ol’ tipex before they get to you.”

“Bloody muppet.” Price chuckled, jostling one of Ghost’s legs by nudging his inwards before settling it back against the edge of the tub. The conversation lulled and Ghost tilted his head to look down the slope of his own body, the fur on Price’s chest soft against the shell of his ear, the deep musky scent of him easier to find under the cigar smoke.

Sprawled between Price's legs like this, Ghost reckoned he should be more aroused than he was. As it stood, his cock had managed a half chubby before quietening down to float beneath the suds, as limp and useless as the rest of him in the sultry heat of the water.

Everything ached.

There wasn't a muscle in his body that didn't feel leaden with exhaustion and soreness, but in the cradle of hot water and Price’s body, that ache had morphed into a bone-deep contentment that only came in the aftermath of extreme physical exertion. He knew his captain would feel the same physically, but his mind would still be racing through the events of the day, analysing, cataloguing, planning. The only way to switch his brain off that Ghost knew of was to melt it through his ears with a good, hard fuck. In the meantime, he could offer some paltry comfort to distract Price from whatever self-chastisement he was currently mulling over.

Ghost’s hand lifted from the water, his fingertips a little pruned, and he stroked his thumb over the soft skin on the inside of Price’s knee. His reward was an almost imperceptible shiver against his back, and a flurry of goosebumps up Price’s forearm. Ghost continued further down, as far as he could reach before he met the outside of his own hip, and caressed until Price let out a soft sigh, releasing a well of tension that saw his legs slackening around Ghost's body.

There was a certain pleasure in touching parts of Price that were usually covered. Not just the impressive cock and balls pressing to the middle of Ghost’s back, but the curve of his pecs, beneath his arms, behind his knees, down the inside of his thighs. Ghost would rip someone's arm off for a chance to spend a few hours touching and licking the places he could only get to when the captain was spread out naked in front of him, relaxed, trusting. It was intimate in a specific way that went beyond sex. Ghost wasn't sure what he'd call it, but he knew he didn't have it with anyone else.

Ghost wriggled up Price’s body, lifting enough so that his balls didn't get ground down against his spine, until the back of his head rested against his collar bone. At this height, he could tilt his face up into Price's jaw and throat, the shaggy, coarse hair of Price's beard tickling the tip of his nose, his pulse so close to his mouth that Ghost could almost taste the thrum of it. His lashes must have tickled Price’s neck, because the captain shivered again.

Powerful thighs twitched, and Ghost raked his fingers back down the top of his thigh, smoothing lines of dark hair towards Price’s knee cap. Price’s hand left the edge of the tub, and moments later he heard the muted rattle of the cigar wobble around the inside of the cup and Price's free hand tapped Ghost’s shoulder. “‘Ere, sit up, I'll do yer back."

It took a monumental amount of effort for Ghost to lever himself up. He grabbed the edges of the tub, his arse squeaking against the bottom as his legs flailed to find the momentum; his core nought but jelly and exhaustion. Once he was upright, he slouched forward, eyes lidded, as Price soaped up his hands.

The first glide of Price’s thumbs up either side of his spine made him groan. “Urf, fuck me that's good,” Ghost mumbled, head hanging between his shoulders as the soft pleasure unfurled through his torso.

Price pressed into the meat around his hips, above his arse, with an appreciative hum. “Like it when you’re a bit bigger.”

Ghost huffed a tired laugh. “You collin’ me fat, sir?”

“We really goin’ with sir when I'm starin’ down yer hairy arse crack?” Price's forehead settled between Ghost’s shoulder blades as he worked his soapy thumbs into the knots just above the waterline. It felt so good that Ghost’s toes curled against the far end of the tub, his hand kneading at Price’s thigh.

“Could get it waxed.”

“Don't you fuckin’ dare.”

Ghost grinned at the dark warning in Price's voice. He felt the scar through his lips tug, such was the scarcity of the expression on his face, and he brushed a damp hand over the stubble on his jaw. Well, it used to be. He found himself smirking more and more under his mask these days, with Johnny chattering down the Comms in his cheeky Scottish drawl. Damn boy was mental, pushed his luck, got away with far more than Ghost should let him. Ghost tried not to look too closely at why.

