#reverse throwing pistol

[wouldyourfavepaychildsupport]

[beansprean]

12x11 is one of those A- eps that woulda been an A+ if Cas was there

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(ID in alt and under cut)

1a. Waist up of Dean on a mottled pale beige background, wearing a gray and red plaid shirt over a black tee. He is holding a pistol in both hands, pointing it at the viewer and glaring over the top of it, lip curled as he demands, "Who are you?" 1b. Reverse shot of Castiel, looking into Dean's eyes with soft concern as he casually nudges the barrel of the gun away from his face with two fingers. Cas replies, "Dean, it's me. Castiel." 1c. Reverse shot of Dean in the same position, gun now tilted away slightly from Cas's touch. Offscreen, Cas continues, "Sam called. Said you were having some...memory issues...?" Dean squints at him, lips pursed skeptically. His speech bubble has an ellipsis and text behind his head reads "processing..." in bright green techy font. 1d. Repeat. Dean's face clears, eyebrows popping up as he exclaims, "Oh!"

2a. Waist up of Dean from Cas's POV, grinning with genuine joy as he reaches both arms behind himself to tuck his gun away. He says, "Castiel, right!! You're my best friend!!" 2b. Reverse shot of Cas as Dean darts forward and throws his arms around his neck in a tight hug. Dean exclaims, "Hi, dude!" Cas's arms fly up in surprise, eyes shocked wide and cheeks flushed red as his chin is tucked into Dean's shoulder. 2c. Zoom out slightly. Blushing and smiling shyly, Cas rests his hands on Dean's back and says "Um...you're my best friend too, Dean..." Dean replies, "Haha, sweet." 2d. Zoom out to knees-up. Dean breaks the hug and leans back, holding Cas at arms length by the shoulders with a grin. His gun is now visible, stuffed barrel-down into the back of his jeans. Dean says, "Dude, you smell like ozone." Cas, arms now hanging straight at his sides and still a bit red in the face, furrows his brow and replies "Um...thank you? It's the ozone." Dean: "Ohhh..." Cas: "Dean...did you remember to put the safety on?" Dean: "The what?" /End ID

[decentwritings]

Chapter 7: Final Chapter

Summary: You’re unable to grasp the luck you have. You were raised to run from danger, to go the opposite direction of bad influences. So when you somehow find yourself right in the center of it, you discover that running wasn’t exactly what you were taught. It only took GhostFace and a pretty girl to remember that.

series masterlist

Bailey wakes, slow and unsure. He's alive, and he isn't sure why or how.

Right at the center of the theater, he sits up and scans his surroundings. In the distance, his spare gun lies there, waiting to be picked up.

He pulls himself up with a struggle, coughing as he staggers toward the gun. He picks up the pistol and grips the handle tightly, like an anchor to life.

Then, his phone rings. He freezes, the ringing echoing in the silent theater. He scans his surroundings once more, pistol aimed high, in search of threats.

He answers the phone, still on alert.

"I've got one question for you," Sam's voice resonates through his phone's speaker.

Bailey climbs up to the stage, desperate to complete his family's plan: kill Sam Carpenter.

"Oh yeah," Bailey says, his voice hoarse as always, but there's a tinge of pain and exhaustion in it. "What's that?" he asks, gun still raised, finger on the trigger.

"What's your favorite scary movie?" you say from somewhere in the theater, startling him. He shoots in the direction he assumes you are, but nothing comes from it. Your voice echoes, and he grits his teeth, frustration seeping in.

He whips around, his guard raising again, and he sees Billy Loomis's cloak is gone. He checks his pocket; Billy's mask was in his pocket. Now it's gone.

"You put on your true face, huh?" Bailey narrows his eyes, his hand beginning to tremble. "Your birthright. Poetic that you're going to die in it—"

You pull a string, causing the mannequin tied to it to tilt a little. Bailey fires without hesitation, and you tiptoe away before he can spot you.

Nothing. Bailey tightens his hold on the pistol, jaw clenching.

"You know the truth now. Murder is in your blood," he snarls, glaring at the mannequin in front of him.

Behind him, his son's movie plays in reverse. It distracts him for only a second before he hears something sound on his left. He spins again and fires three shots.

"Stop fucking around and show yourself!" Bailey shouts when his clip empties. Still no Sam. He's quick to reload, and the theater remains silent. "I'm a fucking police officer! What are you gonna do, huh? Who do you think they're gonna believe?"

"Probably the one that's still alive."

At that, Bailey throws his phone away. He's distracted, and he doesn't see the silhouette behind him on the other side of the screen.

Sam steps through the screen, wearing Billy's cloak and mask. At the last second, the officer turns, and Sam stabs him over and over. His screams don't affect her; it worries her that it drives her to do it some more.

The gun in his hand falls to the ground, the clatter of its fall silent as Bailey's screams are heard. He drops to his knees, pleading but also seeking cover.

Sam towers over him, and he can see an evil glare behind the mask.

Bailey cowers, and you think you hear him whimper.

Tara limps onto the stage, wanting to witness what's about to go down. She glances at Sam, her sister as Ghostface.

Sam removes the mask, no longer wanting to associate herself with it.

"My father was a murderer," Sam lowers the knife in her hand. "But I'm not. No matter what you say, I'm better than that."

She shows mercy. Tara looks relieved.

