#he keeps trying to go out the wire mesh

[ruthlesslistener]

Toast is turning out to be a fearless and exploratory sort

[revelboo]

revel i really love how everything you wrote is connected to eachother in some way its actually so satisfying to read from the very first post and read from there! feels like seeing the bigger picture!

I try to connect the IDW fics or TFP fics to each other when possible, because it makes it more fun for me. This one is a bit earlier than intended, but the reblog tags for the last Jazz bit were killing me 😭

Over It Now Pt 9

IDW Jazz x Reader

• Tracking your passage through the house, his optics follow as lights come on, go out until you reach your bedroom and then the house is dark and silent, leaving him with his thoughts. With his oldest and truest companion, self loathing. Your anger spreading like poison through him as he walks to sit under that ancient pin oak in your yard near your window, head tipped back to look at the hints of stars through the leaves and trying to remember before the war. Back when his smile hadn’t been just a convenient mask to hide behind, he’d been a musician. A singer. He’d been happy then, but it’s been a long time since he was that bot. Sometimes it feels like the memory of a ghost, a life that couldn’t possibly be his. Optics shuttering behind his visor, he tries to picture the street, busy with Cybertronians going about their day. The weight of an instrument in his hands, servos dancing over chords.

• Furious with Jazz and yourself, you lay there in the dark and stare at the ceiling. Wondering why you let him get under your skin when you know the likely outcome. If everything is a game to him, then getting close or allowing him close is only going to hurt you in the end. You know that. So why does that crooked little smile keep slipping into your head? You’re angriest because of how you’d felt when he’d held you like that, safe, precious, like you mattered and it hadn’t been real. Because you’re dumb enough to play right into his little game. At first, the sound is so low you almost miss it. Something aside from the hum of the ceiling fan. Singing, the sound so achingly lonely even as the words mean nothing to you. Sliding out of bed, you limp to the window and peek out through the blinds, spotting the glow of Jazz’s visor beneath the tree, his biolights faintly limning his frame. He’s making that bittersweet sound and even if you don’t understand the language, it’s so full of yearning that it hurts.

• It’s not the sort of songs he’d sang on the streets of Iacon or Praxus, something new. Pouring all the poison in him out into the quiet night, all the things he can’t say out loud. The hurt, the loneliness, and the need for someone to see him, to see past the shiny, smiling veneer and realize that no, he’s not okay. Hasn’t been for a long time. The song sinks its claws into him, a stream of longing and grief, every word a new chain pulling him down with their weight. Because no one really sees him. They never have. Their needs forging him into this so he can do what needs to be done. No matter the cost. A good little spy smiling instead of screaming. The touch of a little hand on his ped breaks him from the song, voice faltering. And you’re right there, head down. Crying as you lean on your crutches, crying for him because he can’t and no one else will.

• You can’t stop crying, because that song is a living thing twisting inside you, all sweetness and barbed wire. This is something real, not a lie and it hurts more than a song should. Then he’s leaning forward, a servo tipping your chin up and then sliding over your cheek. “Sorry, doll. Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says voice low, big hand outstretched like he wants to pick you up, pull you into him again. But hesitating. And you grab onto his servos, letting your crutches fall as he catches you, lifts you to cradle against him, big hands tucking your little frame against the warm mesh of his neck. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know how to do this anymore.” Pressing your face against him, you’re not sure what he means by that. Maybe not lying. Maybe being real. But maybe you can help him figure it out.

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[angel-of-the-moons]

Marc x reader smut where reader is down in the dumps and is getting insecure of not being good enough (compared to Layla) and hates that but can’t help it so Marc figures this out and fucks the insecurity outta reader?

More Than Enough

Marc Spector x Fem!Reader (Implied Steven/Jake x Reader)

TW/CW: NSFW, Smut, Feelings of inadequacy, unprotected PiV, Mirror Sex, Praise, Mostly-clothed sex, Marc has a few of his own issues and is not a licensed psychologist

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: I am so sorry this has been sitting in my ask box for so goddamn long, enjoy the word vomit aksbldbldbld

You knew it was a stupid thing to worry about, your insecurity. You felt... sub-par.

Compared to other people, compared to other women, compared to... her.

You could tell they had something special at one point, something almost-unbreakable. But then the issue with Steven realizing who he was, hunting Harrow, fighting Ammit, finding out Marc was there when her father was murdered... Jake goddamn Lockley...

Layla el Faouly was, honestly, a head-turner. She was funny, smart, beautiful and had a way of getting people to open up to her.

Even you, to a point. But you still felt inadequacy, even a bit of envy when it came to Layla. She was with Marc for so long--hell they had been married!

You couldn't keep lying to yourself, and you couldn't keep lying to them. So... You came clean. And the look Marc gave you made you wilt.

It was even worse because he was silent. You couldn't bear to be under his scrutiny so you turned around and wrapped your arms around yourself, staring into the floor-length mirror with a mixture of shame and embarrassment.

Your eyes darted towards Marc's reflection. At first, you thought he was looking at you; but then you realized he was having a mental conversation with Steven and Jake about the situation. You wished you could be privy to those conversations, worrying about any possible arguments that may be waging behind his eyes.

Your shoulders drop and you sigh, eyes closing. "Just--forget I said anything? Please, I'm sorry that I..."

Your eyes open and you instinctively gasp--Marc was standing right behind you, his dark and stormy eyes locking with that of your reflection's. "M-Marc--"

"You fuckin' kidding me, doll?" Marc asked you, frowning. The tone of his voice alone made you wince.

"I--I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..." You try.

"Damn right you shouldn't have."

You squeeze your eyes shut once more, hating yourself as that stone of regret pings around in your belly.

That is, until he growled, hands bunching your shirt at your waist, yanking you against him, his lips barely curling into a snarl at your ear, "Cause that's my girlfriend you're fucking talking about."

You shiver, a small gasp coming from you as Marc's mouth was on your throat; licking, kissing, mouthing away at your skin, making goosebumps prickle across your body.

His mouth comes to a halt for a split second, his eyes focusing on his reflection once more; "...Right. Our girlfriend."

He takes a small bit of your skin between his teeth and nips; "And we know for a fact that our girlfriend isn't doubting for a single fucking second if she's "good enough" for us."

"I... I just..." You babble as his grip goes white-knuckled in your shirt.

You gasp loudly when he grips just a fraction tighter and rips your shirt open, the buttons flying in different directions in the room, skittering across the floor to be hidden until Steven's next "cleaning day" spree.

"M-Marc! My shirt--"

"Is hidin' you. Gotta show you what you're blind to, baby." He muttered against your skin, his hands spreading over your belly, one going up to pluck at the bra you wore. It wasn't fancy or sexy by any means. Just one of those stretchy, mesh, wire-free ones you opted to wear when you didn't want your skin irritated by the wires and elastics fo your typical ones.

"Wearing Steven's favorite one, today." Marc hisses in your ear, groping at one of your breasts through the fabric, running his thumb over the bump of your nipple as your heart begins to pound.

"I... I didn't--"

"Wanna know why he likes it?" Marc asked, biting onto your earlobe, grabbing the loops of your jeans to tug you against him; allowing him to grind the growing bulge of his cock against the curve of your ass.

One of his fingers pluck the stretchy fabric, letting it go to ever so slightly smack against your skin; "Because it don't fucking hurt you. Because, it looks way more natural--way more comfortable."

He chuckles warmly, a soft smile playing on his lips, "That, and the way that they bounce more in this bra than the others tends to distract him, too. Makes these," His index finger swirles over the bump of your nipple once more. "way more visible."

Shame and the heat of your self-esteem make your cheeks flush, and you look away. Marc frowned stubbornly, "Baby..."

"Marc, I don't think that I'm..."

He growled again, the typical sound that came from him when he was frustrated. He'd never used it on you, before; so the sound made a thrill run down your spine.

He shoves his hand from your bra to the front of your pants, yanking the button open and pulling your fly down. He hastily shoved the denim down your thighs, revealing your soft, lacy panties.

They were a dark gray color, with bits of green and red--vines and roses across the lace. They left very little to the imagination, but they were so soft sometimes you'd forget you were wearing any at all.

"Damn, baby... wearin' Jake's favorite, too?" He grinned against the skin of your shoulder, staring down your reflection with the hardened gaze of a soldier sighting down his target.

His rough and calloused hand stroked over the fabric, his fingers dipping low to tease the seam of your panties, feeling a damp spot that was slowly spreading. It never failed; you were light a string in a guitar, waiting to be plucked so the most melodious of tunes would come from your weet lips.

Marc continued to stroke your damp panties for a moment, humming against your soft skin. "Wanna know what the favorite thing that you're wearin'?"

"Wh-what?" You breathe.

Marc withdrew his hand and gently encapsulated your fragile wrist in his fingers, holding your left hand up, where a gold ring was snugly fit around your ring finger; "This. This here means that you're mine. That you're ours. So don't you think for a minute that you're second-best, that you're not good enough for us."

In that moment, you felt stupid all over again. How could you forget? The weight of the ring felt so obvious to you, now. Marc's fingers caress the cool metal, smiling in a gentle way at your hand.

"Baby, you gotta understand... You're right."

Your heart thudded against the delicate cage of your ribs as he let that sentence hang in the air, keeping you in suspense.

"You're not Layla. You're nothin' like her." He continued, "You're you. You're funny, you're soft-spoken, you have a habit of always finding animals to play with and pet when we go out... And that little giggle-snort you do when you laugh so hard you're outta breath? All. You. We fucking love every single goddamn piece of you, baby. So... Please stop comparing yourself to Layla... If you keep doing that, you'll just tear yourself up inside until you're all hollow. Believe me, I did it so much that... well, you know what happened."

He brings your hand up and kisses your knuckles, "And we can't have you falling apart on us... you're the closest thing we have to normal... we need you."

Your heart squeezed in your chest and you sniffled, feeling tears well up in your eyes as your lip wobbled. Lingering feelings of doubt still clung to your subconscious, even in the face of all of Marc's affirmations, "But... but I don't feel like I'm good enough, Marc... Sometimes... sometimes I just feel so useless, and..."

Marc grunts, the sound coming from his nose in a hefty exhale as he drops your hand. "Alright... Maybe you need a little extra convincing."

You almost turn, confused by what he meant, when his hand flattened between your shoulders, shoving you against the mirror so your hands were spread across the reflective glass.

"M-Marc--!"

"Shush, and don't you stop looking at that mirror. Want you to see how fuckin' pretty you are while I fuck you." He murmurs, leaning back to undo his own jeans, hastily shoving the and his boxers down to free his cock, red and throbbing.

His rolled his hips against you, his cock grinding against the soft lace of your panties, smearing a small droplet of precum onto the fabric. Marc lifted his eyes to lock with yours in the mirror.

"Don't look at me, baby. Already told you."

Your breath leaves you in a stutter, your eyes dragging down to look at your own flushed face; your parted lips and torn shirt, your breasts heaving, the soft fabric stretched across them as their soft weight swayed and bounced as Marc maneuvered your body.

He slides your underwear off to the side, gripping the base of his shaft as he slides the tip of his cock through your budding wetness. Your eyes go wide when you feel his tip catch at your entrance, and you barely have a moment to breathe as he slams his hips against you, sinking inside of your body in one fluid thrust.

The stretchy was sudden; the lack of proper preparation left you with a stinging sensation that battled evenly with the pleasure of having his thick cock settle deep inside of you as he pressed against you; the dark hairs at the base of his cock tickled the skin of your ass.

"Baby, you're--fuck." He whined, his brows creasing as a stray curl falls over his forehead as he bows forward, relishing in the moment how good it felt to have your soft, velvety heat wrap and cling around him.

"Shit, honey." Marc sighed after what felt like eons; his hands stroking and gripping the flesh of your ass in his meaty palms. "You're like fuckin' heaven..."

He pulled back once, and slammed back in, making you cry out as the burn and ecstasy once more fight each-other in a bare-handed brawl; making your eyes roll back and flutter closed. God, why did it feel so good?

His mouth was at your ear, his voice tight and strained as he rocked his hips into yours, his cock sliding in and out of you easier and easier as the pleasure began to mount; tickling your spine. "...and I should know, angel..." Marc grunted. "I was in heaven for a little while..."

"Marc..." You whimpered, dropping your head as he began to pound into you, your chest burning with every heavy breath you took as Marc roughly crammed his cock inside of you, pressing hard on every single spot inside that had your head swimming with euphoria.

"Gh--fuck!" Marc barked, grabbing a fistful of your hair (carefully, ind you, he didn't want to hurt you at all) and pulled your head back so he could see your face, "I told you... watch yourself, baby. Don't look away."

You hiccup. Marc was fucking you so roughly from behind that you were almost concerned the pressure you were putting on the mirror would shatter it.

"That's it..." Marc groaned, his eyes rolling back with a blissful sigh as he tipped his head back.