In the pause as Price washed himself, Ghost listened to the hurried squelch of soaped hands beneath armpits, and then the slosh of water as Price splashed it over himself. The restaraunts outside the window would be emptying soon, patrons with bellies full of Spanish cuisine would stumble to the clubs or back to their hotel rooms for early nights to fuck, then they'd watch shitty telenovelas in the afterglow.

The aftermath of a mission sometimes felt like an afterglow. In many ways, fighting was like fucking, weren't it? Physicality, and adrenalin, and arousal, just not the sexy kind unless you were a sick fuck. Ghost had thought he was for a long time when he'd get a chubby in the shower after the firefights had finished and the wounds were dressed, but it was just the adrenalin leaving his system, his body firing off all the synapses as it shook itself off and reset to standard protocols.

That was what they were both feeling now. The synapses firing, the hormones settling. They could do it here, safe with a man that understood, that had felt and thought the same; the thrill of violence, the brutality of fear, the relief of success and the sound of the exfil droning overhead. It was fraternisation. It was wrong. They'd get kicked out on a dishonourable discharge if anyone ever found out. Ghost was just glad that Price disregarded those rules the same way he did any others that inconvenienced him in pursuit of his goals.

Warm water flooded over his shoulders as Price cupped handfuls to rinse him off, his hands returning to ease down Ghost’s obliques to the meat of his belly. Ghost looked down and watched the captain's weathered fingers knead and undulate through the layer of padding covering his core, and his dick gave an interested twitch at the soft growl of appreciation he felt against his back. “Lean back, doin’ the front.”

Ghost shuffled back with another squeak of skin against ceramic so that when he leaned back this time, his head settled on Price's shoulder, Price’s hard on nestled in the divet of his spine. He watched as the bar of soap rolled through those strong hands, Price's biceps bracketing his shoulders. He was one of the few men that made Ghost feel handled, like the extra two inches of height and the bulk meant nothing. Ghost’s hands returned to Price’s thighs, his thumbs rubbing up the inside, following the dips of his muscles to the angular curve of his knee.

Price hooked his arms beneath his pits and stroked his hands over Ghost’s pectorals, his thumbs stroking around his areola until Ghost’s nipples pebbled, his cock twitching above the water line. It was pathetic really, how little tenderness it took to make it sit up and beg like a dog, and it only got keener when Price's hands moved lower, meeting on his sternum to push down to his belly button.

“Fuckin ‘ell,” Ghost groaned, turning his face into Price’s neck. He pushed close enough until he could feel the thrum of Price’s pulse against his lips, nip at it with his teeth, and was glad to find it matched his own. Two randy fuckin’ war dogs, the pair of ‘em. Price circled the base of Ghost’s cock in one hand and returned to his chest with the other, fingers and thumb pinching a pert nipple.

“Bloody love the way you get like this, Simon.”

“Like wot?” Ghost knew what he meant even as he thrust up slowly into Price’s fist, watching his foreskin glide over his glans, leaking precum mixing with soap suds. But he wanted to hear Price say it in that gruff fuckin’ voice that made heat pool in Ghost’s gut.

“Like a ruttin’ dog. Thick fuckin’ body, thick fuckin’ prick,” Price growled, squeezing with just the right pressure, his forefinger teasing Ghost’s frenulum in a delicious little circle. Wily bastard had to be good at everything, didn't he? Best in the field, best in leadership, best at giving a handy in some cheap hotel’s bath tub.

“Collin’ me a bleedin’ dog,” Ghost growled and turned in the bath, awkward, slippery, arms flailing, and snogged the amused chuckle right out of Price’s damn mouth once he'd got some purchase on the edge of the tub. His knees slid back as he ground against Price’s cock, his own slipping over it in a messy rhythm that splashed water up the sides of the bath and onto the black and white tiles of the bathroom floor. His back burned, his damn arms shook, but he needed to climb under Price’s fuckin’ skin.