Bailey cries, like a blubbering baby. "Thank you... thank you!" he gasps between breaths.

You watch from under the scaffolding's ladder, arms crossed. This is their ending to have, not for you.

The sisters share a look, heads tilting to mirror each other. You raise a brow, aware of what is going to follow.

"But you did fuck with my family..."

Sam jams the knife into his eye socket up to the hilt. The blade reaches his brain, no doubt. His body twitches, seizing, before she rips the knife out. He collapses, legs shaking as his brain dies.

Sam stares down at him, unfazed by her actions. Tara is a little disturbed but understands her sister's reasoning. They share another look and then walk through the screen, coming down from the stage.

You step back a few inches, wanting the sisters to have their privacy. You figure this would be a good time to check on Chad. You hope the jock is alive; you'll hate yourself if you left him alone to die.

At the sight of Chad leaning against the wall, you sigh in relief and move to check on him. He wakes with a jump, wincing and groaning in pain. You jump at his reaction, frowning.

"Dude, you scared me," you say, holding your hand up to your chest and shaking your head. His eyes fall shut again, and he fights to keep them open. You slap his face a few times, gently. "Come on, man, look alive... help should be arriving anytime now."

Chad blinks. "Is it over?"

You nod, smiling softly. "As JT said, dead and gone."

Chad laughs gently but regrets it as soon as he does. He groans, coughing a few times. You grimace, apologizing to him for the pain.

"My hero," he mumbles, then closes his eyes. You tilt your head. "I'm not dead, just tired," he says, his eyes remaining closed.

"Yeah, but when you're covered in blood and tired, it usually leads to death," you tell him. You pat his cheek again, forcing his eyes to open. "Keep those eyes open, Chadwick. We need you for the next film."

"Oh, God, I hope not," Chad murmurs.

You look over your shoulder and figure you've given the sisters enough time. You tell Chad once more to stay alive and promise him you'd be back. He slurs something about you always coming back to him. You assume he's dizzy from the blood loss and that he didn't mean more than that.

You hope.

You rejoin the sisters on the main floor, earning their attention as you step forward. You lift your arms up, wanting to ease the tension with an uplifting remark.

"Oh my God, that was so aweso—"

You topple over from a huge force, groaning in pain as your eyes widen at the sight of a bloody and messy Ethan. You're quicker than him, crawling back away from him just in time to hear...

"Heads up!"

Kirby shoves the TV that killed Stu Mather from its shelf onto Ethan's head, smashing it into pieces. If that didn't kill him, you aren't sure what will.

You glance up at Kirby, a grateful and relieved look on your face. You were worried about her status too.

"Saw that in a scary movie once," she says as you throw her a thumbs up. She glances at the sisters, who also smile up at her, grateful.

You let yourself rest on the floor, dropping your head against it. "Can we get outta here?" you ask, and you can hear the sisters share a laugh at your words.

\\\\\

You examine the remaining items in the theater as you all wait. You're unable to control your facial expression as you look at each item. It's all so confusing.

A collection of all the stuff from events that occurred because you saw a movie? You can't comprehend that amount of dedication over a couple of movies.

In the distance, you can hear sirens, growing closer and closer. You lift your gaze up, straining to listen closely and you hope they were coming to help.

Richie's film cuts off and the screen suddenly shuts off then raises.

Minutes tick by until you see police and paramedics spill into the theater, your cousin not far behind them. You assume he's walking to you but then he walks by you, taking the woman in his arms.

You want to be offended but you understand completely. You do join him, sending him a grateful nod after he pulls away from Sam.

"You didn't leave us," Sam says in disbelief.

"This guy?" You say, scoffing after. "He's the black sheep of the family. The complete opposite of any of us. He sticks around, even when shit gets tough."

Your cousin gives you a quick glance, appreciative of your words.

"Not bad, cute boy," Tara says, appearing to give him her stamp of approval.

Danny smiles, looking between you all.

A paramedic walks over to the group, asking if any of you need help. You greet the paramedic, of course knowing his name. He examines you as you offer conversation, grimacing in between words as he cleans your wound. Danny glances at Tara and Sam, telling them not to ask how you somehow know every paramedic.

You all exit the theater once you're squared away, aware of the morning sun shining up in the sky.

The paramedic you know also patches Tara up, making her a makeshift arm sling with some wrap from his bag. Close by, Kirby is being wheeled out on a gurney. Adrenaline has wore off and she notices then a bullet in her left leg.

You excuse yourself from your paramedic friend, jogging over to join the sisters and Kirby.

"So what do you think you'll do now?" Kirby asks the sisters as they walk close to her gurney.

"Like Tara said," Sam adds, her gaze softening as she looks at her sister, "start living again. Start dealing with the future."

"And I'm gonna start dealing with the past," Tara chimes in, releasing a sigh, as if a weight has been lifted from her shoulders.

Kirby, observing the exchange, catches your eye and smiles. "I hear you were the unwitting hero," she says, her tone light, but you shake your head quickly, dismissing the notion.

"Nah, Sam's the hero," you reply, casting a glance at Sam. She smiles, exhausted but grateful, and the gesture makes your chest warm. "I was just the distraction," you shrug, downplaying your role.