You could see his Adam's apple bob, his jaw tighten as he fucked into you like a rutting dog. His hand lets your hair go and slides down your back, beneath the fabric of your torn shirt to caress the curve and contour of your spine.

Marc's eyes meet yours in the reflection, and his lips quirk up as he gives you another sharp thrust; your voice punching out of you in a breathless cry.

"Baby... do I gotta tell you again?" He sighed, gripping you by the back of your elbows and yanking you upright against him, so your back was pressed against his chest.

You groaned in bliss as you felt him shift inside of you. This position was new... and not unpleasant.

One of his hands curls around you, gripping your chin and jerking your head up, snarling in your ear; "Fuckin' watch, baby."

Your eyes slide down, and between your spread legs, your panties hastily shoved aside... You could see Marc's cock pull out almost to the tip before he slammed his hips up, rutting up into you in another frantic thrust.

"'m gonna show you how fuckin' good you are to us... Even if it means I gotta prove it to you all night long."

He slammed into you once more, his lips curling against your ear as he watches himself disappear inside of you.

"Even if Steven and Jake gotta take over after. I'm done with you."

[nethhiri]

Chapter 59: Eye Eye, Cap'n

Warnings: "medical" "procedures", Heat gets something stuck in his ass

Milling about the infirmary, you made a list of things you needed to restock on. If it were an emergency, you could probably make them, however you preferred to keep your devil fruit reserved for your prisoners at the moment. You were starting to understand Wire's preference in clothing. You had no choice but to commandeer his fit since your pants were ruined. There was no question you could have fixed those too, but once you tried on Wire's fishnets, out of curiosity, you didn't want to. Instead, you decided to add his tiny shorts, which were much less tiny on you, yet stretchy enough not to fall down. His mesh bralette-like top had to be adjusted a bit to fit your body. Once everything was on, you couldn't deny that you felt very sexy. 

There was a touch of a strut to your step as you paraded around your domain. When your eyes touched the place where Kid had upset you, your step faltered. Failing to push it from your mind, your heartbeat sped, thinking about it had been causing you quite a lot of anxiety. You were still angry, but no longer seething. It was reasonable to assume Kid would be safe in your presence, however not guaranteed. You knew you would have to face it soon. All you needed from him was a sincere apology and reassurance that you were something more than easy sex. You wanted to believe it was just something stupid he had said, and it most likely was, but you needed him to say it for you to fully forgive him and put it behind you. You wished it was easier being romantically entwined with him. With Killer it seemed so easy. Why couldn't it be like that with Kid? Or was it normal with Kid, and Killer was the abnormality? Relationships, if you wanted to call whatever you had with them that, were an enigma to you. 

You leaned against the counter and took a short break. You had gotten into your feelings again and needed to clear your head. Tears pricked your eyes at the thought of not being able to forgive Kid. Fuck him for making you soft. You wanted badly to go back to the way things were, but you were not going to compromise your self-worth. When you first stepped on the ship, you were fearless and confident. Lately, you had been feeling like part of that was lost when you were in captivity. You were struggling to regain it. This anxiety of being wanted and accepted was undermining your composure. Maybe that was it. Maybe caring about it was the thing that was undermining your usual confidence. Before, you couldn't have given less of a shit about the Kid Pirates, and now you gave a lot of shits. 

A timid knock at the door interrupted your thoughts, fortunately. 

"Yeah?"

Heat shuffled in awkwardly. 

"Hey, Heat. What's wrong?" You immediately clocked his discomfort. 

He seemed to look around to make sure no one else was there. 

"It's okay. No one is here." You went to the door to lock it and double checked that the one to Kid's workshop was still locked. "You can tell me." As Heat approached, there was a low humming noise. "What is that noise?" 

Heat faced the floor, fidgeting with his hands. 

The noise emanated from Heat, specifically his abdomen. Your eyebrows furrowed, as it sounded familiar. When you realized what it was, your eyes went wide and darted to his face. "Heat!? Are you serious?"

"It was an accident. Please don't tell Wire." 

"I won't say a word to anyone." You sighed. You didn't have plans to be elbow deep in someone today, but here we were. "There's a few things we can try, but let's start with the easiest."

You had him lean over one of the gurneys and drop his pants while you put gloves on, the long ones. A few other things, like lubricant and a mild analgesic cream, were also grabbed. Hopefully, that was all you needed. If it was further up, you may need to use your fruit. You stood to the side of him.

"Cold hands," you warned as you parted his cheeks enough to put some of the cream on his asshole. Then you lubed up your hand. "I'm gonna need you to relax as much as possible, hun. I'm going to see if I can reach it manually. I may need you to bear down at some points, okay?"

Heat nodded, clearly embarrassed. This is not how he imagined you inside him. 

"Tell me if it hurts. Ready?" After another nod, you gently pressed a finger inside him, using the vibrations to guide you. Luckily, the vibrator he used wasn't very far up and he was lubed enough from whatever he had been doing that your finger easily reached the base. Your clean hand rested on Heat's lower back, gently patting him for comfort. "You're doing great. I think I can feel it." 

Gently, you retracted your hand enough to add a second finger. You paused as he tensed, waiting for him to relax again before going forward. Holding them in a scissor shape, you grasped the base of the sex toy with your fingers. "Push. Not hard, please." When Heat neared down, the base was pushed more firmly into your grasp and you tugged just enough to make it move. "Keep doing that." 

With a soft whimper from Heat and a sloppy, wet noise, the dildo was free. Heat let out a relieved sigh. 

"It's a boy!" You said, presenting the lube-covered thing to him, still vibrating. "Good thing it was a skinny one." You turned it off and tossed the thing in the sink. Heat stayed still while you cleaned him up with a warm washcloth. "All done." 

Heat pulled up his pants. "Thanks, Doc." His face was red with embarrassment. Half from the incident that had happened and half because he was a little turned on by it. Did he just discover a new kink? Did he like playing doctor? Or maybe he liked seeing you in Wire's clothes. 

"What did we learn?"

"Tapered bases are important for a reason." 

"If it happens again, I may have to give you a lesson on how to play safely." You winked at him. "Now take your fake dick and scram."

"Sorry, ma'am. Won't happen again." Heat darted from the infirmary, shoving his vibrator in his pocket so no one could see it.

You went back to what you were doing, grateful to have your thoughts filled with wondering how Heat managed to get that stuck up his ass, instead of thinking about real feelings. Mini snorted in a judgy way from her napping spot against the back wall. 

"Everyone does it once! Don't bully Heat. That's my job." 

She snorted again and let her head rest on the floor.

Your list was fairly long. You had used up a lot of the supplies on yourself, or they had been used on you when you were incapacitated. You weren't even sure when the Victoria would docking at an island. If you were on speaking terms with him, you could ask Kid. You could have asked Wire the previous night but you were otherwise occupied. Killer hadn't been around for a minute and certainly, you were not going to ask Heat while you were knuckles deep in him, not that you had thought about it then. 

You tapped your foot, staring at a bare corner in the small room. Something could fit there. Now that you knew you could restore things, as long as they weren't rotten to the point of no return, maybe you could start saving spare parts. Kid could build you a fridge no doubt. Killer may even have an old one to spare. You could harvest the more important parts from prisoners and replace them when one of your own crew was injured. You didn't even need a refrigerator technically. You could put everything in formalin like your eye had been in, though it would take a lot more effort to get it in working order. The fridge would be better. A deep freezer could work as well. You would have to test that to see if freezing affected the parts too much.

A metallic, rolling sound caught your attention. You rolled your eyes watching silver nuts and bolts stream across the floor. Not this again. Still, you felt your face get hot. It was the little things like this that made Kid so charming when he waned to be. Per routine, you knelt on the floor, watching them form words and shapes. 

COME HERE.

You rearranged them: WHY?

MISS YOU.

More like he missed your pussy. There wasn't enough material to spell that though. AND?

LO- He started to spell something and then the metal bits quickly scattered and rearranged. WANT 2 SEE U.

WHY? You arranged the pieces in reply. 

This time you heard muffled yelling from the other side of the door. "OH FER FUCK SAKE, WOMAN!" It was followed by banging on aforementioned door.

"WHY SHOULD I OPEN IT?" You yelled back.

"RAGHHHH." Kid's loud, exasperated yell was followed by stomping footsteps fading away and then getting closer, but in a different place. Kid flung open the actual door to the infirmary.

Startled by the stomping, the dozing boar in the back of the room suddenly became alert and ready to defend her master. Did she "accidentally" mistake Kid for an enemy? Did she have a grudge against Kid in the first place? Had she always wanted to headbutt Kid full force? Either way, Kid was barely one step in before a flash of brownish-red flew by you. You heard a grunt and a whoosh as the force of Mini's head knocked the air from Kid's chest. You took off running after him, realizing a little too late that Kid was flying over the edge of the ship, and you were following him down. Instinct made you chase him. You were completely focused on seeing if he was okay, and not at all focused on where he was headed. You should have been laughing your ass off at the railing watching that dumbass sink until Killer undoubtedly jumped to save him, but no. You cared too much and now you were destined to sink with him.

You saw the water below explode and froth as Kid's broad body hit it. The water swallowing you whole before you could register what was happening. At least you had taken a full breath before you were enveloped by the icy, cold sea. Kid had nothing. When your hand touched something soft, you grabbed onto it and pulled closer, immediately recognizing it. At the same time, something curled around you in an iron grip. The poor visibility in the water made it impossible to see more than a few feet in front of you, and the salt stung your eyes. Still, your mouth found Kid's and you pushed half the air you had into him. Here you were again, always giving him something of yours, trying to prove yourself. His stupid ass better appreciate you giving him a few more minutes to realize that. 

Any second now Killer would be yanking you both out. Any second now. Except you were both still sinking.

He was coming to get you both right? What if no one saw you go in? You clung more tightly to Kid's feathered cape and you felt Kid's other arm wrap around you in a protective embrace.

It felt like forever because of the adrenaline. In reality, it was only a few seconds. Your muscles started to burn from the lack of oxygen. Kid grabbed your arm, positioning it in front of you and turning it so the bottom side of your forearm was up. You stared at him, confused. With his other hand he made your head look back down at your arm and gestured for you to watch. With a finger, he wrote across your skin. You could barely see what he was writing, but you could feel it. 

S-O-R-R-Y

A mix of emotions flooded you. The first was relief, followed by longing. An apology was all you wanted. The second was anger. Why did it take a life or death situation to spur him on? Then you were guilty. That probably wasn't true. You had been ignoring him and pushing him away. Maybe he intended to say it earlier and you had been too hard-headed to accept that. Lastly, you were scared. What if he was only saying it because you were near death? Did he know something you didn't? He pulled you back into an embrace, suddenly pushing you away from him after a few long seconds. What was he doing?! You stretched, reaching out for him, and were yanked upward. You tried kicking at whoever was pulling you away, losing some of the air you had left in a flurry of bubbles, but were too weak. You covered your mouth and nose to keep the rest of the air from escaping.

As soon as your head broke the surface of the water, you were coughing and gasping for air. You hadn't even blinked the water from your eyes before you were scanning for anything red in the waves. 

"Where's Kid?!" 

"Worry about yourself, not your boytoy." Dive's sharp teeth glistened in the sun's rays reflecting off the water as she grinned. She patted your back as a fit of coughing overtook you. "Killer's got him. Don't fret." 

With surprising strength, Dive swam with you in tow. Seconds later, there was a disturbance in the water as one blond, albeit under a helmet, and one red head popped up. You held your breath with worry until you heard Kid cough as well. Dive and Killer got you both on deck with the help of the rest of the crew. You and Kid lay flat on your backs trying to catch your breaths. Your hand searched to your side until it found purchase in Kid's. Even though you heard him cough, you were relieved that his hand was warm. At least this time you didn't loss consciousness. You had woken up in this position more times than you cared to remember.

You sat up and Killer helped you to your feet, then thanked Dive before Wire and Heat shooed off the rest of the spectating crew. Heat was still walking funny, but he seemed fine. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Kid glaring in the direction of a very smug-looking pig. You got in the way of his line of sight. You were mad at her, mad wasn't the right word, but would scold her privately. If you did it now, you weren't sure what Kid would do, assuming he was already pissed at the animal. Kid rose from the deck, shaking water from his hair, and walked towards you, meaning to get to Minerva. You backed up, putting yourself between he and Mini. You could forgive the things he did to you, but you would not forgive anything he did to her. Your back touched her as she stood to her full height, fur puffed out, taking a fighting stance against Kid. He similarly made himself look bigger, but you didn't sense malice from him, strangely. 

You put a hand out to keep him back. "It was an accident! All your stomping spooked her!"

"YER LUCKY I DON'T BARBECUE YA AND FEED THE CREW TONIGHT FOR THAT STUNT!" He leaned in as if he were gonna growl something to the boar, instead speaking in a hushed normal voice. "That was yer one free shot at me cuz I deserved it." He narrowed his eyes. "I know ya been wantin to do that fer a while, piggy." 