Price's fingers bit into the meat of his hips, his arse, pulling him closer with a bitten out snarl of enjoyment, his head thrown back, as Ghost sucked a bruise into his neck. When he returned to Price's mouth, he sucked on his lips, his tongue, demanding and insistent, but Price shoved him away. “Out,” he grunted. “Need that weapon in me, not wastin’ it humpin' like crows at Credenhill.”

[Continued on AO3 (see notes) because Tumblr was being a bloody princess about it.]

[seeminglydark]

A New Mil-Liminal comic update is Finally Here! I'm beginning to add some new scenes that aren't in the book, and give more background on Caro's teenaged life, post Sully. Read it on Webtoon or Tapas.

SNDTRK is The Background by Third Eye Blind

What is Mil-Liminal?

Hopeless romantic Jonathan O'Sullivan struggles to find his place in his charismatic partner's fast-paced life. Superstar Caro Greene, voice of the smash-hit horror podcast Mil-Liminal, is always on the move, and Johnny is finding it harder and harder to keep up. Can he figure out a way to pull himself out of the background of Caro’s life, all while dodging the supernatural trouble that follows them both wherever they go? Mil-Liminal is a horror-comedy love story about compromise, long distance relationships, and learning to balance the ghosts of your past with the demons of your present.

[olivescales3]

Writeblr Introduction

Please reblog!

Hello Writeblr! I'm oliveScales, and I'm currently writing and illustrating my webcomic named "The Forgotten Legends of Chima", or TFLOC for short.

Synopsis

In a world where civilizations clash for Chi in order to survive, Laval, prince of the Lion Tribe, strives to overcome every war and all injustice without ever gripping a sword. It all started when Laval witnessed evil and inequality with his own eyes. Since then, he has promised himself to protect anyone, no matter who they are, from suffering and that he will restore peace in the land of Chima. These are the Forgotten Legends of Chima.

TFLOC is about war; there will be violence, death, fighting and blood. It is not a story suitable for those under 14 years old.

I'm a fan of mythology and folklore, and I'm trying to study a few of them for my worldbuilding. Worldbuildings with focus on culture are my favorite! I also really like stories with animals and anthropomorphic characters. I'm an american who enjoys studying other cultures, and am currently studying the Portuguese language!

The Forgotten Legends of Chima is a fantasy science fiction story about the land of Chima, home to eight animal tribes. Here, you'll learn about their cultures, witness intriguing and complex relationships between them, and understand the importance of diversity.

TFLOC's cast is entirely made of aromantic-asexual characters, with some characters being either demi-partnering or non-partnering.

TFLOC is an interpretation of Legends of Chima's storyline, which means that worldbuilding and characters are going to be developed alongside new content to add further depth into the story, such as unimportant/secondary characters becoming important and vital to the story.

Chapter 1

Episode 1

Episode 2

Episode 3

Episode 4

Chapter 2

Coming soon :)

Sneak Peeks

TFLOC Full Sneak Peek

TFLOC Episode 2 Sneak Peek

TFLOC Sneak Peek (part 1)

TFLOC Sneak Peek (part 2)

TFLOC Sneak Peek (part 3)

TFLOC Sneak Peek (part 4)

TFLOC Sneak Peek (part 5)

TFLOC Sneak Peek (part 6)

TFLOC Sneak Peek (part 7)

TFLOC Sneak Peek (part 8)

TFLOC Sneak Peek (part 9)

TFLOC Sneak Peek (part 10)

TFLOC Sneak Peek (part 11)

TFLOC Sneak Peek (part 12)

TFLOC Sneak Peek (part 13)

TFLOC Sneak Peek (part 14)

TFLOC Sneak Peek (part 15)

TFLOC Sneak Peek (part 16)

TFLOC Sneak Peek (part 17)

TFLOC Sneak Peek (part 18)

TFLOC Sneak Peek (part 19)

TFLOC Sneak Peek (part 20)

TFLOC Sneak Peek (part 21)

TFLOC Sneak Peek (part 22)

TFLOC Sneak Peek (part 23)

TFLOC Sneak Peek (part 24)

TFLOC Sneak Peek (part 25)

TFLOC Sneak Peek 2 (part 1)

TFLOC Sneak Peek 2 (part 2)

(Check the #tfloc tag to see everything TFLOC related!)