Kirby's smile deepens. "Distraction or not, you still helped; that means something to people like us." Her eyes flick between Sam and Tara, and you catch their shared look. "If you ever need me, call," Kirby says firmly, looking each of you in the eye. "We're all part of the same fucked-up family now. And legacy... it doesn't always have to be a bad thing. Okay?"

Her words seem to hit hardest with Sam, whose eyes well with unshed tears. She nods, her voice barely above a whisper. "Okay."

Suddenly, a voice calls from behind, "Hey, we got one more in here!"

All of you turn to see Chad being wheeled in on a gurney. Despite the oxygen mask covering his face, his familiar grin shines through. Relief washes over you, and you beam at him as he gives you a thumbs-up, a silent but reassuring signal that he's going to be okay.

"My hero," Chad repeats, sluggish with a loopy smile. He looks at Tara and his smile only widens. "I like them. Can we keep 'em?"

You look at them, expecting an answer.

The sisters share a look before they look back at you.

Tara's smile widens as she looks from Chad to you, her eyes softening with a mix of relief and affection. She shrugs playfully, clearly trying to keep things light after everything that happened. "Well, I don't know... What do you think, Sam? Think we can keep 'em?"

Sam chuckles, wiping the last of her tears from her eyes, her exhaustion still evident but her mood a bit lighter now. "I mean, they did save our asses, so... maybe."

Chad appears happy with their answers, the paramedic takes it as his cue to wheel him away. As Chad is wheeled away by the paramedics, Tara and Sam exchange a glance that you miss by watching him go.

When you turn around, Sam is some distance away, finding yourself alone with Tara.

"Woah," you mumble, stepping closer to Tara. "Am I in trouble?"

"A little," Tara begins, and you falter, frowning at her words. "You disappeared on us."

You scratch the back of your neck, nervous. "Yeah," you clear your throat, suddenly embarrassed by your cowardliness. "I'm sorry. I thought I could handle it, but I... guess I panicked."

Tara shrugs. "I don't blame you. This world..." she gestures to the amount of cops and ambulances surrounding you. "Its not for everyone."

You nod once, unable to meet her eyes. The guilt is back in the pit of your stomach.

"That scar on your hand," you start and you don't miss how she tries to hide her hand. "From the first attack?"

Tara looks down at her hand, tracing the scar with her thumb. "I'm sorry," she says instead, blinking back tears. You're not exactly sure what she's sorry for. "We knew the consequences of getting close to anyone–I knew the consequences. But I saw Mindy and how happy she was with Anika. I tried the typical teenage rebellion to avoid the emptiness I felt because my sister's past was always something that...that was attached to me, too."

You nod, remaining silent to allow her to finally express something you assume she has never shared before.

Tara's voice wavers as she continues, her thumb still tracing the scar as if it holds all the weight of her pain. "But I realized I couldn't escape it. No matter what I did, I was always going to be tied to that legacy. It wasn't just Sam's past... it was mine, too." She takes a shaky breath, and you notice how hard she's trying to hold it all together.

"I pushed people away. I thought it would protect me, you know? If I didn't let anyone in, then I wouldn't have to watch them get hurt because of me." She glances up at you, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "But you... you came back. Even when you had every reason not to."

Your heart aches at her words, the vulnerability in her voice. You step closer, your hand twitching by your side, wanting to reach out but unsure if it's the right moment. "I ran because I was a coward, it had nothing to do with you," you admit, shaking your head. "I came back for you...and a little for me." you add.

Tara's gaze softens at your admission, the tension between you both shifting. She looks down for a moment, like she's processing your words, and then back up, her eyes meeting yours with a quiet intensity.

"I've run before at a critical time when I was needed," you meet her eyes. "I needed to prove to myself–show my dad he taught me well. You don't run when shit gets hard, you keep going."

There's a silence between you two, one that Tara gives you, to give you time.

"You don't run when things get hard," you repeat softly, the words echoing your father's lesson. "You stick around long enough to prove you can handle it. To fight for what matters."

Tara looks at you with a depth of emotion that makes your chest tighten. She inhales sharply, as though your words hit her in a place she's kept guarded for so long. "Fight for what matters," she repeats quietly, almost as if testing how the words feel on her lips. "I never thought... I mattered enough to fight for."

You look at her incredulously, because was she not there to witness everything her sister went through? "Are you kidding?" She meets your eyes, eyebrows furrowing together. "Your sister fights for you. I witnessed her wrath first hand the night of the party. She almost tased me."

That reminds Tara of the night of that party, eyes rolling at the memory. "Yeah, not a great night for all of us, then," she mutters, earning a laugh from you. "You witnessed that mess and still stayed?"

You chuckle. "Trust me, the thought crossed my mind, several times," you confess. "But a poorly dressed pirate had eyes that I couldn't get out of my head," you admit, a soft smile pulling at your lips as you look at Tara. She blinks in surprise, caught off guard by the lightness of your words amidst the heaviness of the conversation.

Tara shakes her head, a small laugh escaping her. "A poorly dressed pirate?" she repeats, the tension between you two easing for just a moment. "I can't believe you stuck around after that disaster."

You shrug, stepping a little closer. "I stuck around because I wanted to. You were worth it. You are worth it."

The weight of your words hangs in the air, and you can see Tara struggling to accept that. She opens her mouth to protest, but you cut her off gently. "Look, I know it's hard for you to believe that. But I came back because I realized something—I didn't want to keep running from the things that scared me. And that included you."