Gazing into his amber eyes before they flicked away, you knew that was part of his apology to you, choosing to let the boar's actions go because you loved her and he loved you. He turned to go back to his workshop, with you tailing him.

"Hey! You can't stay in wet clothes! You'll get sick!" 

Suddenly your feet weren't touching the ground as Killer plucked you from the deck and followed Kid. "That goes for you, too, little darlin." He grabbed the back of Kid's coat and pulled him below deck with you towards his room.

Killer stripped you both of your wet clothes, though taking a minute to appreciate how good Wire's outfit looked on you. And the two of you were now seated nude at the end of Killer's bed, hands shoved between your legs and heads down with guilt, while he paced back and forth, arms folded over his ample chest. He was deciding which one of you to scold first, not allowing you to put clothes on yet.  

"You." He stood at your feet and you reluctantly met his gaze through the holes of his mask. "Are you stupid? Why would you jump in after this big idiot?"

"HEY!" Kid protested.

You covered yourself up to the best of your ability, feeling vulnerable under Killer's gaze. "I didn't mean to. I just..." 

"Just what? Hm?" Underlying Killer's stern voice, was a thin layer of exasperation. "I have to worry about him enough. I don't need you adding to it."

"I wasn't thinking! I saw that he got hurt and I went after him!"

"And you didn't see the ocean? The giant blue thing on all sides of us." Killer huffed and carried on. "You come get ME. Understand? What if no one saw you go in? Huh? Then both of you would be lost."

"I..." You snapped. "I only saw Kid okay?! I was scared he was hurt! As much as he irritates the fuck out of me and makes me mad, I still care about him and I can't stop." You saw him grinning stupidly beside you and punched him. "Fuck off. I hate you." You folded your arms tighter and turned away from him so he couldn't see your pink-dusted cheeks, slapping his hand away when he tried to pinch one. 

Kid's boisterous laugh filled the room. "HA-HA! YER IN LOVE WITH ME, DUMBASS!" 

Killer snapped at him with his fingers. "Hey, numbnuts, look at me." Kid's laugh faded as it was his turn to be scolded. "Stop riling up the pig, first of all. Second of all, stop saying stupid shit. That's what always gets you into trouble. Think for one extra second before you open that big ass mouth of yours." 

"FINE." Kid huffed. 

"Did you apologize yet?"

You half turned to see what his expression was, seeing him looking at you with a question, and nodded, indicating you accepted his underwater apology. 

"Aye." 

"Y/N?"

"He did." 

"Great." Killer clapped his hands. "Now kiss and make up." Killer turned both of your heads to face each other. "Don't be shy."

You curled your lip and gave Kid a quick peck on the cheek. 

"No! Not good enough!" Killer folded his arms. "What's wrong?" 

You hesitated. If you were going to get it off your chest, now was the time. You huffed and faced Kid. "I want to know that..." you forced yourself to keep his gaze. "...I'm more than sex." 

"Hah?!" Kid had an incredulous expression on his face. "What're ya? Stupid? Course ya are!"

"But you said...as long as I have a pussy-"

Kid put a hand over his face. "Fuck me! That's not what I meant. I was tryin to make ya laugh is all."

"It wasn't funny! I had real fears that...maybe that's all I would be if I couldn't fight."

"Once a Kid Pirate, always a Kid Pirate. We won't abandon ya, even if ya get hurt. Do ya think we would raid a marine base to save ya if ya didn't mean more to us?" Kid continued. "If all I wanted was easy sex, I could grab any random whore from an island."

You hummed in agreement. He had a point. 

"And I did. But we made her our whore." Kid laughed again and you frowned. 

"I really don't like you." You rolled your eyes. 

"Come on now, doll." Kid wrapped his arms around you and smushed his face into your neck. "What would I do without my Rotten? Right, Kil?"

You tried to squirm out of Kid's overly affectionate hug. You could tell he was laying it on thick to annoy you, smug that he knew you could never really stay mad at him.

Killer sat on the opposite side of you and took one of your hands in his. "Kid isn't good with words. That just how he's always been. Sometimes he says the wrong thing or he doesn't realize what he says can be harsh, but trust me when I say he cares about you. If you're on this ship and a part of the crew, he cares about you." 

"Even if ya ever decide ya don't want ta fuck us, yer still a Kid Pirate. I'll still take care of ya." Kid pressed a kiss to your neck. "But I will be sad if ya decide ya don't wanna be my bunny anymore." 

"Good?" Killer got up and folded his arms again. "Now kiss." He made a motion of pushing your heads together. 

You relented, facing Kid and planting your lips on his. He ran his hands lovingly over your cheeks and into your hair. You pulled back and rested your forehead on his. "I'm sorry for being stubborn. And thank you for not being an asshole to Mini."

"I've never been an asshole in my life. Tell her, Killer."

You rolled your eyes again and sighed, feeling a lot better than you had.

"Next time, because there will be a next time, we're going to talk about it together instead of you two being nightmares for the entire ship. Deal? Heat is gonna fucking quit if you keep dragging him in." 

You and Kid nodded, regretfully. 

"Or else you'll get seastone manacled together until you can be nice to each other."

You and Kid glanced at each other, neither exactly opposing that idea.

Killer shook his head and put his hand to his helmet. "Get dry clothes on and get back to work."

You got up and squeezed Killer's midsection. "Sorry for making you worry."

"Aye, sorry." 

You were squished as Kid came from behind you to also hug Killer. Your head was being crushed from all sides by four huge manboobs. A much more preferable way to die than drowning. Shockingly, Kid didn't even get a boner. Wondering what was taking so long, you looked up to see Kid planting red lipstick marks all over Killer's helmet. You had no right to be annoyed, happy to see your boys being affectionate with each other. You could stay here a few minutes longer.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kid dragged you to his workshop. He was dying to show you something, and that was why he had been pestering you earlier. He wouldn't tell you what it was. Killer was following you quietly. Even he didn't know what it was, though he had a pretty good guess. Kid made you sit while he rummaged around through his things. You weren't sure why he always had to be rummaging. Why wasn't anything organized? This was his space. It wasn't like anyone but him was making a mess.

While you waited, there was a crumpled piece of clothing on the corner of Kid's bench. It was peppered with smeared eyeliner and Kid's red lipstick. A sweat rag? You picked it up, fabric unfolding and revealing black kanji. This is-! You unfolded it in your lap. It was tattered and stained but it was your coat. Your fingers traced over the marks that were clearly left by Kid. 

"Was gonna give it back. Meant ta clean it first." Kid was scratching the back of his head, a reddish hue developing on his cheeks. 

"You saved it?" You had assumed it was lost when you were taken. 

"And this." Kid held your gunblade out in his hands. "Hope ya don't mind, I tweaked it again."

He did more than that. It was shiner that it had ever been, and it was adorned with intricate snake designs that hadn't been there previously. He had taken your criticism from the last time and applied it. Against his professional judgement, he kept it weighted how you liked. You looked from it to your coat. Your stomach clenched with guilt. If you had known he had don't all of this, you wouldn't have questioned his feelings for you. You brought your coat to your face, to cover the emotions that ran through it. Tears threatened to make themselves known. 

"Don't ya start being a crybaby on me. Ya won't be able to see the other thing I made ya." Kid pulled your hands away from your face. 

You looked into the palm he had held out. It was a small marble-like object. You didn't understand. With the wires attached to it, it sort of resembled... "This is-!" You stood up abruptly and took it from Kid's palm. Inspecting it further, there was no doubt that it was a replica of your eye. "Kid!" 

"Wanna try it?" Kid offered, cheeks radiating with blush. "Just... Don't be upset. It may not work initially. I haven't gotten to test it or-"

"Shut up! Of course it will work! You made it!" You looked at it and gave it back to him. "How do we do it?"

Kid pointed to an open book on his desk, one of the medical reference books that had been in the infirmary. You noticed it was gone, but thought Pomp, UK, and Reck had taken it again to look at the naked anatomical pictures. He explained where the wires should connect and that he could get them there, you would just have to use your fruit to make that possible. You did it with on eye. This wasn't that different. This one had been gone much longer though, and your brain had grown accustomed to not having it, so the neural pathways may be altered. You studied the diagrams for a few minutes and talked it over with Kid. Then, you sat back down and tilted your head back to rest on the bench top. 

"Killer, do you mind holding my head still? I don't know what this will be like."

Killer put both hands on either side of your head and you held the eyelids open for Kid to place the mechanical eye into. It sat in the socket well enough, but now the connections had to be made. You and Kid had to work in tandem to put everything in place. With the flesh eye, you could sort of control the things around it. This was metal, therefore Kid needed to direct it. You probably could have, but he had far better control over it. A jolt went through your body as one of the wires strayed from the correct path.

"Fuck!" Kid flinched, trying to stay concentrated. 

"It's okay. Keep going." You held onto his arm to support him. 

Killer watched, mesmerized by the dancing purple electricity melding with the soft yellow-tinged glow, each devil fruit power working as one. He held your head still, periodically feeling twitches and seeing your face wince. 

Kid pulled his hand away as a spark jumped to his metal finger. "Can ya see?"

The eye made a few jerky, mechanical movements, not quite in synch with your body. "No." You tried to hid the disappointment in your voice. 

"Hold on." Kid made some minor adjustments, looking back at the textbook for confirmation. "Try again."

This time the movement was much smoother, though still no vision. "Still no." You sighed. Maybe the problem was on your end. "Let me try." 

The best way to figure out the issue was to compare it to the working side. You couldn't see into your own brain but you could feel what was there, in a weird way. Everything was connected properly, the issue was that the path of the wires had missed a stop. Both eyes were being used by the same half of the brain. Kid didn't realize that the optic nerve was meant to cross to the other side. The right eye went to the left side and the left eye went to the right, give or take a few nerve fibers. Very carefully, you brought the necessary connections through the chiasm, nerves intertwining with the mechanical fibers. The small metal pistons that acted as muscles worked fine, they needed time to attune to your control so they would move more fluidly, but you could deal with that. 

You cracked the smallest opening in your eyelids, afraid that it wouldn't work, and saw a sliver of light through both. BOTH! They opened the rest of the way and you sat bolt upright, taking in everything around you, everything that seemed so much brighter and vibrant. Your eyes darted around the room. How will the ocean look? The ocean! I have to see the ocean! You were caught by strong hands before you could run out the door. 

"Whoa! Can you see? Everything ok?" Killer looked down at you, holding your shoulders tight. 

You pulled him down by the helmet, too fast, almost knocking yourself out, but you had to see. You had to see his blue eyes. How much of the blue had you been missing? You brought your new eye up to one of his eye holes, trying to get a glimpse. Even in the shade of his helmet, you could see glimmering blue. You released him and he did the same. You looked around the room frenetically for Kid, running to him and yanking him by the shirt until his face was at your level. You held his face between your hands looking at every freckle in new detail. And his eyes! They weren't only amber, but orange and golden, too. There was nuance that you had missed before.

"Holy shit." You breathed. You clapped Kid's head between your hands, slapping his cheeks. "I can see, you baby back bastard! You son of a bitch!" You shook his head in your grip and hugged it. "You fucking did it!" Remembering that you wanted to see the ocean, you practically threw him away from you and zipped out the workshop door. 

Killer allowed himself to chuckle. "Baby back bastard? That's new."

Kid's chest was puffed out and he had his signature grin plastered on his face, framed by two small, red handprints from where you slapped him. He was virtually levitating with how much pride was radiating from him. "Of course I fuckin did it. I'm me!" 

They followed you out, seeing you bent over the railing with your eyes as close to the water as possible without falling in again. Killer grabbed your waistband, sighing. He didn't want to spoil your good time by reprimanding you. 

"It's so fucking blue! Have you seen this shit?!" Suddenly, numbers popped into your vision, scaring you so badly that you jumped back. "What the fuck!?" You swatted at the air where they appeared to be. 

"Ya didn't give me time to explain all the features," Kid said, preventing you from falling backwards.

"Features?"

He laughed. "Ya didn't think I was gonna give ya some dumbass plain eyeball, did ya?" Kid handed you your gunblade. "Here. Point this at somethin random." 

You did as he said, pointing it at the deck some distance away from you. The numbers popped back into your vision, changing depending on where your gun was pointed. When you lingered, crosshairs also flickered into view. "No fucking way."

"That's not all. Look here." Kid pointed to the pulse point in his wrist. 

You holstered your weapon and the display vanished from your sight. Staring at his wrist, a new set of numbers came into view, numbers you recognized as heart rate. You flung yourself at Kid, throwing both arms around him. You released one to reach for Killer, who gladly accepted your hand. At the moment, you had no words. Kid gave you something that you hadn't had in years. You took it back, the thing about always being the one to give. Kid gave, too. It was simply a different kind of giving. You pulled your face out of his cleavage, this time not trying to hold back tears. 