Snippets

TFLOC Snippet 1

TFLOC Snippet 2

TFLOC Snippet 3

TFLOC Snippet 4

TFLOC Snippet 5

TFLOC Snippet 6

TFLOC Snippet 7

TFLOC Snippet 8

TFLOC Snippet 9

Laval and Lagravis

Worriz and Gorzan

Sir Fangar

Found Family (Tormak and Li'ella)

Heads Up Seven Up 1

Asks

Are there any proverbs [in Chima]?

When and why did you start writing?

Laval's purpose

Laval and Cragger

Storytelling Saturday

Character Ask (Laval)

WBW Chi Market

STS Halloween Party

Cragger character ask

Muse Monday Ask (Laval)

WBW ghost stories

Links

The Forgotten Legends of Chima Carrd

oliveScales' Carrd

oliveScales' Cohost

oliveScales' Toyhouse

oliveScales' Bluesky

[nayru-s-clay-tablet]

Link used Puppy Eyes! They have no effect on Ghirabat...

Read the comic from the beginning on Tumblr, Webtoons, Comicfury, or Tapas!

New to the comic? Check out the About page!  

❤︎  Many thank yous to my lovely patrons! You and your support help keep the comic going!  ❤︎

⭐ Patreon ⭐ Triforce of Power Zine ⭐ ToP: Ghost Stories Zine ⭐ Ko-fi  ⭐

[concord-and-cliches]

A seemingly arbitrary kidnapping. A lost child with a missing eye and an untold story. An unexpected sentience. What is it that connects these strands of fate? Also, there's catgirls, so that's cool.

No More Chasing Ghosts is an upbeat story about death, tragedy, and the people left behind to make meaning out of the meaningless.

You can read my currently ongoing urban fantasy/comedy/drama webcomic on Webtoons, Tapas, or with page transcripts on Comicfury! You can also read pages uploaded in bulk on Tumblr, starting from HERE!

[mistydeyes]

OHey Hey how are you? Well, I've been reading your blog and I really, really liked it so I decided to make a small request (okay, I'm new here on your page, but please don't take me into consideration). Could you do something related to the 141 mission in Brazil? (I'm Brazilian 🥹) I would really like that, and being a little more specific, Ghost meeting the reader during the mission (the reader being addicted and finding them by chance) if it's not too much to ask, could you add something a little warmer and also cute? Have a great day and stay hydrated, kisses 🥰🫶🏻🫶🏻

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

summary: When Simon and the rest of the 141 find themselves in Brazil, they don't have time to enjoy the tourism as you need a helping hand in the bar.

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!reader

warnings: swearing, alcoholism, mentions of bodily fluids

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

"It's like we're on holiday," Soap joked as they got off the helo and their boots met the tarmac. "Don't forget the mission," Price corrected, slapping the sergeant's back lightly. The air felt like a dry heat that enveloped them in a comforting blanket. "Why don't you usually pick beautiful locations like this, Cap?" Gaz asked as the group meandered through the picturesque streets of Paraty. Ghost followed in the rear as he kept a watchful eye on the crowds of residents and tourists. He nodded along with the conversation until it came on the topic of a meal. "We haven't eaten since the base," Soap moaned as he began to peek into every restaurant, bar, and shop that looked like it housed some food.

"I like this restaurante," Soap said, showing off his minimal conversational Portuguese. The group rolled their eyes as they noted the location appeared to be a pub of sorts, neon glowing signs of liquor bottles reflecting in the window. "Of course, you would pick this one," Ghost muttered under his breath as he entered the place. For a tourist-packed city in the summertime, it was surprisingly empty with a few patrons scattered about. The men took a seat and Price greeted the bartender in almost perfect Portuguese. "You sound like a natural," Gaz commented as the man returned with a round of drinks for the group. "Now remember we're here on business," Price again reminded before taking a large sip of his beer. The group shared in this moment of solace as Ghost gingerly sipped on his glass of rum. The voices of his teammates were softly drowned out as he looked over and saw you.