Tara's lips part slightly, but no words come out. Instead, she just stares at you, processing everything, her thumb still absently tracing the scar on her hand.

"You can quit avoiding me now, Tara," you say, recalling the conversation from the night before. "I'm not going anywhere, not anymore. Besides, I don't mind a little adventure. My life's been too bland these last couple of years."

Tara breathes out a laugh.

You smile at the sound. "I also managed to live out my favorite character's fantasy for the night."

Tara's eyebrow raises. "Favorite character?"

"Deadpool," you say, expecting a reaction but she doesn't give one. Instead, her eyebrow only rises higher. "Marvel-Fox anti-hero? One of the best to break fourth walls?"

The look on Tara's face exasperates you.

"Oh, this is ridiculous!" You exclaim, scoffing. "How have I gotten heat for not watching horror movies but you've never seen Deadpool? Any of them?"

Tara shakes her head, then pauses. "Chad may have mentioned it but..." she shrugs.

"Unbelievable," you mutter, dropping your head, feigning disappointment. "Here I thought I was about to bond with someone who has love for movies but she's never seen Deadpool?" You say incredulous.

Tara laughs again, enjoying your frustration. "I'm more of a horror person. Have you seen The Babadook?" She throws back at you.

You frown, shaking your head at that title of the movie. "Never even heard of it," you admit, shrugging. "Sounds...scary."

Tara sends you a deadpan glare. You nod, suddenly aware of your words.

"You're missing out," Tara suddenly gets serious. "It's not just a scary movie–it's deeper than that. It's about grief and dealing with loss."

You note the seriousness behind her word. "Okay," you nod, surprising her with your next words. "I'll watch it. But you gotta promise me two things."

Tara waits for you to continue.

"One, you watch it with me," she lets out a laugh, "and two, we watch Deadpool immediately after it."

Tara rolls her eyes, but she's smiling. "Deal."

"Oh, and," you add one more thing. "You gotta put up with me quoting it. Especially in fitting moments like now," you shrug.

Tara tilts her head. "How's that?"

"Your crazy matches my crazy," you quote, enjoying the confused frown on her face.

Tara squints, eyeing you suspiciously.

You just shrug, not offering her a response. "Guess you'll have to watch it and find out."

Tara shakes her head with a playful eye roll. "Deal. But remember, we're watching The Babadook first," you groan, your attempt failing.

"Fine, but actually, first, I'd like to prove to you–maybe, over a cup of coffee–or breakfast because I'm starving," you add quickly, earning another laugh from Tara, "that I do, in fact, plan on sticking around. At least, until you're sick of me. I'm told I can get really annoying once you get to know me."

Tara smiles, the tension in her shoulders easing. She glances down, wiping at her eyes as she tries to gather herself. "Annoying, huh? I guess we'll see about that."

You can see the shift in her demeanor—a mix of vulnerability and cautious hope. It's clear your words have reached her, but she's still holding onto her guard. You step closer, the space between you feeling less like a barrier and more like a bridge.

"I'm serious, though," you say, keeping your tone light but sincere. "Coffee, breakfast, whatever—just let me show you I mean it. Sort of like a...breakfast date. You don't have to push me away. Not anymore."

Tara exhales deeply, her gaze softening as she meets your eyes. "You really want to stick around for all of this? I mean... I'm a mess."

"We're all a mess," you reply with a smirk. "But I think you're definitely worth sticking around for. Anyone who makes me run towards a knife is definitely worth staying for."

Tara laughs softly, the sound genuine this time, and it fills you with a sense of relief. "Alright," she says, a hint of playfulness returning to her voice. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

You grin, finally allowing yourself to close the distance and gently reach for her free hand. "I'll take my chances. And it's time for me to expand my movie taste, anyway."

"Can you guys just kiss already so we can go!"

The voice is familiar, to the both of you, so you turn to look. Mindy stands there with Anika, and they wave when you look at them.

Tara groans, covering her face with her hand now as her cheeks flush a deep red. "Of course," she mutters under her breath, clearly embarrassed.

You chuckle, turning to Mindy and Anika. "You two really have impeccable timing, you know that? Also, you're alive!"

Mindy smirks, crossing her arms. "If Chad's alive, I gotta stick around, too." you chuckle, sharing a look with Tara. "Kiss her, Dennis." Mindy cups her hands around mouth, causing her voice to travel some more.

Sam laughs from where she stands next to your cousin, watching silently.

You feel the blush on your cheeks, shaking your head in hopes to hide it from everyone. You return your gaze to Tara and arch a brow.

"Let's just go," Tara says, pointing her head towards them. You nod and grab Tara's hand again, ignoring the boos you hear from your roommate and her girlfriend.

As you take Tara's hand, you can't help but laugh at the playful boos from Mindy and Anika. Tara squeezes your hand tightly, trying to hide her own embarrassment, but there's a small smile tugging at her lips.

But as the boos stop, Mindy getting in the ambulance with Anika to join her brother at the hospital, you feel a pull on your hand. Tara pulls you in, her free hand going to your neck to pull you down and connecting your lips.

The kiss catches you completely off guard, but the moment Tara's lips meet yours, everything else seems to fade away. Her touch is gentle yet firm, as though she's been waiting for this just as much as you have. Your heart races, and for a split second, all the chaos around you disappears.

