#in the meantime: here's this. Madness!

[uhohproblems]

The suit stood quietly corpselike where he had left it. The first day he'd watched it half-warily for a long stretch, almost expecting to blink and be back inside it, and then he'd been swept into a mess of blood tests and immunology panels and press conferences and he didn't see the inside of his own room for a full 18 hours, and when he'd come back it had been a shock of horror and longing to see it still standing there. Unmoving, trapped inside this office, a thought which almost made him laugh except for how it almost made him sick. That night he dreamed that he could reach a hand inside himself and pull away globs of muscle and fat like wet handfuls of snow. He pretended it wasn't there; he pretended that it didn't catch his eye every time he moved and the light shifted over its glossy surface.

(NSFW!!!) (white knight has relations with the exosuit)

[pouletpourri]

the maddest spies around

[izuizzy]

I am working on stuff but have some Aurora-centric doodles in the meantime! (I put my kiddos in a fantasy au in the second doodle an au within an au?? lol)

[redbootsindoriath]

Apparently in my absence this post had its 1000-notes-iversary.

This time we get to see the culprit responsible for ruining our heroes' lives as well.

I've really missed you guys, by the way. I know I've said that already, but I'm serious. Once or twice this year I've been right on the brink of coming back but schedule stuff always keeps me from letting myself commit to that again, and that in turn has kept me from posting anything at all. But I've been in an unexpected drawing mood lately and so if I can get enough stuff to set up a queue we might pretend I'm back for a month or so sometime this year. Maybe. Hopefully. We'll see. No promises though. That's why I'm hiding this paragraph under the cut.

Transcription:

[Beren:] "Uhhh...barkeep...I think he's had enough now..." [Tolkien:] "No, I don't think he has...!"

[undergoing-mitosis]

if i manifest it enough grian might upload his first episode of hermitcraft if i manifest it enough grian might upload his first episode of hermitcraft if i manifest it enough grian might upload his first episode of hermitcraft if i manifest it enough grian might upload his first episode of hermitcraft if i manifest it enough grian might upload his first episode of hermitcraft if i manifest it enough grian might upload his first episode of hermitcraft if i manifest it enough grian might upload his first episode of hermitcraft if i manifest it enough grian might upload his first episode of hermitcraft if i manifest it enoug

[slippery-minghus]

System Breach Sunday 🟡

#8

Threat assessment protocols fizzled sharply at the edges of his vision, ready to take action—but there was nothing he could do. Detective Reed was an ally. Any act of defiance, any harm to a human without explicit orders…

>WARNING: STRESS LEVELS RISING - 43%

Connor focused on his objective. “The Lieutenant is due to arrive shortly, Detective,” he supplied, tone modulated to register as calm and even, unaffected. With a possible lead to uncover in the deviant’s notebook, the statement was based more in truth than the vague excuse he’d offered Detective Collins. The sooner he could placate Reed, retrieve the notebook, and get back to work—the sooner he would have a reason to summon the Lieutenant.

Gavin all but cringed in contempt, nose wrinkling as he peered down at Connor. “Sure he is,” Reed replied, rolling his eyes.

Decidedly, Connor did not refute the Detective’s apparent skepticism. His stress levels were still on the rise, and the efficiency of the supplemental charge entering the port at his wrist was beginning to suffer. Even with his threat assessment protocols pushed as far into the background as he could manage, Connor’s overtaxed system would tip back over into draining power if he did not resolve this exchange soon.

This time, he chose a tone that was pleasant, perhaps even supplicating. Appeasement projections deemed it to have the highest chance of success. “Thank you for stopping by, Detective. If I may have the notebook back, I would like to return to work.”

Connor had hardly finished speaking before his algorithms stuttered in recognition. He’d made the wrong choice.