"Thank you, Kid! Thank you. Thank you! It's so beautiful. Everything is so beautiful!" 

"Wait until you look in a mirror," Killer added. He didn't mean for it to be cheesy. He only noticed how you were so excited to see everything, you forgot about yourself.

"Now that's an idea!" You ran into the infirmary bathroom where the nearest mirror happened to be. 

Killer gazed at you adoringly as you saw your own face. Finally, you could learn to appreciate what they had noticed a long time ago. 

It had been some time since you had seen yourself this clearly. Part of you thought you would be disgusted by the scarring on your face, but that wasn't so. It reminded you of how much it took to get to this point. You traced the semi-circle of a scar that went through your old right eye, then the outline of where the acid had melted your skin. It held all of your anguish, but your triumphs as well. Where some might see a disfigurement, there was only strength. You stared at one eye and then the next. They were exactly alike. How Kid managed to get it to match that well, you didn't know. Maybe you did. He always seemed to be watching you, though maybe it wasn't watching so much as it was looking. Kid's eyes followed you all the time. Had he had memorized the details? But why would he? 

You ran back to Kid, stopping briefly to plant a kiss on Killer, who was kind enough to bend down for you. You did a running jump at Kid, which he, thankfully, was prepared for, lest you both fall int the ocean again. Kid caught you as flew at him. "Ha-ha! You stupid fuck! You love me back!" 

Tag list: @bbnbhm @nocturnalrorobin @wgwingguns

[lieutenantabrudas]

[ID: a drawing of a salarian from mass effect scowling at something off to her left side on a light turquoise background. her skin is bright yellow on her head and back, and bright blue on her limbs and front, with black spots all over. her right horn is tall and thin, the left has been broken off at the base. one eye is cybernetic with three glowing red optical lenses. her right half is covered in burn scars, her face has three diagonal claw scars, her right foot is skeletal and missing webbing with scraps of skin where the webs used to be, and both legs are wrapped in support braces to help her walk. she is wearing a sleeveless green hoodie with a mesh window over her heart, black shorts, and three animal teeth on a leather cord around her neck that have been stained with green blood. one hand is holding a smoking blunt. end ID]

today on disabled exdiff major characters im drawing for disability pride month, the second-most complex design i have for a main character, the bad reverend serial killer aka gurji taeja! taeja first appears in chapter 41 of broken mirror and sticks around for 3 chapters to help shepard and company, then reappears in blood in the water as a deuteragonist dragging shepard into an adventure against their will to go save terra nova. shepard doesn't like her but too bad, i the author do, and so do my readers. she's off doing her own work at the moment in in the land of giants, but she'll be back soon!

the blunt isn't weed btw it's a hallucinogenic drug called naenoda used by salarian priests to commune with the gods. taeja was trained as a priest of the death gods and still follows the god of just deaths and revenge, even though she's otherwise cut all ties with organized religion due to backstory reasons, and smokes a bit of naenoda from time to time for fun and also pain relief. come read my fic i'm very normal about this oc.

her legs were mangled by a predator attack when she was young, and due to her shitheel brother who lured her into it in the first place (it's cool those teeth around her neck are from the predator that tried to eat her and that's her brother's blood on them, don't worry about it :) ) she was left for dead and had to drag herself back to civilization, so they uh. didn't heal right, exactly, and struggle to support her weight. nowadays she alternates between standard braces, special braces that were built into her armor's endosuit, and sometimes a walking stick for short distances if she's already taken them off for the day but needs something from the kitchen.

things got dialed up to 11 after she fled to omega, joined eclipse, had a falling out with eclipse, and was beaten most of the way to death (intentional) and nearly burned alive (accidental) - note her toes on the one side, there's scraps of what used to be webbing attached to her toes, but the fire effectively seared them away and now that foot sinks lower and spreads further than the other trying to support her weight. her eye was completely unsalvageable, and the surgeons offered her a clone replacement, but she opted for the cybernetic robot eye partially because it's cool and partially because she got recruited for the spectres in the process and wanted a cyborg eye for combat advantages. not pictured are all the additional cybernetics under her skin to rebuild her arm and leg and keep her organs working, and the extra stuff wired into her brain to control everything (especially the eye) and, ah. fix some brain damage. she's fine it's fine. the right half of her face is also paralyzed, and her vocal chords were burned, so facial expressions and speaking are difficult, but it's fine, that's what a few extra apps on her omni-tool and a vocoder implanted in her throat are for. she's fine!!

also she successfully completed spectre training and promptly went back to omega, killed all the eclipse mercs who tried to kill her, and also killed her shithead emotionally abusive father and sealed his bones in her armor so he can never enter the reincarnation cycle and will be trapped in limbo forever, it's fine, she's doing fine, she's definitely stable and does not need therapy about anything she's fine she has hallucinogens and a VI in her brain and batarian friends who are better family than her own she's FINE

[crepesuzette2023]

Mcharrison car key stand off??

            RINGO: There are lots of driving stories. This is how a band gets close: in the van, going up and down the M1, freezing your balls off, fighting for the seats. A lot of madness went on in the van, but it got us together. We had a Bedford and Neil would drive. There'd be the passenger seat for one of us, and the other three - whichever three; the rest of us - whichever three; the rest of us - would sit behind on the bench seat, which was pretty miserable.

            We would go everywhere in the van and the amps and everything would fit in it with us. I remember sliding all over Scotland. It was bloody freezing in the winter.

            JOHN: But we always got screams in Scotland. I suppose they haven't got much else to do up there. Touring was a relief - just to get out and break new ground. We were beginning to feel stale and cramped.67

            RINGO: We never stopped anywhere. If we were in Elgin on a Thursday and needed to be in Portsmouth on Friday, we would just drive. We didn't know how to stop this van! If we had a day off and we were going to Liverpool from London, we would just drive.

            There was only a small piece of motorway in those days, so we'd be on the A5 for hours. Some nights it was so foggy that we'd be doing one mile an hour, but we'd still keep going. We were like homing pigeons; we just had to keep getting home.

            One night I remember, when it was very, very cold, the three of us on the bench seat were lying on top of each other with a bottle of whisky. When the one on top got so cold that hypothermia was setting in, it would be his turn to get on the bottom. We'd warm each other up that way; keep swigging the whisky, keep going home.

            PAUL: Quite an image. People think of stardom as glamorous, and there's us freezing - lying literally on top of each other, as a Beatle sandwich.

            GEORGE: There were a lot of good times in the van; all the rough-and-tumble stuff that happens. And there were some hysterical things that happened. I had a good crash once. We were coming over the Pennines, the roads were icy and I was driving pretty quickly as we came through what turned out to be Goole in Yorkshire. Everything was fine until suddenly I went into a right-hand turn. It was a bit sharper than it looked and we went up onto the grass bank, which then slopped down to the left. The whole van tipped as we went down the embankment, at the bottom of which was a wire-mesh fence with concrete posts around a Burton's factory.

            We bounced along - bump, bump, bump - knocking down all these concrete poles and finally came to a stop with Neil sitting in the front seat next to me, howling, 'Ow, ow, my arm!' The accident had ripped the filler cap off and the petrol was pouring out. We got out and had to shove T-shirts and things into the hole to try to stop the flow of petrol.

            We'd started to push the van back up on the road when, out of nowhere, came, ''Allo, 'allo, 'allo, what's all this then?' It was a cop, and he booked us for crashing. A couple of months later I went to court; Brian came with me for moral support. (He did stand by his lads.) I think they banned me for three months.

            RINGO: Another great van story was when George and Paul were both planning to drive the van; George got into the driving seat and Paul had the keys, and there was no way one was going to help the other. We couldn't go anywhere. We sat there for two hours. When you're touring, things can be pretty tense sometimes and the littlest thing can suddenly turn into a mountain; that was one of the great ones. (From: The Beatles, ANTHOLOGY)

[justagirlfr]

I don’t want to play this part but I do, all for you.

Noah Diaz x fem!reader (angst)

tw: death, blood

summary: the CIA find out you’ve been hiding an autobot and want some answers.

a/n: my writing is progressively getting worse. Sorry guys 😓

—

The government agents had burst through your apartment unexpectedly. The wooden door was chopped in half by one large black boot, while many more swarmed into the living room which was once very cosy. You and Noah had been on your couch, him holding you while you told him about your day. Your head immediately lifted off of his shoulder at the sound of the door but he held you close, arms tightening around your waist to keep you safe.

When they started filing in, two by two through your small door, he rose from the couch and put an arm in front of you. "What the fuck?"

"CIA, you're both under arrest for assisting in the hiding of government property." A group of the men dressed in heavy black gear surrounded the two of you, and you quickly latched onto Noah as one of them grabbed your wrist.

"Noah!"

At your voice, he lunged forward, trying to fight whoever was harming you. "Get away from her!" He was grabbed by another agent and whipped backward. You heard his violent thrashing as they pulled the two of you apart.

Harsh, cold metal encircled both of your wrists and you were forced against a wall. The impact of the scaffolding against your forehead made you see stars, and you weren't sure if the scream you were hearing was yours or not. You could hear your name from a distance away, and you yearned to reach whoever was calling for you. They sounded so desperate, but your vision clouded over as more bodies pressed around you, suffocating you. Your head was slammed into the wall again, and the last thing you heard was a gunshot before you were out.

—

When you came to, you were instantly blinded by the white lights above you. There was something soft, but firm underneath you, and as you tried to get up you recognized the soft feeling of bedsheets. Where were you?

You squinted, eyes adjusting to the brightness surrounding you. It made your head throb to rise, but having no clue about where you were or what you were doing there made it a necessity to stay upright.

It was cold in the little cell you were confined in. There were bars to your space, but looking outside of them, all you could see was grey concrete. You tried to stand up from the bed, but soon fell onto the floor. Your ankles were shackled together, and your hands cuffed. The fall hurt like hell, you not being able to break your fall with your hands. 

"She's awake sir," you heard a voice nearby say. "Shall I move her to interrogation?" A crackle of static and a muffled voice rang from what sounded like the other end of a walkie talkie. "Right away, sir."

A man in black appeared in front of your cell, and his uniform was enough to give you flashbacks of previous events. 

Scared, you backed onto your cot and into the corner. "Stay away," your voice was hoarse and raspy, but it conveyed your message. Your heart was beating out of control from within your chest and you willed yourself to calm down, to stay level-headed while you figured out the fuck was going on. 

"I'm going to need you to come with me," the man said, unlocking your cell. "You make any wrong move, and your friend is dead."

A wave of anxiety rolled over you, and suddenly you could care less about what would happen to you. 

The man, his features hard, unforgiving, and stern, motioned for you to follow him out of the small room. You complied without a second thought. You loved Noah so much, and even though the two of you weren't really together, you would have happily risked your life for him any day. Worry continued to claw at you as you headed down the long, dimly lit concrete hallway. There were other cells that you passed by on your way to the exit, which appeared to be two double doors with mesh wiring on both sides of the glass rectangular windows that they adorned with. The other cells held people strapped into straight-jackets who seemed dastardly and absolutely evil. As you moved, they shouted nasty comments at you and the security guard. He beckoned you to move more swiftly. 

Once you had made it through the exit, the man took you threw a series of white hallways until you got to one sterile, grey room with a metal table in the middle of it. There were two chairs there too, which you had assumed were for you and whoever would be conducting the interrogation. Scared, you approached the door silently and felt the breeze of the heavy door close behind you. A feeling of annoyance and anger began to stir in your stomach as soon as you took a seat in one of the chairs. Why the heck had a bunch of CIA people barged into your place in the middle of the night? And why had they taken you and your best friend? Shit, that would cost a fuck ton of money to repair, and you didn't want the landlord to be even more pissed at you. You could taste a little bile in your mouth, probably from your frustration. You didn't want to seem angry but you were. The interrogation would probably run more smoothly if you kept your cool.

After what seemed like an eternity, someone finally stepped in to see you. It was another man, one with a slicked-back hairstyle and sunglasses. He was pretty tall and bulky, and you figured they had chosen him because you seemed like the type to be easily intimidated. Which, to be fair, you were. 

"So," he began, taking a seat and staring dead at you. "You wanna tell me why I found 'places to hide a huge alien robot' in your search history?"

Fuck…

"I don't know what you're talking about," you attempt nonchalantly, trying to casually lean back in your chair. "I've never seen a space robot in my life."

"Sure. And your friend, Noah, he knows this?" 

Your blood began to boil at the mention of Noah, but at the same time the anxiety in your stomach made you want to throw up. "Yeah."

"Funny, because he told us something different." You continue to stare at him dead-on, rolling your eyes for a laid-back effect. This was probably some technique they used on people to get information out of them. Noah wouldn't have said anything, he's too good at this for that. 

"You know," he says, carefully. "We've heard that you have a pretty strong attachment to him. Is this true?" He grins at you smugly. 