You respond instinctively, tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss, savoring the warmth of her lips against yours. It's tender, filled with unspoken feelings, and when Tara pulls back just a little, she lingers close enough that you can still feel her breath against your skin.

The look on her face, it proves you right, she is definitely worth it.

Her cheeks are flushed, but this time it's not just from embarrassment. Tara looks up at you with a shy but satisfied smile, her fingers still resting against your neck. "I think I'll take you up on that breakfast date," she whispers.

You nod, licking your lips. "Great. I work at the hospital Chad's going to and the breakfast there is fantastic," you say, and she shakes her head with a laugh, moving to grab ahold of your arm. She knows you're serious but she doesn't mind.

She stops for a second and looks back, you follow her gaze. "Sam?" her sister meets her eyes, a small smile on her lips. "You coming?"

Sam exchanges a glance with Danny, then their hands connect, fingers intertwining as they walk over to join you guys.

Tara's smile softens as she watches her sister, a sense of relief washing over her now that Sam is safe and by her side. Sam gives her a reassuring nod, her hand firmly intertwined with Danny's as they approach.

"I wouldn't miss it," Sam replies, her voice steady but filled with warmth. You smile, the bond between the sisters filling your heart, strengthened by everything they've been through. Tara squeezes your arm, and you feel the connection between them without a word needing to be said.

. . . . . .

A/N: if you’ve made it this far, hello. I don’t interact much and just post but I just want to let you know I see all the likes, reblogs and comments and I appreciate it. I have a few other ideas up my sleeve, one idea has three chapters already so that’ll be up…soonish. I hope you guys are a fan of Mabel because that’s what I have planned next. Be patient, I have a lot of editing to do.

Also, I loathe the way I ended this story so if you guys have any ideas, pls share them with me. Thank you. See you in the next one🫶🏼

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 76)

V, Lizzy and Thad were all standing in the living room of their apartment, all looking a little worse for wear. Lizzy was leaning slightly into V, who had an arm around her back and her tail arched around her protectively. Thad was sitting on the back of the couch, twiddling this thumbs and looking down at the floor.

Lizzy was the first one to speak.

“So… you've got a plan Doorman?” She asked to the nervous couple in front of them, Uzi holding Tera close as the girl clung to her mother, somehow noticing the high tension between her family and falling silent, observing each person.

“You could say that, yeah.” Uzi breathed out, looking up at N, who at this point was biting the ends of his fingers, tail twitching erratically.

“Hey, you'll break your casing.” Uzi reached up and tentatively drug his hand away from his mouth, intangling her fingers with it instead and squeezing gently. N gave her a small, thankful smile as he squeezed back.

“You've all seen the pictures, yeah? Giant mystery flesh pit?” The room nodded, Lizzy rolling her eyes at Uzi's wording but nodding nonetheless.

“It's too big to burn, and any explosive strong enough to kill it all could aerosol the infection, make it airborne and infect us all… or throw the planet out of orbit into the gas giant, or both.”

“Or just finish cracking the planet entirely!” N interrupted, making Uzi slightly pull his arm.

“Or that. Yeah.” She agreed regardless, a coreless planet was a fragile thing, held together barely by it's own gravity.

“So our only real option is to leave.” Uzi announced, looking at each member of this weird family she had accumulated, V looked to be taking this news decently well, at least on the surface, Lizzy and Thad… not so much.

“And how would we do that? It’s not like there's a spaceship ready to hold all 500 of us just sitting outside somewhere.” Lizzy pointed out, crossing her arms ans looking Uzi up and down.

“549, pulled up an exact count last night, that counts all the kids as well.” Uzi continued, pushing back the lingering feelings of apprehension to the back of her mind. “And you're right, there's no easy way off this rock, otherwise I would have left already.” She still couldn't help bit snap at Lizzy, even if it was much less intense then usual.

“But there are multiple landing pods scattered around… reverse engineering them and trying to make something new with them is our best bet. Safest bet.” She clarified, looking down at the toddler in her arms as a way to ground herself.

“But… this is our home. I'm surprised you're not planning on fighting for it Zi.” Thad spoke up, he looked serious; and worried. More worried then Uzi had ever seen him.

“If this was just a year ago, yeah, I would've. But…” She trailed off, looking up at N, who finally looked like he was calming down a little, and who smiled down at her reassuringly.

“I have m-my family to think about now.” She stammered bit, the last vestiges of her emo persona grumbling at her, but she ignored it, this was her family no matter how hodgepodge it was.

“And realistically, we'd probably all die. The only weapons we have are the service pistols the WDF use, which would be useless in this situation.” Thad nodded, even if he didn't seem to like it, going back to twiddling his thumbs and sighing.

V was quiet until now, either in thought or just allowing Uzi to speak.

“So you rally all the workers to build a puddle jumper and we leave. Then what? Drift in space aimlessly?”

“I-I don't know. There's time to think about a destination later, but right now just getting off this planet before it becomes an eldritch meatball is the priority.” Despite V bringing up a very good question, Uzi pushed through, “I think adrift but safe is better then grounded and zombified, right?”

V gave her a small nod and a raise of her eyebrow, acquiescing the point to the smaller drone, making her sigh and close her eyes for a moment.

“I need to talk to my Dad, if anyone can get all of us to work together, it's him. In the meantime… V, how fast can you fly?”

V gave her a look before smirking.

“How fast we talking?”