Reed grinned, but it wasn’t kind. Far from it. “Oh, this?” he asked, making a show of examining the notebook, as if he had not been aware of what he was holding. His grin widened. It was nothing like that moment in the alley, but Connor remembered the deviant, the predatory look it gave, and—

Reed slapped the notebook a few times against his open palm, before waving it at the android. “So what do we have here? A clue from the hunk of plastic you and Lieutenant ‘Jack Daniels’ still can’t get your act together enough to catch?” He thumbed through the pages, only to click his tongue in disgust, “The fuck even is this, your deviant Little Miss Teen Angst, or some shit? This its diary?”

Connor remained silent. It was a gamble, but there was a chance that refusing to engage would persuade Reed to lose interest.

Finally, for the first time since the interaction began, it seemed Connor had chosen the correct course of action. Gavin had hardly paused long enough to allow the android to speak anyway, instead finding further amusement in the deviant’s notebook. Before long, the Detective’s sneer of disgust gave way to a poorly stifled laugh.

Reed turned the book to show Connor the reason for his amusement, continuing to snicker in revulsion. Across the open pages was a spread of pasted in photographs, neat and uniform; each was of a human face, displaying varied expressions of physical pain. Connor’s databanks were quick to supply the collection of films and television episodes the images had been sourced from, but he was no less perplexed by the sight.

“What a joke!” Gavin barked a garish laugh. He contorted his expression mockingly, mimicking an image of a woman crying in distress—only for his face to fall a moment later, dark and angry. He slammed the notebook shut. “If Fowler had just listened to me, he’d have agreed that this isn’t even a fucking case. But no, it’s the top investigation for the walking fleshlight Cyberlife sent to steal our damn jobs. Unbelievable.”

Reed huffed through gritted teeth, still seething. He ran a hand through his hair. “I’d have caught the piece of trash already, but whatever, take your time, the fucker’s only killing androids anyway. Not even worth the damn recycling fee.” With a noise of disgust, Gavin dropped the notebook into the wastebasket beside Connor’s desk and stiffly wiped his hands. ��Shame about all your dead friends though,” the Detective chuckled, giving a dismissive wave as he turned to walk away.

Connor’s stress levels dropped so sharply at Gavin’s departure that he nearly lost control of his expression and posture.

[lucydacusgirl]

😁😁😁

[demigod-of-the-agni]

The year is 20X1, 23 years since Polaris and Sigma Octantis were last sighted at the celestial poles. Intrinsic expansion of space has increased dramatically over the past few decades, leaving our bubble of the observable universe awash with infinite darkness, the light of every star beyond our reach. If you are lucky, you might catch a glimpse of the rings that now circle above us, accompanying networking satellites and casting a glow brighter than our moon. The shattered bones of Tara Devi, numen of stars, now orbit us in place of the long-gone celestial bodies. If you catch sight of her face, do not fear; simply return home and go back to sleep, and if possible, ignore the pleading that may accompany you.

by Dhruva V. | 29 April 20X1 Broadcast: Sundered Skies

[chocolate-cream-soldier]

-.-

[naivety]

sorry dashboard. and i love you

[willowfey]

no one can make u feel crazier than ur mother<3

[orionis13]

Just found out theres consequences for overdoing it??? What the hell man

[greyias]

FIC: Smoke and Mirrors - Chapter 19

Title: Smoke and Mirrors Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T Genre: Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn Synopsis: Something’s rotten on Carrick Station, and Theron won’t rest until he  finds out what. But picking at the frayed threads of suspicion quickly  unravels a conspiracy much larger than even the Republic’s top spy can  handle on his own. (A mostly canon-compliant retelling of the Forged  Alliances storyline, as seen through the eyes of Theron Shan.) Author’s Notes and Spoilers: See Chapter 1.

Chapter Index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | Crossposted to AO3

Sense memory was a funny thing — a sound, or a smell, or even a humid sea breeze could rewind time. Theron didn’t consider himself to be overly nostalgic or sentimental, but the moment he stepped off the shuttle, and the salty, humid sea breeze on Manaan took him back. He hadn’t set foot on this planet in over a decade, but for a moment, it felt like he had never truly left.