On the contrary to the men sitting next to you, you had been there since the bar opened. The bartender served you the occasional drink, always accompanied by a glass of water, yet only one of those glasses remained constantly empty. As you threw back another drink, you ignored the bartender pushing over a glass of water and some tapas over to you. "Me deixe só!" you rudely responded as you flicked your hand towards him. As you sucked on the ice from your beverage, you looked over to the group of men talking casually to the left of you. You clicked your tongue against your teeth as you noted their distinct accents that gave the tourist appearance. "You should tell one of them to buy me a Caipirinha," you loudly joked to the bartender as he rolled his eyes at you. You put your head on the cold counter as you could feel the liquor begin to hit your system. The room spun lightly and your body slowly slipped further and further off the chair you were sitting on.

You shut your eyes as your subconscious braced you for the floor but instead, you were met with the comforting grip of someone helping you back up. As you turned your head to see the individual, you were met with the dark brown eyes of a handsome early 30-something. "Thank you," you giggled but congratulations were said too soon on your part. A second later, you couldn't hold the insatiable urge to vomit on the ground. The bar filled with a mix of swears and shouts as Simon shuffled back and out of the way. "Hora de você ir" the bartender shouted, an effective way of saying 'get out here'. You slumped on the ground as you slammed the door. Your apartment was adjacent to the bar and you tried to get back up and walk to it. You fought through the spinning visions until you heard the bar door open behind you. "Whoa hold on now," the man before said as he held your shoulder. You looked back up to his brown eyes before he put a water bottle into your vision. "Drink it," he offered, "you're gonna need it in the morning."

You laughed as they helped to stabilize you and your haphazard water-drinking abilities. "What's an attractive group like you doing here?" you flirted, switching over to English as his group didn't seem the type to understand Portuguese. "Business," the man replied and you giggled as you continued to sip on your water. "Well you came to the right place," you continued to flirt, "you got to save me." That got a laugh out of him as he sat on the ground. He watched you like a child as you finished your water slowly. You sheepishly handed it back to them before straightening up and beginning to make the trek across the cobblestone street. "They gonna be okay?" his friend asked, exiting the door upon seeing your walk of shame. The man from earlier held his friend back as you walked. "They'll be alright," you could hear him say as you dizzily turned back around. "Hope you come by again, belo, you know where to find me," you winked. 

Later that night as you were nursing your hangover, you turned the packet of paracetamol found in your pocket. "Bartender gave me these. Take them - Simon" you read and despite your pounding head, you wondered if this was a sign you'd see him again.

[android-anthology-hub]

A Robot and a Girl - Part 1

I've been working a lot on polishing things up for this series, including doing a full rewrite of all three chapters of the first story in this series.

So let's start things off with a bang.

You'll also be able to read this over on Fiction Press, Ao3, and Tapas.

Edit: Unfortunately, because Tumblr has somehow become even more broken, posts with certain images can't register in their tags! And Tumblr removed the ability to have line breaks without having to code them in HTML by hand a long time ago. So, unfortunately, the Tumblr version of all of these stories are going to be without those linebreaks! Which sucks! THANKS STAFF!

The stylus shifted about in D'Anna's grip as she trailed along the pages of her notebook. Her knuckles stood out against her dark skin, gold-alloy joints smoothly shifting with every curve and line. She followed along the edges of the coat in her memory. The image lay over the page before her eyes, like a digital ghost.

It had been difficult to get it out of the tower security systems. Tanu had tried to piece it together as best they could. Lines of loose code bled into the image of the man, roughing up the edges of his coat. 

But still, she sketched them in. A little flourish of her own. She kept her focus on the notebook in her hands-

The light panels overhead flickered, and the trams rumbled down the center of the corridor. The door beside her opened and shut as people moved past along the side of the transport lane.

-and the security door across the way.