"No, it's not. Look, I had invited him over to hang out, hoping to have a one-night thing with him. It's really not like that at all." But your smile falters, and you know that you've already lost. 

"Well if that's the case," he sighs and smiles. "You won't have a problem with us, well, terminating him, correct? He's of no use to us, and we find that the projects in our little sector of government are best hidden." 

You hesitate from making any moves. This is probably another trick, right? It's not legal to do stuff like that. But then again, from what he said, it seems sort of like the laws don't fully apply wherever you are. 

"We don't know anything you're talking about, I swear," you get out after a minute. "I mean, I guess, if you want the truth…" Your palms are sweaty and you wipe them on your pants. 

Your interrogator looks at you expectantly. 

"Okay, there was this car that I bought from a shop. It transformed, freaked the hell out of me, but told me that if I hid it it would still be my car. And you know, I got it for a cheap price- it's a Porsche. It was pretty broken when I got it, but I fixed it up and it's limited edition now. And I don't want to just let that go, you know?" You attempt to lighten the mood up with your story, hoping it makes you sound trustworthy. "I seriously don't know where it is, it was in the apartment garage parked in my space. But I assume you guys have already checked there. It's the most obvious place to put something like that. Your CIA shit probably scared him off and he's long gone. He never trusted me much, anyway." You refrain from swallowing out of nervousness, knowing it will only make you more suspicious. 

He looks at you, unimpressed. "I know that's not the story, kid." 

"Wait-" 

He gets up from his chair and says into what you assume is a hidden mic on his lapel, "bring in the kid."

The door swings open abruptly to reveal a frantic looking Noah. He's doing his best to shove the two guards off of him, until he sees you. Then his movements become more manic. He screams your name and is immediately tasered. 

"Noah!" you yell. "Let him go! Stop!"

They stop, and Noah falls to his knees on the ground. You get up from your chair abruptly and try to make your way to him, but your interrogator stops you. "Talk, or he'll suffer."

There are tears bubbling in your eyes. You can't reveal where Mirage is, but you can't let Noah get hurt like this. "Fuck," you whisper. 
Suddenly, an explosion throws you against a wall and you feel one of the metal chairs bash into your stomach. You grunt loudly, ears ringing and vision clearing as the smoke around you settles. You shout for Noah, but with your ringing ears it's hard to tell if you really did. It smells like burning flesh, and you gag, pulling your shirt up to cover your nose as you crawl around the ground, head spinning and wanting to vomit. As desperate seconds pass, you begin to hear sounds of gunshots, and you feel the rubble around you shake. You touch the hand of someone else, and from there the rest of the body appears. 
"God, I was so scared," Noah seems to say, pulling you into his arms. His cuffs must have severed during the explosion. The impact seemed to have knocked the wind out of him too, but noticing the unconscious guard next to him, you surmise that he must have cushioned Noah's fall. Noah pulls the both of you up and gets you moving towards what remains of the most affected wall. You're hopping clumsily across the debris, and you continue until you spot the Autobots within range of the two of you. But before you can get to them, there's a shout from behind you. You turn to look, and see the interrogator coming after you and Noah with his gun drawn. 
Before you can warn Noah, he fires. 

Time slows as you envision the bullet hitting your best friend, the guy who's been there for you through everything. It's sad, you think. Because you'll never be able to tell him how much you wished you were more than friends. 

Optimus kicks the guy away before he does any more damage, but you're already collapsed on the ground. Noah has you in his arms again, like every other time in your life, and you're happy that in your last moments, he's the person you get to see. 

"Fuck, Noah-"  The red was everywhere. It was on your hands, your clothes, Noah. It smelled like blood. It tasted like blood. You could hear the blood oozing from you. "Noah, I'm," you take a painful, absolutely excruciating breath, "I don't, I'm not feeling so- so hot right now-"

"Shh, shhh," Noah holds you closer to him, sobbing. "Stay awake, okay? Prime is holding them off, and Mirage is on his way to get us. He's so close, just stay with me. Please."

You touch your stomach tentatively, feeling the pool of stickiness spread onto your fingers. You gasp at the sight of it. "Don't look at it, look at me." He holds you halfway up, using one hand to gently turn your head to face his. 

"Noah-" you gasp. "Noah-"

"Don't talk, Mirage is almost here," he cries. He brings his forehead down to yours. "Stay with me, please."

"Noah- I-"

Mirage's engine revs from behind the two of you and Noah scoops you up in his arms. He makes his way urgently to Mirage's open doors, but slips on the pool of your blood and ends up on the ground again. He shields you from most of the gravity of the fall, the both of you landing on his back as your writhe in pain. Noah gets up quickly, picking you up again and shoving the both of you into the backseat. 

"I love-" Noah shushes you, kissing you softly. 

"Save it for later," he cries. "Don't tell me that because you think you won't be there to properly say it later."

The drive to the hospital is sharp and noisy. Mirage tries his best to weave through traffic, overlooking any laws or rules of the road in order to get you to the emergency room as fast as possible. Your eyes close, unable to stay awake any longer. "I love you," you whisper, and then he's gone. 

–

˜ Bonus ˜

Noah can't bring himself to show up at your funeral. He should be there, to say one last goodbye, but it physically hurts to remember you, knowing that you never got to hear him say he loves you back. Mirage tries his best to be there for Noah, but he's reeling with grief too. The both of them spend their time at the warehouse with the other autobots, all grieving from the loss still. He's kept the clothes that are soaked in your blood hanging on the back of his bedroom door. It's gross, it's disgusting, it's weird. He knows all of this, yet he can't let go of the last part of you he got to see. Today at the warehouse, he's all alone. The autobots are showing up to pay their respects in their alt forms, and plan on recording the event for Noah in case he ever regrets not being able to show up. They don't blame him though, all he's feeling is the regret of never being able to tell you what he really felt about you. He never got to touch your hair, the both of you being happy and in love. He never got to kiss you on your wedding day. Never get to dream about it, ever again. He feels like he'll never feel anything forever. 

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 21 - Rely

What went before.

How do you prove you are who you say you are?

With a little dose of DINKY EARTH&SKY STORYTIME.

I agonised over the flashback being from Virgil’s POV rather than Scott who is supposed to be the one telling the story… but Virg very much took front and centre (is about time tbh cos it’s HIS story after all and Scotty keeps muscling in). So yeah it might be a jarring shift, hope you’ll forgive me if so and enjoy the mini earth & sky antics anyway xx

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“Prove it.”

“I… what?”

“Prove you’re not Dad just trying to talk me down off the roof again so Scott has to leave without me.”

Scott’s blood was now red ice-slushie and his heart seemed to be struggling to pump it where it was needed. He was going to mess this up. He was going to let his brother down again. Was it even possible to logic him out of this? Probably not. But, now they were here, he had to try. He had to fix whatever it was that had prompted his brother’s fractured psyche to replace him with… a better version? His mind raced.

“Uh… ok. Ok! How about you ask me something Dad wouldn’t know.”

Virgil silently consulted to his left again, his eyebrows raising with a sudden idea. His head snapped back around and his eyes narrowed on Scott before he raised one finger to his own face and slowly drew a short line along the bottom of his jaw towards his chin. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

Scott had already unconsciously mimicked the action, tracing the marginally firmer texture of the almost invisible scar he carried there. A slight wash of relief ran through him as he realised he could answer this one very easily but their father could not have.

“Well it certainly wasn’t an argument with a barbed wire fence like we told Mom and Dad…”

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“The math works, Virgil! The lift from the drones will be just enough to support the two of us into a glide then the wings will do the rest.”

Virgil eyed Scott’s pride and joy with a bucketload of awe mixed with a few shovelfuls of suspicion.

The flying machine’s body was the old carbon fibre kayak, consigned to the garage long ago when their attempt to navigate the nearby stream in midsummer left it slightly… holey… in places. The two of them had manhandled it on to the roof via the internal ladder in the middle of the night about three weeks ago. The swarm of eight small tricopter-drones Scott had requested for his birthday were attached (four across the front, one each wing and two to the back) with lots of complicated-looking knots Virgil hadn’t learnt at Rescue Scouts yet but his brother had practised for hours to perfect.

The main event - the wings themselves - were an ingenious combination of fishing poles, some chicken wire fencing Scott had liberated from behind the shed and a patchwork of pieces of an old parachute Mom had stashed away for a rainy (or last minute fancy dress costume) day.

It did look impressive but also maybe a little more… home made… than Virgil had pictured when Scott had explained his Big Idea.

“I’m not sure your math is the same as real life, Scotty…”

“Sure it is! In high school you do real life math - it’s called physics and its all about balancing up forces with down forces. I checked my calculations with my physics teacher last week. She thought it was brilliant. It will work.”

“Did she know you were planning to do it in real life though?”

“Of course not, 11 year olds aren’t meant to be able to fly. It’d cause a fuss.”

“Hmm.” Virgil scratched his head and tried to figure out why the flying machine made him uneasy. It wasn’t just that the stitching of the parachute to the mesh was somewhat wobblier than Virgil had drawn in the neat plan they’d sketched together. nor was it the fact he could see daylight through some of the gashes in the boat.

“Did your sums include using duct tape?” Scotty had for sure used a lot. A lot of a lot.

“It’s really strong. Ever tried to unstick it from something? Impossible! Nothing unsticks what duct tape says should be stuck.”

“Ok.” Virgil’s voice was small because it was being squashed by big feelings. Some excited and proud ones. Quite a lot more scared ones. And some guilty ones.

And some deep misgivings about whatever “physics” was.

Since leaving them to go to High School Scott’s brain had been full of so many clever new things and he was so confident and excited. Virgil felt bad for not trusting him. After all, Scotty always made the crazy ideas work and then his eyes would twinkle with the annoying “told you so”. They always came out ok because Scotty wouldn’t let Virgil get hurt.

His big brother suddenly crouched down to look him in the eye. His eyes were soft behind the sparkle.

“You don’t have to do it if you’re scared Virgie. 11 years olds aren’t supposed to fly so I guess 9 year olds are even more… uh… not supposed to fly. It won’t matter, you could just watch instead and…” he frowned in thought “I would just need a weight about the same as you to strap to the seat behind… so the math still works. Hmm, maybe a rock or something…”

Scott trailed off and looked around them as if expecting to find a ideal Virgil-sized boulder just waiting there on the rooftop. Virgil hoped he wasn’t going to have to help carry one up the ladder.

Except, no. Of course he wasn’t. Scotty wasn’t going flying with a rock. Not while Virgil was around. His brother could always rely on him to always be right there at his side. He gave himself a little shake, put his hands on his hips and pulled what he thought might be a strong, reliable face:

“You need a wingman. That’s gotta be me. It can’t be a rock, that’s just silly!”

Scott beamed with obvious relief. “Alright short stuff, if you’re sure?”

Virgil was developing a talent for deadly glares and directed his best scowl at the lanky beanpole towering over him. His brother just seemed amused rather than appropriately terrified.

“I’m not that short Scott. I’m nearly as tall as Mom.”

“Yeah well Mom’s teeny. Dad calls her his Li’l Lightning Bolt cos…”

“She’s not! She told me we are the normal ones and you and Dad are secretly Sasquatches hiding from the FBI!”

Scott’s chirpy cackle was loud and long and Virgil glowed with pleasure at making him laugh, even if it hadn’t been his own joke originally. Then a little pang of worry hit him.

“Do you think they are alright?”

Scott squeezed his shoulder. “Of course they are, I promise. Baby Gordon just needs a bit of looking after at hospital because he’s even teenier than you...” Virgil gave him his best killer glare “… and Mom and Dad are just keeping him company. She’s alright Virgie.”

“Yeah.” Another squeeze then his brother stood up tall and together they surveyed the view.

Scott checked his new watch then licked his finger and put it up in the air. His very serious and important expression was a bit spoiled by his tongue sticking out to the side as he concentrated on working out the wind direction but Virgil suppressed the giggle. This was Scotty’s big moment.

“Alright, if we are gonna do this it needs to be now. Wind’s good and Grandma and Grandpa will be back with Johnny in about 20 minutes.”

“Aye aye Captain Scott!”

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[moonlight-tmd]

ProwlBee but it's Prowl who has the obvious crush on Bee.

Like, we've all seen or heard how Bee acts around Prowl- in my opinion he's trying to impress him using the wrong way (being cocky and bickering with him all the time). All while Prowl is nonchalant about everything and just grows to like Bee more over time.

What if it was- Prowl just internally panicking about his feelings towards the cute and annoying scout while Bee is just casual about everything and just wants to hang out with Prowl?

It's Prowl who caught that sparkle of magic when Bee approached him when they met. Prowl has been trying to supress it the best he could but he just couldn't help but feel flustered whenever Bee forgot that personal space is a thing or threw one of his cheesy jokes at him.