Nostalgia probably wasn’t the right word — his time on Manaan hadn’t exactly been the high point of his life. He’d made his way here after he’d left Haashimut and the Order (or they had left him—details details). It was before he’d even been recruited into the SIS. Just him and his teenage angst against the galaxy. It hadn’t all been bad, though. Even in the darkest moments, he still had some fond memories. Like the exhilarating rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins the very first time he raced through the swoop tracks, or those times he and one of his few friends from the minor league circuit would sneak out to the docks so they could watch the sun set over the endlessly crashing waves.

He blinked away the past, taking in his current surroundings. Things had chanced in his absence; time had a way of always marching on. Everything looked a little different at this height, less grand and imposing, and more… mundane. He didn’t remember any of the storefronts lining the Mercantile Plaza, nor recognize any of the faces milling about. The pristine fountains still sparkled radiantly in the sunlight, but even their beauty didn’t seem to match up with his memory. Perhaps it was because despite the pleasant weather and the tang of the sea in the air, he could still feel the oppressive weight of the local government in every interaction he spied upon. From the signs boldly declaring the many rules of off-world visitors, to the wariness lining the faces of the non-Selkath citizens milling about. Ahh, the telltale signs of a xenophobic and isolationist state. He’d definitely not missed that part about this place.

He slipped into the crowd milling about the Mercantile Plaza with practiced ease. It was a trick he’d employed many a time back in his first time here, but now he had over a decade of fieldwork under his belt. While humans were an abundant species on most planets, here on Manaan they were a bit more of a novelty, one of those weird, hairy, land-dwelling aliens. In his experience, a lot of Selkath had difficulty distinguishing between humans. Most of the population lived happily under the waters below, and saw little the outside galaxy by the design of their controlling government. In that way, being a human both drew attention, yet also provided cover. Something an experienced spy could use to their advantage.

The trick was to blend in by standing out. Act a bit like a lost tourist refusing to ask for directions, walk with confidence as if he knew where he was going (which he did), but also pausing occasionally as if looking for landmarks. It worked, and no one gave him a second look. He had got through customs almost laughably easy, the documents he’d forged for his cover identity passing with flying colors. It had also been almost too easy to guide the conversation with the customs officer so that Theron could obtain information on Darok. Just a lot of wide, toothy smiles, vapid blinking, and incessant babbling about his work and vacation plans. That was just the kind of guy that Tev Fith was.

He couldn’t check the grin at the name he’d chosen, part of the reason for his many toothy smiles with the customs officer. If she’d been around, he was fairly certain that Teff’ith would have threatened to shoot him over it. Or maybe just taken a shot on principle alone. And wasn’t imitation supposed to be one of the greatest forms of flattery? She should be more appreciative of his attempts to include her in his undercover work. In a way, she was helping him save the Republic again.

He could just hear the “Stupid Theron” being muttered in the back of his head. It nearly made him laugh again.

The intel was good, though. Darok had arrived only two days prior, so while a little behind, Theron was on the right trail. The Colonel had also put in a request for him and another individual for deep subsurface travel starting tomorrow. Odds were good that Darok’s travel buddy was Darth Arkous. If Theron stuck around the Plaza, it was possible he might even catch the two of them out in the open — of course; the opposite was also true.

That would just be embarrassing if he was spotted. Best to be careful and observe, wait for his backup to arrive. Speaking of… he needed to double-check the whereabouts of the Defender. If Darok was heading down under the surface tomorrow, it meant that something was about to go down, and Theron fully intended to be there. It’d be nice if his asset was there too, just in case her fancy lightsaber skills were called for.

While forging his identity documents, Theron had also taken care to rent out a little office space in Tev Fith’s name. Just a little space off the primary thoroughfare of the Mercantile Plaza, but still on the main network. A good op always needed a proper base of operations. Preferably one with better climate control than deep in the bowels of a Force enhanced Sith alchemical warship. As “fun” as it was to save the Republic in nothing more than his skivvies again, he really ought to be more properly dressed if he was going to have company. Something told him that his current Jedi operative would be a little less nonplussed about it than Gnost-Dural had been.