Every flash and tone of the signal light ran ahead of the next wave of sound as it crashed through the corridors like a current. Passengers rode past on the transport lanes. Cargo runners raced somewhere over their heads. And people gathered at the lane crossings. The rumble of the trams faded down the corridor, the crossing gates opened, and the crowd rushed away. The signal flashed again as another wave gathered-

D'Anna glanced back and forth from her sketch to the crowd. 

-the cargo runners racing by-

There he was. Stepping right into the crowd as the lights changed-

-and the crossing gates opened. D'Anna watched as the man approached the door across the corridor. Circuits silently whirred to life in her eyes, tracking the man as he unlocked the door - scratching down the code as he punched it in - and slipped inside.

It looked like the info she'd gotten from Tanu was right on the mark-

She brushed her thumb over a name she'd written on the same page, Rosi.

She'd made a promise, and she planned to keep it…

She tucked everything away, the gates sliding shut behind her as she crossed to the other side.

-now she just had to stay on him.

D’Anna’s breath turned to fog in the cold air of the hall as she trailed her mark.

The man tugged his coat tighter against the cold, the steam of his breath glowing in the cold lighting of the panels overhead. Dark green spread across his shoulders, a stark contrast to the pale gray that wrapped his arms and waist. It wasn’t too uncommon to see on an engineer’s coat… But she could see a white synth-silk scarf poking out over his collar.

That kind of fabric wasn’t cheap. Hardly something she’d see on an engineer this far down in the city. He was owned, whether he admitted it or not. That scarf was as much a collar as a comfort, paid for by his patron. But who paid him didn’t matter-

Another door slid open with a click, the engineer more focused on pulling his data card from the lock and tucking it away than on the hall. D’Anna followed close behind him as he stepped through.

Too close. Dammit, she was too close!

The door failed to close when it should have, the engineer’s heel grinding to a halt on the concrete floor.

She had to be quick. Think of something…

D’Anna tucked her hands away in her pockets as he turned, quickly speaking up, “I’m sorry, sir. I would have announced myself sooner, but my employer prefers discretion.”

-what mattered was the job.

With a cautious frown, he looked her up and down, nervously adjusting his scarf.

If he knew she was lying, he didn’t show it. He was too twitchy for her liking…

He kept glancing at her wrap-tunic, eyeing the synth-silk with a thoughtful tug of his scarf.

Sometimes it paid to keep a few of her old things.

His voice was low and ragged, “What sort of work, ma’am?”

He waved a hand over a sensor by the door, shop tables lining the wall next to him lighting up all at once. The light was just as cold as the hall, old metal arches casting shadows along the curved ceiling of the narrow shop. A pair of mech tables formed an island in the center of the room, their mechanical arms and cables neatly folded away.

It seemed innocent enough, a mechanics shop like any other. And yet, it felt wrong. It was too clean and put together, almost like a showroom. What was it hiding?

He chuckled as he looked back at her, waving to the selection of parts that sat neatly on his table, “We can work with whatever you might need: Mechanical, Cybernetic, even Mechatronic.”

Every piece had its place like he was proud of his work. He probably was. But it wasn’t good enough. Come on. If he could just show her where he could be keeping them…

“A mech,” she said, earning a pause from the man as he looked at her more carefully. “It’s my employer’s understanding that you’re in supply.”

The engineer frowned in thought as he picked an eye from the table, the gold-alloy iris shining under the light as he turned back to her. She stared at the eye as he rolled it in his hands, thankful for her tinted glasses.

“Well, that depends,” he started, slowly turning his back. He tossed the eye behind him, inquiring over his shoulder, “What model?”

D’Anna caught it on reflex, her joints glinting in the shop lights. She did her best to ignore the gleam in his eye and the self-satisfied smile on his face. He was getting a little too curious…

“An RC-N unit,” she said, keeping her voice gentle as she set the eye back in its place on the table.

“Workhorse,” he mused. “Now why is an expensive android like you coming here? And all for a mech that’s easy to order anywhere?”

“As I said, my employer prefers discretion,” D’Anna said with a frown. “And a workhorse isn’t the only model they’re looking to get, even if you’d have to reset their cores.”