Prowl being Prowl, tries to be as secretive about his feelings as possible with everyone in the group so no one really knows. And let's be honest, Bee is oblivious as fuck. There is no way he would know. And he never had anyone interested in him so there's no reference or signs to look for.

I really like the idea of Prowl just breaking thru that barrier he put up and going for it- maybe after something happens, like an accident; they were called to aid a massive fire at the docks and Prowl got trapped in. Some rubble fell on him and pinned him down. He was about to get squashed with a rafter falling on him-

He braced himself for impact but it never came, instead he saw Bee, struggling to not bend and keep holding the heavy metal. He heard him call for help on the comm as he laid there paralyzed, then the fire finally reached a gas cointainer held in the same warehouse and it exploded. Bee was hit with a wall of heat and fire and Prowl was sure they died, but no... Bee withstood it and forced thru the pain to lift up the rafter along with the new rubble as much as he could. At that moment Prowl wanted to say something but Bee yelled at him to shut up and "We survived space barnacles, we'll survive this."

Prowl was forced to watch as Bee's frame deformed under the weight- metal warped and snapped out of the transformation seams, the mesh burned, exposing wires and energon lines- he could see some of the damage and burns on Bee's backside. He felt Bee's tears falling on him as he tried his best to withstand everything...

Few seconds before he gave out, the others finally came thru with the extinguishers and Bulkhead lifted the weight off of them.

Bee was rushed back to Base where Ratchet fixed him. Bee stayed in medbay for 3 days after that, he shielded Prowl from the explosion and took most damages which saved him. It gave the ninjabot time to think about what happened. He tried to talk with Bee about it but Bee brushed it off like he didn't just nearly get killed to save him. He was just happy that Prowl was alive.

It made Prowl realize that he doesn't have all the time in the universe to ponder and try to come up with a plan to confess. Anything could happen and they won't be able to be happy at all if he keeps waiting.

Bee was the type to never have plan or make one up on the go, Prowl took that lesson from him and in the few days before Valentines he managed to prepare some form of confession at a location near the lake.

When the day came he avoided everyone until the afternoon, that's when he send out a message to Bee to come help him with something and to come alone. He waited and waited.... it was starting to get dark, he wondered whether Bee saw the message at all or if he was just ignoring him. Pain filled his Spark when the thought of being stood up wandered to him. But just as that happened he heard rustling in the bushes and he regained composure just in time to see Bee walk in.

He asked about this thing Prowl wanted help with and Prowl had to admit he didn't actually need help with anything. For a calm and serious mech like Prowl, Bee was surprised if not a tad worried to see him stuttering and nervous. But then Prowl whipped out the big boquet of flowers along with a box of energon sweets from behind his back. He confessed that he's been thinking about Bee and what happened at the docks, that he doesn't want to hold back anymore and wants to get his happiness while it's still around.

Bee stood there silent with wide optics just looking and listening... but after a long silence Prowl didn't expect him to start laughing. He felt the sharp sting of rejection but before he could leave Bee grabbed him and apologized. He explained that he never thought Prowl would like him and in fact, thought he wanted nothing to do with him- especially like that.

Truth be told, Bee also developed a tiny bit of a crush on Prowl that he never showed. Prowl avoided everyone today, Bee included. Whenever Bee tried to talk with him Prowl either went away faster than he could speak or accidentally told him to leave him be... It hurt considering that the same day Bee wanted to spend time with Prowl specifically, he wanted to make their friendship a little bit more special and all he got was an indirect rejection over and over again... When he saw Prowl's message an hour after it's been send he hesitated to go- if Prowl didn't want to spend time with him then why would he request they meet alone? Most of Bee wanted to not come at all from spite and hurt Prowl caused but in the end he broke and came all the way out there... and he was glad he did.

It was the greatest evening they had- Prowl didn't plan anything but he did have a lot of suggestions of where they might go for Bee to enjoy. But instead Bee said they'd spend a nice evening in this spot, away from any bustle or interruption. Just peace and quiet, something Prowl enjoys. They sat by the lake and ate the sweets and some snacks Bee had in his subspace, and when the wind picked up they cuddled to stay warm until the clock told them to head back for the night.

The next day Bee approached Prowl and invited him to hang out together. They went to the zoo and spend nearly an entire day there, Bee even bought 2 buckets of fish to feed the penguins which Prowl enjoyed very much. Of course Prowl also got a plushie from the gift shop, a fancy penguin with a bowtie and a top hat.

The rest of the team suspects something is up, the two have been going out together quite a lot lately. Bee might have bragged about having a date with Prowl to Bulkhead when they were trying to make some plans on their own. So yeh, everyone knows that they go on dates now, thanks Sari.

They're not official yet- they're trying to see if it works, as Bee put it. But so far it does work, very well in fact.

[sepdet]

Have you SEEN the original moon landing feed, especially the scary bit near the end?

Now stay with me. I grew up hearing about these few minutes from my parents (in fact I took the TV they watched it on to grad school; DS9 and Babylon5 worked well in b&w).

This is even crazier than it looks like.

My parents were both scientists, my grandmother a planetarium director, and my dad was just about to land his job at a rocket company that built 95 small rockets that were part of the UpGoer Saturn V. (Yeah. Just the small ones. Saturn V was a BEAST.)

So my parents had a fair idea how dangerous this was, how Neil going manual was a bad sign, and just how close he was to running empty and crashing. They knew the problem that every ounce of fuel you carry requires even more fuel to lift off, so the Eagle was built light, carrying no excess weight even in fuel (it had to lift off the Moon with no rocket, after all).

But they didn't learn until years later just how jury-rigged and bespoke Apollo technology was. Every vehicle and part was designed like a Mythbusters build: extremely customized for the procedures it had to accomplish, using parts and even technology invented for specific mission tasks.

rope memory, predecessor to modern silicon chips: 1s and 0s woven by women (of course) at a Massachusetts textile plant

At the time, computers were the size of rooms and very touchy. Apollo's computer memory was core rope memory, never used before or since, to save space. The read/write guidance computer, too, was woven: physical media could better survive the rigors of space travel. (I suspect even my parents don't know it also used some of the very first integrated circuits, soldered by hand under a microscope by Navajo women).

Spacesuits were (and still are) designed and hand-stitched by Playtex bramakers. The lunar rovers' wheels were titanium meshes woven with piano wire to let dust through, and even had a clever navigation system despite no GPS or magnetic north.

They couldn't test these rigs with computer modeling. They didn't know for sure what the moon's surface would be like, apart from basic parameters like low gravity and near vacuum and a temperature ranging from 250°F in the sun to -250° in the shade. And it was nearly impossible to test for or practice in those conditions on Earth.

And then there were the unknowns. A massive solar flare between Apollo 16 and 17 might have killed or sickened them too much to operate their ship.

While the spacesuit and to some extent the rover design carried on, a lot of these hacks were so unusual that they might as well be alien tech. (I'm sorry woven technology fell out of vogue for several decades.) That goes some way towards explaining why humans haven't left Earth orbit since I was two.

The other problem, of course, is expense. Tech for human space exploration requires as much R&D and testing as fighter planes, which have developed through a century of multiple countries' military budgets. Human space programs are lucky to last two presidents; the next president usually doesn't think giving glory to his predecessor is a good use of money.

So for 40 years, NASA has mostly worked with other countries on human spaceflight or built robot explorers that can be launched in 3-4 years before Congress or the president can axe the program. They're less likely to shut down a mission when 99.99% of the money's been spent, and all that's left to do is download data and uplink occasional instructions.

TL:DR; Congress and the White House keep flashing the equivalent of that computer error message, every time NASA gets ready to send humans into space again. Overload. Abort mission.

Unless, you know, American citizens start saying Go. Go. Go. Go. We have some pretty important priorities down here on Earth (which Amazon and Disney and oil companies should be footing the bill for, though they try not to), but I bet the military can cough up the cost of a few fighter jets.

[tyrantisterror]

Let me tell you a tale about how much of an easy mark I am.

Now, I buy a lot of frivolous shit to fill the gaping void of emptiness at the core of my being, enough to have whole shrines built to Charmander and Harley Quinn and whatnot.  But I do try to limit myself, I do!  I really do!  I try to only buy things when I have a reason to justify it, like my incredibly passionate love of Charmanders and women who would hurt me if we met in real life.

But sometimes, when the void is yawning really loud and my cash on hand is more abundant than any looming bills I have, I find myself browsing sites looking for, well, frivilous things to fill the void, and I generally manage to avoid buying most of what I find.  Generally.

So, this is Drevnar the dragon.  I found him while looking up the term “plush dragon.”  Drevnar is a nice-looking dragon on his own, but that wouldn’t have been enough to make me buy him.  No, I was, I am ashamed to say, convinced by... his marketing.

Like, here in this picture he’s listing his virtues for us with a cute little voice bubble.  Soft AND cuddly?  No wires or anything rigid?  Drevnar, you’re a dream come true!

And then look at that pic!  He’s a got a name!  A damn name!  This isn’t just generic dragon, this is my boi Drevnar!  Drevnar has a job to do, and in order to do it, he’s gotta take a leap!  What’s going to happen next?  I don’t know, there’s no Drevnar show, this isn’t a character from a movie or whatever, this is a wholly original dragon named Drevnar that Tiger Tale Toys is challenging ME to finish the story of!  I have to get him now, man, I can’t leave my boi Drevnar hanging!

So I bought Drevnar.  Fine, excusable, he’s a cute dragon.  It’s fine.  It’s fine.

...but then they got me AGAIN.

Tiger Tale Toys recently came out with Delilah the dragon.  Like Drevnar, she’s soft and has no wires or anything rigid.

Like Drevnar, she’s got a little open-ended story prompt that tugs at my dumb heart-strings.  And, most diabolically, she’s also described as being Drevnar’s BEST FRIEND.  His BEST FUCKING FRIEND.

Look at them!  Look at how cute they are together!  Look at how their styles don’t quite mesh but also do in a weird way!  Look at how much they love each other!  I can’t split them up!  I can’t keep Drevnar separated from his best goddamn friend, Delilah!

So I didn’t, because I’m a chump.

Fuck you, Tiger Tale Toys, you diabolical bastards.  Fuck you for briefly filling the yawning void of emptiness inside me twice in my lifetime.

[frostymj]

I wanted to do more for Prodigy Celebration, but I'm having some creativity block right now.

But there was a short story I posted to the Discord some time ago, but haven't posted anywhere else. I thought today might be a good day.

Minor mentions of hunger, imprisonment, death, not graphic. Just a conversation shortly before Lost & Found. I tried to imagine the scene of Dal first telling Gwyn about the Window of Dreams. Good ending.

Prisoner Dal R'El grunted with determination as he climbed the metal walls of his detention cell on Tars Lamora. Close enough to the ceiling, he pushed himself to reach out, and was successful this time at grabbing hold of the ventilation grate.

He wasn't known for being the strongest kid by far, but he was agile enough to pull himself up to peer through the wire mesh to the fan mechanism inside, to see if the ventilation shaft was big enough for him to possibly squeeze through.

"The vent pipe is only 10 centimeters in diameter. You're not that skinny."

Realizing he'd been caught, Dal shot his attention to the voice outside the cell.

Gwyndala, the prison warden's daughter, stood casually with her arms crossed, amused by his antics.

Dal let go of the grating and landed heavy on his feet. "Gwyn! What brings you all the way down here..." He stepped toward the opening, careful not to get shocked by the force field, so he could see if anyone else was with her. "...with no watchers?

Gwyn sighed. "Just thought I'd see how you're doing so far. Figured maybe this could help." She pulled a honey lychee from her concealing robes and placed it through the passthrough. She knew it was his favorite, and watched as Dal's eyes widened, but he tried to act casual as he took it and bit.

"How long has it been now?", he mumbled through chewing.

"Three days."

"Hm. Could've sworn it's been four." He sat cross legged on the floor. "But, you know, brain gets fuzzy without food or water after a while."

"Five days detention. You know the rules for trying to escape. Just like last time, and the time before that." It was a grueling punishment. Some didn't survive it. But Dal was particularly resilient. She couldn't help but add "still better than where you would've wound up if you hadn't been caught."

"I would've figured something out," he gave his usual protest.

"You hid in the chimerium loading car, about to be dumped into smelting. It would've roasted you. How would you figure that out?" She was hoping a challenge would prompt him into telling her his next move.

But he just chuckled. "C'mon Gwyn, where's your sense of adventure? Oh that's right, it got locked away in these dungeons along with the rest of us."

Of course she bristled at his attitude, but she couldn't deny part of her was drawn to the truth of his words. Something she was starting to realize she wasn't getting from her father.

"All you have to do is keep your head down, and you'll survive." She tried not to sound too concerned for his safety, but she was.

He paused before his next bite and shot a piercing look up at her. "You know your father's going to work us all to death in these mines anyway. What difference does it make?"

Gwyn closed her eyes. Again, he was right. Her heart ached for all of them.