“Fast enough to scout for more pits, if this thing came from the core, it's probably not the only one. We need to see what we're dealing with.” Uzi explained, and V took a second to think about it.

“It would take a couple days, but yeah, I could do it.” Lizzy suddenly turned to her, eyes slightly pleading as she gripped her a little harder.

“I'll be fine.” V assured her, tone dripping with affection she wasn't trying very hard to hide. “Nothing on this planet I can't handle.”

“Except the flesh pits.” Thad interjected, making both girls look at him with a deadpan expression, before resuming to look at each other. Lizzy sighed “Be careful, it'll be such a hassle to find another bestie. Or whatever.” Pink blush lines appeared on her visor, and V genuinely smiled for a moment before quickly hiding it behind a smirk.

“Oh I'm sure.”

“Right. Okay…” Uzi breathed, this was a plan, something she could do. That's what she was good at.

“Where do you need me?” N asked almost immediately when she looked up at him, looking at her with a mix of pride and adoration. “I can cover with V, it might be faster.”

“No, there needs to be someone here to hold back the infected in case they get to close, fire seems to be the only thing that works, V's faster anyway, sorry hon.” Uzi added after N looked slightly hurt at that.

“You bet I am.” V winked, making Lizzy giggle and V blush slightly in response.

“And I… really need you here…” She said in a whisper intended for only him to hear, which made him smile softly and nod his head.

“What about me and Lizzy?” Thad asked, finally standing up and taking a few steps towards them, gesturing to himself.

“You and Lizzy will convince everyone our age to be on board, you both have influence I don't, use it.” Thad and Lizzy looked at each other, before both began to send out a flurry of messages, Lizzy from her phone, and Thad from his system.

“Right… let's go talk to my Dad.” Uzi sighed, taking N's hand and beginning the trek to his apartment, the trembling in her hands ceasing as N squeezed it.

“Hey, we've got this. Together.”

She smiled, adjusting Tera in her arms.

“Yeah.”

Next ->

[pedropascalsx]

Gif by me.

Kinktober: Day Eight: Sex Pollen/Fuck or Die.

Dave York x F! Reader.

Warnings: Dub-con due to sex pollen.

Summary: You inhale a mystery powder on a job.

Word count: 1489

Thanks again to @absurdthirst for her incredible prompt list 🩵

The building is eerily quiet, the supposed party that’s happening on the second floor is either a blow out or you’ve been given the wrong day. Still your feet climb the stairs and you make your way towards the banquet hall with your boss on your heels.

He says nothing and it makes you feel more uneasy, and the expression etched on his face doesn’t help. He’s pissed. This is clearly a setup or a waste of time, but neither of you can leave until you check to see if your target is on site.

As you approach the door, Dave steps in front of you, signalling for you to unstrap the pistol attached to your upper thigh. His fingers fan out around the doorknob and he twists it open revealing an empty room and you both sigh.

He slams the door behind you both as you step into the room and you notice the envelope with his name taped to the wall. “Dave,” you call out, before signalling to the envelope.

“Open it,” he snarls, “It’ll be McCall. Taunting me. Letting me know he’s always one step ahead.”

You nod before taking a few steps towards the wall and pull it off, opening it immediately and falling into a fit of coughs as a plume of powder breaks free from the envelope hitting you in the face.

“Fuck,” you splutter, before throwing down the envelope and attempting to cough up the powder you’ve already inhaled, not noticing him run up behind you, and pick up the envelope himself.

“At least one of us had the sense to put on gloves,” you say, as you notice him examining the white powder and trying to ignore the fire starting to burn in your veins.

“It’s potent,” you murmur, as it starts to intensify, “Fuck, it’s hot in here.”

“No, it’s not,” Dave says matter of factly, with a snarl and a flash of his teeth. “We need to get back and find out whatever the fuck this is.” He reaches out and grabs your arm, leading you back towards the door and hurrying you downstairs and out the building.

By the time you reach his car, your whole body is burning, your limbs are tingly and you’re soaked in between your legs. “Fuck, Dave,” you murmur, as an uncomfortable need starts to rip through you, an arousal so strong that it’s painful.

“This wasn’t McCall,” he growls, “This isn’t his style.” The engine roars to life and Dave seems unaware of your predicament, “Whatever you’ve inhaled Ari will be able to identify it and we can reverse it or sit with you as you ride it out.”

You writhe uncomfortably in your seat, squeezing your thighs together desperately to get a little bit of friction and some relief from the fire that’s burning there. “Dave,” you whimper, as he speeds towards the safe house, “It fucking hurts.”

“Where does it hurt?” He asks, still focusing on the road.

“Ev-everywhere, but uh, fuck,” you moan, cutting yourself off with a cry as he rounds the street corner and pulls up to the safe house.

“Come on,” he orders, as he swings open his car door and starts running up the stairs towards the house. You groan loudly before stepping out and following him, almost keeling over as you reach the front door and the burning in your stomach becomes too much to bear.

“How much did she inhale?” Ari asks, as you finally step into the house, arms clutching your stomach.

“Not much,” you answer for Dave, “But it was like a cloud of smoke, I moved away before I could take a big inhale.

“Go to your room,” Dave orders, as you become more and more unsteady. “We will let you know what it is.”