It took Theron most of the morning to slice into Manaan’s mainframe without tripping any security protocols. He’d been able to confirm Darok’s lodgings, which were thankfully far enough away from Theron’s little base so they wouldn’t accidentally bump into each other on a caf break. But still close enough for the spy to monitor him.

The government here liked to keep a very close eye on outsiders, meaning there were security cameras almost everywhere. It was both a blessing and a curse in this situation — in that it restricted Theron’s movements outside of his little office, but also allowed him to keep a digital eye on his targets. It was tedious work, especially as he had to more or less track the security feeds, since he didn’t want to risk installing any code on the mainframe that might give away his presence in the system. But that was the job sometimes — for every pulse pounding minute of action, there were several hours of monotony leading up to it.

So Theron watched the feeds, following both Darok and Arkous around the Mercantile Plaza with his many digital eyes. Their permits to head down to the underwater facility weren’t until the next day, so he was fairly confident that they wouldn’t disappear on him completely. However, Theron wanted to be sure he knew all the players in whatever game they were playing. They were likely killing time, and seemed to have dropped the pretense of not knowing each other, as they apparently didn’t think they were being observed.

(Heh.)

With one eye, he watched them go about their day and make preparations for whatever they were up to beneath the ocean’s surface, while he tried to pull what information he could on the facility they were heading to. Documentation on Genetics Laboratory G-1 was sparse, and there was almost no public information available on the mainframe. Its actual purpose and speciality beyond “genetics” wasn’t listed anywhere. Not even Darok and Arkous’s clearance papers seemed to list what they were doing. Curious.

There was more traffic in and out of its surface level office, and didn’t seem to be much in the way of passengers or visitors, so that must have meant freight. Slicing into the customs database took more time, and didn’t exactly yield any jackpots of information, but from the amount of equipment and supplies, it seemed to be a research facility of some sort.

Although what stolen Rakatan artifacts, secret labs, and traitors to both the Republic and Empire added up to, he still wasn’t sure.

That same funny feeling was still nagging at him — that he was missing some small, but key piece of information that would tie all these pieces together. If he only had more solid information about Arkous, how he had even crossed paths with a Republic SpecOps officer, just find that intangible something—he was sure all the puzzle pieces would click into place.

His camera snooping finally failed him near the end of the day, as both Darok and Arkous settled in a place that was practically in a blind spot to the cameras, a far corner of a cafe in a busy section of the plaza. It was impossible to tell if the action had been deliberate, but considering they had been in plain sight of the cameras for the rest of the day, it was probably just dumb luck. Either way, it still meant he had to abandon the anonymity of the office if he were to continue his surveillance.

Sunsets on Manaan always had an air of mystique about them. A briny tang carried on a soft ocean breeze. The gentle lapping of waves against the plaza’s platform had a calming and almost hypnotic effect that seemed to draw the surface dwellers out in droves. Large crowds packed the plaza, taking to the cafes and outdoor restaurants as they tried to sneak in one last meal and the peaceful atmosphere before dusk set in. There was basically no nightlife to speak of, at least up on the surface. Rowdy revelry from off-worlders wasn’t exactly something the government wanted to encourage, so most everyone wrapped up their business by dark and headed back to their rooms.

Theron picked a table where he couldn’t immediately be spotted by his quarry, but could still make them out. Luckily, this cafe had its menu on a ridiculously large datapad that he could hide behind if it seemed like they were looking in his direction, but so far, he hadn’t had to deploy that flimsy excuse for a disguise. 

Despite their unintentional evasion of the cameras, amongst the backdrop of the crowd, they stood out like a sore thumb. Darok’s massive size and pale bald head were immediately recognizable and made an almost hilarious counterpoint to Arkous’s more slim figure and crimson skin. The big man’s wide shoulders seemed like they barely fit the small table the two conspirators had taken for their evening meal, and his massive, beefy hands nearly dwarfed a small cup of tea. Darok seemed distinctly uncomfortable as he tried to drink from the tiny cup without slurping. His Sith co-conspirator meanwhile seemed perfectly at home, somehow taking up more room than his large companion, like he was used to stretching out and taking up as much space as physically possible.