"But I know that's not going to be me."

She scoffed. "How do you know that?"

Dal pondered down at the half eaten lychee for a few quiet moments.

His voice was more gentle when he spoke. "Have I ever told you about the Window of Dreams?"

When they first met, she wouldn't have expected such softness from him. But over their conversations she had caught glimpses of a tenderness underneath his bravado and biting sarcasm. "What is it?" she asked.

"It's a pulsar cluster. The most beautiful nebula." He gazed up at the walls of his cell, but he wasn't looking at them. His wistful smile told her he was back on the ship, gazing into the stars.

She was stung by the longing to be out there too.

"Waves of vibrant red and wisps of blue, with a heavenly white light at the center. And they emit an electromagnetic resonance that makes the hull of the ship sing like a choir of angels."

Gwyn leaned her shoulder against the door frame outside the cell, and lowered herself to the floor with him to listen.

"They say if you gaze into it long enough, you can see your future."

"And what did you see?"

He shifted closer to lean against the door frame himself. They were now separated only by the force field between them. He closed his eyes to remember the moment, still smiling gently. "Adventure,.. freedom,.. safety,.. family,.. love..." his voice tapered off.

Gwyn considered him quietly with a smile of her own. She wouldn't have guessed he dreamed of such sentimental things with such reverence.

"...that's how I know I'm getting out of here," he finished with renewed confidence, finishing the lychee.

She wanted that for him. She couldn't help but admire the courage of holding onto that hope.

With nothing edible left, he put the core of the fruit back through the passthrough "What about you?"

She was caught off guard and again looked up to see his bold eyes imploring gently into hers. She had never felt so connected to anyone than in that moment.

"What are your dreams?"

Gwyn blinked back to reality when she realized no one had ever asked her that before. "...I don't know," she felt a little embarrassed as she answered sadly. She half expected him to laugh at her lack of life experience. But she only saw a sympathetic smile. He wanted more for her too.

The moment was interrupted when the familiar clacking of metallic feet, and the chittering of approaching watchers on patrol startled her. Drednock must have noticed the surveillance cameras offline.

By the time the robots had rounded into the corridor of detention cells, they spotted the Diviner's Progeny standing over the prisoner.

"I suggest you think carefully about your insubordination," Gwyn coldly chastised him. "We won't be so generous next time." She abruptly turned to leave, but not without sneaking a sorrowful glance at him. He countered with a knowing smirk as she walked away. She was forced into this role, as trapped as he was.

---

It was some months later Gwyn stood at the windows lining the ready room of the USS Protostar.

Acting Captain R'el walked up from behind to join her. They both gazed out to the stunning sight of the Window of Dreams, singing it's glorious song against the ship's hull all around them.

"What do you see?" he asked.

She gently started crying with happiness as she took his hand in hers and leaned into him. Nothing separating them anymore.

Adventure,.. freedom,.. safety,.. family,.. love...

[saints-who-never-existed]

Rereading The Terror

Chapter Forty-Five: Blanky

The end is nigh for poor Blanky and I for one am heartbroken!

He's on his third leg now. The first was finely crafted but snapped off around the time that Pilkington and Le Vesconte (Blanky calls him Harry) died. That day he rode in a boat with Mr Honey the carpenter who fashioned him a new one, rather impressively, while on the move.

When he's up and hobbling along once more he does all he can to show solidarity with the men. They're doing things just as Blanky describes to Fitzjames in the show - carrying half a load a day's march then doubling back for the other half. And even though Blanky himself can't carry much or haul at all, he still tries to do those things anyway and makes a point of marching in both directions alongside the other men.

The only thing that's really keeping him going is the thought of being able to take to the water in the boats and put his ice master's knowledge to good use once more. It's come up a few times now, this notion that many of the men who survive longest and show the fewest signs of illness are those who have the most to live for and Blanky's definitely in that group, I think. There's even more immediacy to his situation though: "Still, it was not only his usefulness that was being decided by the ice, but his survival... once the ice master was at sea again, he would survive... If he could last until they took to the boats, Thomas Blanky would live."

Then, of course, there is Tuunbaq, still stalking them on their journey south and coming for Blanky first, so he believes. And, to be fair, that's an astute assessment of things - his leg is in a sorry state indeed and he leaves a trail of blood for it to follow wherever he goes, after all.

Blanky does what he can to hide the extent of it, sweltering in his greatcoat long after the other men are hauling in their shirt sleeves in the comparative heat of summer. "I'm cold-blooded, boys" He'd said with a laugh. "My wooden leg brings the chill of the ground up into me. I don't want you to see me shiver." :(((

Blanky reflects on a few other events as he hobbles painfully along. He recalls that two other men have died of the same tin-based poisoning that killed Fitzjames (though Richard Aylmore remains unaffected). And he notes that, even with the temperature rising, the men are plagued by frostbite still as well as snowblindness and headaches from refusal to wear their mesh goggles. One man notes that "wearing the God-damned wire goggles was as difficult as trying to see through a pair of lady's black silk drawers but much less fun." which is very amusing to me.

Blanky is especially aware of these medical issues as he's begun to help Goodsir where he can. Interestingly, Goodsir trusts Blanky not only to fetch things from the locked medicine chest but seemingly trusts him not to blab about the final secret vial of laudanum he's got in there, despite lying to the men that it's all gone.

Blanky also notes, heartbreakingly, how their minds and very identities as sailors are deteriorating away along with their bodies: "Sailors who had tied off complicated rigging and shroud knots in the roaring darkness fifty feet out on a pitching spar two hundred feet above the deck on a stormy night off the Strait of Magellan during a hurricane blow could no longer tie their shoes in the daylight."

When his third leg finally snaps, Blanky sits down on a rock and accepts his fate. It's gut-wrenching just like the show but also funny as Blanky finds opportunity to be sassy to both Tozer ("He had always enjoyed irritating the stupid sergeant by using his first name.") and Crozier.

He doesn't have quite the same close relationship with Crozier as in the show, though there's clearly still respect and some love there. They argue the matter a little but Crozier respects his decision, offering him a water bottle and promising to get word of Blanky's fate back to his family (although, as with Irving and his supposed Bristol-based upbringing, Blanky's family and home in Kent (?!!) are details that Simmons apparently pulls right, infuriatingly, from his arse)

It is after midnight when Tuunbaq finally appears. Blanky greets it like an old friend ("Welcome back," said Thomas Blanky to the shadowy silhouette on the ice.") before meeting his fate grinning fiercely all the while. "You're late," said Blanky. He could not help it that his teeth were chattering. "I've been expecting you for a long time." Unlike with the front he put up for the men beforehand, Blanky knows it doesn't matter anymore if Tuunbaq sees him shivering... :(((

[applesontheground]

🕯️mama didn't raise a quitter ⛓️

happy multi-may! i'm a little late but i'm watching Joy Ride 3 with my homies tonight, so the timing was important to give you guys another installment of these two bastards barely managing during a threesome. this isn't a hard sequel to push and shove, but the love bite that the reader received in the aforementioned are called back to at one point. that's really it, though, so it's not terribly necessary to read the former if you haven't!

also, since they asked for a tag when i finally posted this: @bisexual-horror-fan @tinalbion @lucifers-horror-harem ♡♡♡

NSFW | Word Count: 3,254 | Bo Sinclair x GN Reader x Rusty Nail

contains polyamory/threesome, slight dubcon, hinted age gap, ogling, unhealthy dynamics, teasing, GN penetration, handjobs, slapping, possessive talk, be warned: the hinge poly comes off its hinges

🎼: x

You didn’t quell either of them so much as you simply acted as a buffer. These wires still had their moments of crossing – Bo saying one thing too much that made Rusty lose his temper, or the vice versa that was twice as dangerous.

Sometimes, it felt more like a custody battle than an open relationship between the two of them. It was such a chore some nights to talk one man into staying the night with the other, still falling into the standard of wanting you to themselves. Rusty didn’t care to challenge taking Bo from Ambrose, and Bo was some days far too conservative to open the bedroom to another person. You weren’t sure what it would take, but you also knew you weren’t going to keep trying to encourage it if neither of them would go for it.

It had to fall into their hands eventually.

Rusty liked to get out of town, but just like with the sleepovers, dragging Bo with the two of you was like herding trigger-happy cats. You finally got him by pointing out no one in the right mind would travel to Ambrose during bad weather. As he got in the truck, a begrudging passenger simply because he didn’t feel like arguing, he made sure to still give the cold shoulder while adjusting in his seat.

It only lead to him rubbing against you with his rain-spotted arm on accident while doing so. You glanced up, smiling when it got his attention and gaining that friendly wag of the eyebrows in return. Soon, it became a downcast look over towards the shirt that was open one button too low. Even in the wake of summer rain in the South, it was still insanely humid. It kind of made the two common weather afflictions even worse, the edges of your hair curling twice as much in the damp air and causing you to sweat alongside being soaked from the storm.

“Ever heard of keeping your eyes forward, Bo?” Rusty chided, putting the truck into motion while prematurely smiling at what he knew would follow. The other man spat, “You should do the same, not worry ‘bout me for once.” He looked to you for rebuttal, and not wanting to sink your heels into anyone’s camp you merely pecked a kiss on his cheek, remaining silent. It was hard to play the field some days because quiet only did so much. Rusty didn’t mind quiet, but it sometimes hit a bad spot in Bo that made him desperate for an answer.

The rest of the ride was a calculated effort to keep the affection divvied out, leaning on Bo’s shoulder but also having a hand on Rusty’s thigh in the process. Sure, this got exhausting, but you were adamant to keep the peace because you loved both men. Even if they didn’t particularly mesh with each other, you found yourself having trouble with sleep without the demanding snuggles from each dude nowadays. It got suffocating, but in the turmoil of these two you found that you were reaching an almost codependent point where you needed it that way to stomach the constant bickering, and the constant roughness around the relationship’s edges.

Still, a quaint diner that sat in the middle of open field – right by the tree line where the trek to Ambrose would start through the forest – was decided on after Bo found the open horizon a little daunting. He played it as “needing to stay close in case the brothers need me”. Rusty and you obliged, the soft spot for his close-knit family coming along with him rather easily. If only Rusty and Bo could find common ground like they do with Les and Vincent, you silently mulled.

Truck stops were uncommon the closer you strayed to Ambrose, which made the fact that Rusty even ran into you kind of a strike of weirdly placed luck. It had almost been a year since that happened, and even a couple months was all the two of you had before finding Ambrose and getting caught in Bo’s waxwork web. The closest analogy you considered was like finding an Easter egg in some fresh April grass, but as you took a sip of your coffee you glanced to Bo scanning the room, one arm sliding over the back of the booth as he pretended to stretch, getting a better view of the people at the counter all while still trying to appear idle with his observation, you found that pastel colored jewel rotted to a color a tad darker in your head.

Still, it made you smirk, the hand that wasn’t holding your mug going over to drag gently along the edge of his ring while you did your own quiet people watching.

You would assume Rusty had an aversion to light with how low he wore his hat, even indoors. You teased that it looked like he was sleeping half the time, trying to play it off by hiding his face any time more than two people were in the room with him. You smirked at the sight of it, blowing in his direction even. He slowly turned his head, and you giggled, “Just making sure you aren’t nodding off.”

“You know I can’t sleep with this many people around, [Y/N].” Rusty drawled, “Really wouldn’t mind if you didn’t get off on embarrassing me.” You hummed at that, almost understanding as you then eased, “Sorry, Rusty. I can find a way to make it up to you if you’d like.”

Bo snorted, but he ignored it and asked back, “Being a little negotiator. Old habits always seem to die hard with you.”

“Did you need more coffee, [sir/ma’am]?” Your eyes were torn away from him, all three of you eyeing the waiter standing by the outside of the booth. Looking down at your quarter-full mug, you then replied, “Oh, sure.” As he poured, you piped up just as quickly, “Thank you,”

The second that smile came over your face, it was like blood in the water. You couldn’t help it; you worked as a waitress for one of your first jobs, so the urge to be overtly kind was often potent at restaurants. Still, he then smiled back a little too widely – something you didn’t react to until he walked away. Your bright expression deflated, and you saw either man on your shoulders from your peripherals. They had their arms folded on the table, acting nonchalantly for the same reasons of saving face, being cordial.

When he wasn’t looking, though, they both were quick to give him a fair sizing up. “…Y’don’t like it either?” Bo’s hand slid from the back of the booth, landing on the shoulder furthest away from him as he caught the way Rusty was staring along with him.

Enveloped in the warmth and the phantom of cigarettes on both his flannel and his breath, he muttered to him, “Think we both need some retribution for bringin’ our [fella/gal/baby] out here just to be toyed with.” Rusty shook his head at that, hat worn lower as he scoffed, “You’re not being sly, Sinclair.”