**

Peeling off your dress you cringe at the amount of slick that has dripped down your legs, your panties soaked with your arousal as it continues to burn in your veins. “What was that shit?” You murmur to yourself, before throwing yourself on the bed and slipping your fingers between your legs to start to work away some of your need.

The relief is almost immediate, your bundle of nerves crying out with pleasure the second you press your fingers to it. You close your eyes and let yourself fantasize about Dave, as you find yourself doing most nights, and in no time you’re biting your lip to stop yourself crying out loudly in pleasure.

For a few moments you relish in your orgasm, letting yourself come down and exhaling as the burning seemingly dies out. But after just a few seconds the fire is back, and more intense than before, ripping through you like wildfire and sending your pleasure receptors into overdrive. You slip your fingers back between your legs and rub your clit as fast as you can, desperately working your bud to quench the thirst you feel like you’re dying of.

**

“It’s a type of pollen,” Ari tells Dave, “It’s used primarily in sex clubs where they have people to monitor its users, because it can kill you. The trick is to not engage with it,” he says with a shrug, “It wears off pretty quickly as long as you don’t get your heart rate pumping, but if you do, it can last for hours.”

“Shit,” Dave cusses, “It makes people… aroused?” He asks, with a rise of his brows. “I guess I'll let her know.”

“Yeah,” Ari murmurs, “Whoever left that for you to find, figured you’d be alone and wouldn’t be able to fight off the effects by yourself.”

Dave nods, and makes his way to the door, hurrying out and towards your bedroom and pushing open the door without knocking.

**

“Fuck.” He grunts, as he catches you rocking against your hand, tears dripping down your face as you try to work yourself through it.

“It won’t stop,” you cry to your boss, “Whatever it is, it won’t stop.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he says, surprisingly softer than you’re expecting, before walking towards you. Your fingers are still working their magic as he does, “You’re going to rub yourself raw.” He tuts, “It’s sex pollen. I’ll explain later, but you’re not going to be able to fight in by yourself.”

You whimper as he gently touches your legs and asks, “Can I help?”

Silently you nod your head ferociously as he drops to his knees, wrapping his hands around the backs of your legs and pulling you closer to him.

The first swipe of his tongue feels like heaven, he’s meticulous with every motion he makes as he focuses on your clit. After a few dozen flicks of his tongue, he pushes his fingers inside your dripping hole, fitting two with ease and curling them up against the spongy spot.

It doesn’t take long until you’re cumming on his face, rocking your hips up and tangling your fingers in his slightly overgrown hair before your thighs squeeze around his head.

He pulls his head away, as he studies your face for more pain, and it doesn’t take long before it’s flashing up again. “Need you.” You murmur, “Please, Dave.”

“My fingers or my tongue?” He asks, as he dips his head back down, licking a wide stripe from your clit and all the way down.

“Your cock,” you whine desperately, and he chuckles from between your legs.

“You sure?” He asks, before pushing himself back up.

“Yes,” you almost scream, watching as he works his belt and pulls down his pants and underwear in one clear sweep. “Please.”

“Whatever you need, baby girl,” he smirks, before pushing himself into you with a sharp snap of his hips.

He’s thick enough that it hurts, it’s overwhelming and exactly what you’re needing, and he fucks exactly how you imagined. Hard and fast. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as he pounds into you, fucking you into the mattress and drowning out the pain coursing through you and replacing it with pleasure. He wets his tongue and presses down on your clit, rubbing the softest circles as his hips continue their deliciously harsh treatment on your cunt.

With a scream of his name, you clamp down on him so tightly that his hips stutter and a cry of your name slips out of his mouth. Your cum drenching his cock as he works you through your high and with a dozen more thrusts he’s painting your walls and extinguishing a little more of the fire inside of you.

He grunts as he pulls out of you, dropping back down to his knees to see his cum dripping from you, before pushing it back in. “I’ll give you my tongue and my fingers again, and then I'll be ready to go again, baby,” he soothes as he can tell it’s starting to flare up again. “As many times as you need.”

[linuxgamenews]

Buckshot Roulette Gambling: Due to be a Thrilling Multiplayer Experience

Buckshot Roulette gambling strategy game in first person will have multiplayer for Linux, Steam Deck, and Windows PC. Developer Mike Klubnika's creativity continues to bring this title more life. Currently available on Steam with 95% Overwhelmingly Positive reviews. CRITICAL REFLEX and developer Mike Klubnika are bringing the heat this Halloween with a big update to their viral gambling hit Buckshot Roulette. The much-anticipated multiplayer mode is releasing as a free update on Steam. Due to let you dive into the action with up to four players. Think you can handle the tension? There’s certainly a lot on the line in this deadly game of chance on Linux and Steam Deck. So get your friends and step into the gritty underground nightclub for some high-stakes chaos. It’s a deadly showdown where only one player walks out alive. And if you’re ready for a sneak peek, check out the brand-new live-action trailer that gives you a taste of what’s to come. Survival of the Luckiest With 2-4 players, Buckshot Roulette throws you into a Russian roulette-style gambling match. The rules are simple: roll the dice with your life. Since it’s every player for themselves, good luck! You’ll need it. The multiplayer update introduces fresh items that can change the game entirely. Got your eye on the win? Use the Jammer to skip an opponent’s turn or flip the script with the Inverter. Due to reverses the table’s turn order. Strategy is just as important as luck here.