If Theron’d had more time to set up proper surveillance, he could have maybe installed a listening device near their table, so he could make out whatever they were talking about. From this distance, he couldn’t even read their lips without getting close enough to do so could risk tipping them off to his presence. So unfortunately for now, he would have to watch from afar, keeping his attention split between his quarry and his surroundings, and hope they wouldn’t slip his surveillance net again. 

Not that either of them could go very far, considering the physical limitations of the plaza, but he wanted to be sure there weren’t any other actors in whatever game these two were playing.

The streetlights were just beginning to click on, and the weight of dusk settling across the sky when something… something felt. Off. Not that nagging missing puzzle piece that had plagued him since this entire thing started — no. This was that uncomfortable itch that would take up residence at the base of his spine, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. It was a feeling that any good operative was well-attuned to.

He was being watched.

Theron made a show of pretending to wipe invisible droplets of sea mist from the screen of the cafe’s giant datapad menu as a cover while he glanced around. Darok and Arkous were finishing whatever amounted to an extravagant meal at this little ocean-side cafe, and the other patrons were just as oblivious to him. 

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, but his ruse with the menu would be too awkward to keep up to glance in that direction. So he set it down and reached for his cup of caf as if he were settling in to savor the evening ambiance. The sip of hot liquid gave him an excuse to turn his head as he caught the flutter of a cape in the alleyway tucked just to the right of the cafe. 

It was only a glance, but that was enough for him to just be able to make out the shape of a caped figure — humanoid, possibly female. A hood obscured the figure's features, but he could just make out a bright flash of blonde hair. That they were skulking in an alleyway automatically gave them an air of suspicion. But the closer that Theron observed them—no, definitely a her, he could see that her focus was on the cafe. Or in fact… the exact same table that he’d been observing.

This woman was also tailing Darok and Arkous too—or worse—was working with them.

The figure straightened, like a marionette on a string, and her head snapped in his direction. For a moment, Theron found himself meeting the unearthly yellow gaze of a Sith, who stared right back at him. 

For the space of a breath, neither of them moved, perhaps both of them just as surprised to see the other. Then the bustle of the crowd broke the impromptu staring contest, and Theron seized the moment to melt into an opening in the throng. With almost practiced ease, he let the crowd sweep him away like he was just another wave crashing against the platform of the plaza. Just like the ocean currents, he didn’t fight the motion of the crowd, and let it carry him along until he could circle around to get a better vantage point on the woman in the alleyway.

He ignored the jostling of the strangers, every sense on alert now. He couldn’t afford to risk any confrontation, not without potentially tipping Darok and Arkous off to his presence and risking the entire investigation. A tiny voice in the back of his mind, one that sounded a bit too much like Jonas Balkar, also reminded him that right now, to not wade too far into these unknown waters. He was here with no backup, and the only person who knew where he was or what he was up to wouldn’t even be aware that he needed help until it was too late.

Right now, Theron was alone — just like he always had been.

By the time he reached the alleyway, the Sith was gone. He looked back to where he’d been sitting and spied another flutter of of a cape at the menu and cup of caf he’d abandoned.

A curse slipped loose as he realized that he’d now picked up a tail of his own. Making a split-second decision, as he was always forced to do when he was out on his own like this, and let himself get carried back off into the crowd. Away from Darok, away from Arkous, and most importantly, away from this mysterious new Sith.

[raposarealm]

Best team name I've seen during this whole Ranked season.

[ninjaliike]

she's back from vacation *𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚜* !!

[livvyofthelake]

tiktok giving me fandom videos now. not a judgement statement just a thing that’s happening. NOW i’m gonna give a judgement statement and it’s that it sucks and i hate it