“That’s right, m’not. I don’t pussyfoot it like the both of you.” His finger trailed up, gently grazing the side of your neck and only growing more friendly and lavish as he noticed the way it made your skin tighten, the bumps revealing under fluorescent lights. “I’m saying we should take this little heartbreaker home after this, where [he/she belongs / they belong].” You gave him a cautious glance, assurance that you knew your best spot was right in the middle of the two of them. Rusty caught the stare, and you shifted to give it to him, too. You even smiled a little in the same fashion. It was your trademark at this point.

“Don’t think it’s your fault, [cowboy/little miss],” Rusty hummed, and he adjusted in his seat as he mentioned, “But the boy’s got a point. Gettin’ a little too friendly with strangers.”

“And you know how dangerous that can get,” Bo reminded you from the other side, making your smile feign into something more sheepish as you murmured, “You both know I didn’t mean anything by it. Why are you so antsy?”

Rusty gestured briefly to the counter, “Waiter boy doesn’t know that, now does he?” Bo grinned, a rare bout of toothiness as he then snickered, “Probably thinks Rusty’s your daddy.” You bit your tongue at that; partially to keep from smiling and another part to keep a joke about how that wasn’t necessarily wrong to yourself. The older man leaned against the table now, crossing his arms and giving Bo a sharp glance as he brought up, “Sure, and you can be her shit-kicker boyfriend-“Your heart sat in your throat as you felt Bo’s movement lose its softness against your throat, slow down and finally curl back around your shoulder, “who don’t know how to act when in front of the parents. Fits you rather nicely.”

He then laughed, a rather wicked smile as he picked up on the shift in demeanor. You merely looked down at the table. It was your turn to do the soothing, rubbing the knuckles that were still around your shoulder with the hand that wasn’t currently set against his side, and he muttered, “Funny. You’re real funny, Rusty.”

“Well, I can be funnier when we get back. Give you my own retribution along with [Y/N].” Rusty then replied.

With how tense the booth became, you weren’t sure if you were even hungry anymore.

They could be heinous in broad daylight, but in the cover of the Sinclair home, the blinds in Bo’s bedroom drawn tight and thunder from outside quelling anything from leaving the walls with its own cacophony, you were in a familiar position between the two men rather fast.

It was a reverse from your last romp, Rusty now the one you were using for support while Bo was easing up from behind, not shy to jerk your hips to where he needed them, feeling the anger from earlier coming out in how quick his blunt nails were scratching your skin raw where your hips and thighs met. It was a welcome intrusion, painful in the way that made you relish in such a primal, gut-socking hurt as it dripped from the precum into your senses. His cock took its time prodding your entrance before finding the way, a brute force that was sharp enough to make you squeal.

Still, he looked up at the man on the other end of you, and suddenly his erection fell out, hipbone colliding with you and making you wince a second time. Before you could assure him it was fine and even plead for him to try again, Rusty’s hand slid over the top of your head, pushing your face down close to his lap.

“I don’t remember datin’ a quitter.”

“Ain’t dating you.” Bo reminded him as he tried to shift his focus back to you, one hand between your shoulder blades and pushing down so you were at an angle where you absolutely battered by his gaining motions. You tried to raise your head up again to moan but was subsided by Rusty putting his hand over your mouth, callouses itching your upper lip as he took a long look into your eyes, then back to the man behind you.

“Sure, if it helps you get along that's fine, but I still sleep in your bed. Let you sleep in mine ‘longside [Y/N] in the occasion you think about leavin’ home.” His hand fell from your mouth, thumb settled on your bottom lip as you tried to stare up at him from crossing eyes, Bo still not letting up despite failing to tune the other man out.

“Again, don’t remember asking you any of this shit.” Bo retorted, but he was trying to distract himself with re-entering. The second time, you were prepared and it felt twice as good when he slid inside again, your back arching as you began the fight to keep at least slightly upright, clinging to the back of Rusty’s neck, a dog to how husky his breathing had gotten as you were to the pressure from Bo.

You caught your window moaned out, “Bo, that’s good. Could you s-stop arguing and fuck me already, I-“ That alone was enough to get him to lash out, arms hooking around your torso, cradling your [breasts/pecs] with one arm as he pulled your back to his chest, fucking with a newfound, enraged pace. “Fine. Fuckin’ fine, but I’m getting’ you to myself, wanna see that pretty goddamn face. Here you go,” He said under his breath, teeth glinting in the dim light, but soon relaxing as you turned to jelly to see you easily fit snug against him, “There you go.”

He couldn’t fucking linger, once again snapping his gaze to look at Rusty, mouth slightly open as he cupped your jaw, eyes darting from the man on the other side to down at you mewling with a tipped back head, resting in the crook of his shoulder as the words all fell to the wayside now.

“Fuckin' crybaby.” He murmured in your ear, not shy with an open hand to tap your face, make you groan in both response and in the sheer pleasure from it.

Rusty chuckled as you couldn’t help the drool fall from the corner of your mouth, making another overwhelmed groan through a strong exhale, trying to catch your breath but your chest once again constricting at another quiet noise in your ear from Bo. “Well, [he/she/they] might be a little too worn down for me, boy. How’s about you and I go at it when you’re done doin’ what you’re doin’?”

“Hell no.” Bo snarled, but your eyes popped a little wider to feel the suggestion had made his cock throb in your walls, and you only clenched in response. Holding where his forearm was barred around your chest, you smirked to yourself, wondering where this was about to go before humming as a way to fall back into the jostling you were receiving, your [cunt/hole] starting to ache from all the movement.

“I won’t mark you up, know that ain’t your favorite. That’s just for [Y/N], ain’t that right, [little lady/cowboy]?” You hummed in affirmation, and it only made Bo huff along in bemusement, his hand trailing to touch the bite marks still showing against your ribcage, press a little just to hear you cry out again.

Rusty leaned in, making you whimper in submission to the imposing of his figure, but smile a little in the well-known excitement to get both in close quarters. “I know what you like, Bo. You like a hand ‘round that cock, don’t you?”

“Shut up.” He gritted, the first remnants of a final spray of precum making your thighs shiver against his. He had to catch his breath after those two words, once again looking away from the both of you as he tried to focus on how you felt. You were becoming lightheaded, out of tune with the two of them to stop the bickering and seeping with warmth. You were sure to fall flat on your face into the bed if Bo stopped holding you against him, being the full support and knowing it as his grip adjusted.

“I’ve slipped my finger in you before. Thought you’d pass out from how hard it made you. Came all over our pretty [boy/girl/baby’s] face, too.” He didn’t dare touch you while Bo had his hands on you, yet Rusty didn't have to as he suddenly sputtered in his movements as Bo saw it clear as day in his mind, and it took him to the edge.

“That’s right. Still gets you all worked up even if you won’t admit it. It’s alright, I enjoy the look of it, too.” Rusty eased him down, the younger man’s panting long and heavy in your ear, almost as humid against your skin as the rainy summer air you had been feeling not even an hour ago, warmth seeping into your body as he thoroughly drove upwards in fluid thrusts.

The breathing broke down into quiet moans, something you knew he could let out in a louder fashion if he wanted. He looked down, almost turning into you to hide in your hair as your hand trailed up, stroking his brown curls and even turning your head to kiss him, your walls spasming against his body as he fell flaccid, cock still settled inside of you. He was covering your nipples with his arm, a subconscious act of possessive nature.

You were regaining the critical thought in your mind, and now curious. Still pressing feather light kisses against Bo’s face, your eyes then darted back to Rusty. He wasn’t interested in you anymore, per se, and that was a new thing. Something you found you didn’t mind, now leaning out of the way and smiling at him so he could see the confused, slightly shaken man behind you.

You didn’t think he could have eyes for Bo, too, but here you all were. Like a pressure to keep them cordial was slipping out of your responsibility, you murmured, “Want me to get out the way, Rusty?”

Bo flinched a little, but Rusty perked at that and hummed, “That’d be nice of you, [babydoll/pretty boy].” You couldn’t help it, Bo letting go finally and you nearly crashing into the other man, pressing another adoring kiss to his lips before scrambling out of the other man's lap. Bo was still reeling from the last rut, but you gave support in arms around his waist, tucked close over one shoulder despite being out of sight.

It was exhilarating to see them face to face, and you whispered, “No shame in this, Bo. He’ll treat you well, figure out what makes you scream. Believe me.” His eyes were downcast, unable to keep from getting a little hard in record time, face flaring in a flustered color. You encouraged it, smiling against his throat, “That’s it. Look at you, I didn’t know you could get hard that fast.”

“Quit,” He finally chided, but he was holding your leg that framed his with a ferocity refusing to reveal itself as nerve.

“Not asking you to like me, Bo. Just askin’ you to work with me for a change.” You knew where Rusty's hand had found itself, Bo’s entire body growing tense but quickly shivering with an almost frightened level of ecstasy after the initial hold went around him. You did your best to quell the ferocity, kissing up and down the column of his neck, feeling Rusty’s other hand come around to brace your other leg to his hip.

“Both of us can’t get enough of you,” You whispered, and Bo tried to make his voice gruff at that to groan, but it cracked: he merely hummed in another bout of desperation, head tipping down as he spat, “Swear to god if you tear my dick off-“

You couldn’t help it, laughing and hiding your face against his bare shoulder as Rusty paused and Bo smirked at him. Rusty almost wanted to laugh, merely tipping his head in a bemused acknowledgement before the younger man finally let his hands slide up his counterpart's thighs, and he then added just for good measure under his breath.

“Don’t remember datin’ a quitter.”

[sentientcave]

It's WIP WEDNESDAY - Right Under The Wire

I have 2 minutes before this is an illegal post lmao

@mortuarywriting Posted a little bit of this so I'm gonna too! We have very disparate writing styles which I think will be really cool to mesh together for this project? I'm not sure how we will tackle it (Seperate parts? Writing chapters from the same outline and frankensteining them together? Heavy handed style edits until we're both happy? Who knows!) but I love their style so much and also their brain because they get credit for the worms that started all this.

We're still in the brainstorming and planning phase and just writing things that speak to us so far and it's super fun

Even in the dim light of the basement, just the one flickering oil lantern hanging from above, she was beautiful, radiant. Something otherworldly and untouchable, giving off faint light of her own, even without her halo. Her black hair was like the night sky, full of colour and motion, her skin emitted a soft golden glow, and her sharp golden eyes were piercing, although she struggled to see in the darkness, stuck as she was in her nearly human aspect.

She didn't look behind her when he entered-- she would spend hours staring at the lamp, sitting impossibly still, as though it were a scrap of the real sun.

"Hello, John," she said simply.

"Hello, starshine. Come to fill up the lantern. Are you hungry?"

"I don't need to eat." But she stood and moved to the furthest corner she could reach, with the shackle around her ankle, always keeping her distance, wings folded around herself protectively. "I'm not like you."

"Still. Thought you might like to try. There's plenty of mortal pleasures you've yet to experience. Mrs. Miller's strawberry rhubarb pie is one of 'em." He set the pie plate down on the table next to the lamp as he topped it up, watching her from the corner of his eye. He had her attention, at least. "Come on, starshine," he coaxed. "It's not a blood-let day. You don't have to worry about me hurting you."

"You always hurt me," she said. "I don't belong here."

"And where do you belong, hm?" He asked, knowing full well she wouldn't answer that. That she had no answer. She wouldn't speak of heaven, wouldn't admit her crime, but she had been cast out for something. She had nowhere to go.

She looked away from him, scowling, her cheeks glowing brighter.

As he thought.

"Come on now. Maybe you'll like it." He pulled the tea towel off the pie plate. It was still warm, golden brown pastry that smelled of butter and sweet fruit filling. Her nose twitched.

He could always tempt her close with human curiosities. Today was no different.

[tired-space-politician]

" Brother. It hurts. "

// @forgottnseccnd i hand you... a stuck-on-the-wall-as-a-battery aurelius in the 40th/41st/42nd/42whatever millennium, only if you desire and are comfy with feels!! only if you want!!! :0

Roboute had been stumbling in the dark, lost, drawn to this light that reflected down so many corridors. The horror before him defied mortal comprehension. "Oh.. oh Aurelius... I'll get you out! As quickly as I can! Cawl scan him please! Detailed as you can!" Panic set in.

The life support armour let out it's sensory mechadendrites to scan the entrapped Primarch, to very carefully try and find some access port or hidden console that bound this mesh of wires, cable and flesh together.

Roboute tried to keep his breathing steady as he tugged one of his many spare cannisters of pain suppressant out from a hidden compartment. "Au-Aur-Aurelius c-can you swallow? Otherwise I will have to hurt you a little bit to make the pain go away for a few hours." Roboute thanked Cawl's unending insight for inventing a fluid delivery system that did not require one big needle, but instead many fine little ones. The part that would hurt would be the swelling beneath the skin, the blob of delivered liquid, not the injection itself.

Breathe Roboute, breathe, your brother needs you. You can be traumatised about this later.