She was pushing him, but if he took the bait…

He hummed thoughtfully, striding over to the far end of the wall as he spoke, “Very well, miss…?”

“AT-S-039,” D’Anna lied, earning a chuckle from the man.

“Tower staff, hmm?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I see why your employer would wanna keep things quiet,” he said, eyeing her over his shoulder as he rummaged for his tools. “Folks up in the towers have reputations to uphold.”

“Yes, they do,” D’Anna said, her eyes scanning around the shop as she approached a tool chest embedded into the opposite wall.

“Well-” the engineer said as he came up behind her, core resetter in hand, thumb waiting on the trigger. “-you’re in luck, ma’am. I came into an RC-N unit recently.”

She heard the tell-tale click and crackle of electricity, spinning around in time to block the prongs of the resetter with her hand. Lightning arced from the three metal prongs, surging up through her arm, and into her shoulder as it threw her back. She slammed into the drawers behind her, shoulder screaming from the impact. She clutched at her arm, limp and numb from the jolt. Her hand was smoking…

“Took the shock to your arm and not your body. You’re pretty quick,” he hummed, giving the resetter another crackling click as he loomed over her. “Now, why are you here?”

She groaned as she tried to flex her fingers, “Looking for someone…”

D’Anna cried out as she slammed her arm into the drawers, shocking some sensation back into the limb.

The engineer just shook his head with a ragged chuckle, “No one else here but us. Not that it matters.”

Sparks arced across the triple prongs as he lunged for her.

One good jolt, and she’d be out like a light. She’d have to be quick.

She jabbed him in the arm - alloyed knuckles slamming into muscle - and sent the tool clattering to the floor. She surged up from her place on the ground. Her burned hand ached as another punch to the button of his chin sent him stumbling back into the mech table, head rattling.

“You…!” he sputtered, leaning against the table as his head spun.

She closed the gap in a single lunge, stepping like a boxer as she hooked an arm under his ribs. With her whole weight, she yanked him up and drove him back down onto the floor. She hauled him up by shirt and scarf, her joints whirring as she held him tight. He grabbed her wrist as he tried to stand, his feet scrambling against the floor. But she wouldn’t budge.

“You’ve got a storage space somewhere, don’t you, sir. Somewhere out of sight,” she kept her voice a soft-spoken threat, knocking his footing with a firm shake that ripped his collar.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the engineer snapped, looking back at the tool chest embedded in the wall.

“It’s behind there, isn’t it, sir?”

She shook a yes from him before she threw him onto the floor again. She grabbed his collar and dragged him back over to the worktable, harshly propping him against its leg.

She yanked off his scarf, the man groaning as she tied his hands to the table, “W-Wait. Wait!”

“Don’t worry sir,” she dismissed him with a shake of her head. “I’m sure you’ll get yourself out in an hour-”

-maybe three, if she was being honest. But now-

D’Anna sighed and rose to her feet, her eyes scanning over the walls and floor as she approached the tool chest.

-she had a door to find.

She frowned at the wall as she looked it over, muttering under her breath, “Now, how do you open…?”

She could see the way the tool chest moved, her eyes picking up the grooves it left behind.

But she couldn’t find the lock…

She closed her eyes as she ran her hands along the sides of the chest, focusing on the contacts in her palms. As her hand trailed halfway down, she felt it, a gentle signal pinging against her palm.

“Data lock,” she hummed, feeling out the interface. She looked back at the man, still struggling against his scarf as she spoke, “Your card’s the key, isn’t it, sir.”

It wasn’t a question.

His data card wasn’t hard to find. No one’s was really…

She paused as she pulled it from his pocket, a softer green than his coat. But it was the emblem etched into the plastic circuits that caught her eye. A white oval with two flattened sides, three diamonds cut out along its center. 

She knew it well.

“Mr. Archer,” she said with a frown, curling her hands into a fist. “Now why is he funding a chop shop?”

“Wouldn’t know,” the engineer coughed, trying to get the wind back in his lungs.

“Yeah, you do,” she said, rolling her eyes as she walked away.

“Who are you?” he asked, staring at her as she looked back.

“I don’t really know myself, sir…”