Buckshot Roulette gambling strategy — New Mode

Shotguns. Enough Said. In Buckshot Roulette, you don’t mess around with pistols — this is all about 12-gauge shotguns and gambling. The stakes are high, and the firepower is even higher. Shotguns just feel better, right? 15 Minutes of Intense Action Each session of Buckshot Roulette lasts about 15-20 minutes, with three rounds of going head-to-head gambling with The Dealer. Win, and you’ll also walk away with the prize. Or, face an explosive ending if things don’t go your way. Double or Nothing Mode Feeling extra daring? The Double or Nothing mode also lets you push your luck to the limit. How long can you survive in this intense session of life and death? Get Ready for the Soundtrack The Steam edition of comes with an epic soundtrack by Mike Klubnika himself. Seven tracks that will keep you hyped during every pulse-pounding round. Buckshot Roulette gambling strategy is available now on Steam for just $2.99 USd | £2.49 | €2.99. Want to try out multiplayer before the release? A closed beta is coming soon for current owners of the game. Coming to Linux, Steam Deck, and Windows PC. Also, be sure to stay updated by following CR Channel on Twitter and join the CR Channel Discord. So you can chat with the community and get the latest news.

[safyresky]

Scrimbly Jacqueline 46/52: POV: the last thing you see before you're stabbed and your chocolate is stolen along with your nice fabrics and shiny things

aka, Pirate Jacqueline!

tbh I'd never given much thought to her pirate fit? I always pictured her dressing like my dnd pirate character Aster lol, which was greens and browns. But then I was like. Dani. Dani. They loved colourful fabrics and shit, them pirates! And Jacqueline can change her wardrobe using SNOW AND ICE. So....let's give it a go!

And so I did! And voila!

I knew she wore a big floppy hat for sure, from the get go, with feathers--though I only decided on the amount and colour while scribbling concepts in one of my older sketchbooks!

I once again used this handy dandy webbed site and went through the styles of the golden age of piracy (roughly 1650 to 1720, which is when she was active) and then built the fit from that

The feathers are warm bc summer sprite lineage, and a purple one bc I like purple and also think it's deffs in the winter sprite palette!

I added some wintertime plants too, just for funsies 🤭🤭 there's snow drops and holy in that bitch!

The corset/bodice/stays is early half of the century; the clasps across it have snowflakes in the middle, that's what the white streak is lol

The white swirls on the jacket and boots (tho I forgor to put 'em there) and hat are all just frost! Her frost usually looks swirly on smooth surfaces :3

The jacket is a mix between mens jacket's in the late 1700s and a ladies riding fit, I believe

She deffs had a half thawed, have frozen look going on with the hair! The humidity deff wouldn't have let a freeze job stay put for long.

I can't decide if it was as pictured, or reverse (roots brown, ends snowy), or like a kind of like. Weave? Mix? Marble cake? I can't think of the word I am looking for for this but IT WILL COME TO ME

BUT LIKE. SOME FROZEN TENDRILS, SOME THAWED ONES

She dual wielded usually! Deffs had a pistol somewhere, and is deffs strapped with daggers--that's why she's got the baggier pants instead of a more fitted fit (lol). I think she was pretty okay at throwing them!

Her crew was mainly women and she took in anyone trying to escape "bad" conditions--interpret that how you will! Needless to say, it was a very very gay ship lmao

When steamships came around and crackdowns on piracy really began, she made sure each and every one of her crew was settled down nice with a substantial sum before doing lady knows what to her ship and running off with a goddess to go live amongst ancient all female warriors for a bit and learn some cool new fighting techniques >:)

Also please take this bonus scribble I did while I was scribbling the concepts because it made me. f e e l t h i n g s

[scotianostra]

June 4th 1792 saw the King’s Birthday riots break out in Edinburgh.

Also called the Dundas Riots the demonstrations happened over three consecutive days, the riots came on the back of a period of civil unrest, variously sourced from feelings transferring from the French Revolution, further changes in the Corn Laws, food shortages, and a general unhappiness of the population with their leading figures in politics and law. A proclamation banning “seditious writing” had been passed in May 1792.

It was traditional at that time for officials and soldiers to celebrate the birthday of King George III On the days preceding the riots, the Lord Provost, Sir James Stirling had cavalry soldiers roaming the Edinburgh streets to intimidate the population. This had the reverse effect, and angered the general population.

On the evening of the 4 June members of the City Guard and Cavalry were getting drunk at Old Parliament Hall near St Giles. They fired pistols in the air with each toast. A mob appeared outside and were dispersed after some stone-throwing. No-one was injured. However the following night crowds gathered again and the mood turned more nasty, the mob rampaged for three days, burning effigies of the Home Secretary, Henry Dundas, nicknamed King Harry the Ninth because of his domination of Scottish politics. The crowd also tried to burn down the house of the Lord Advocate. A local doctor, Alexander Wood , a bit of a celebrity in Auld Reekie, and friend of Robert Burns, was mistaken by rioters for the Lord Provost and narrowly escaped being thrown off North Bridge!

On June 6th Edinburgh Castle, learning of the disturbance, flaring up again, lit a beacon fire on the half moon battery, and that signalled a beacon to be lit on Calton Hill, the pre-arranged signal allowed HMS Hind, moored in Leith Docks to dispatch a company of marines into the city. Combining forces with cavalry from the castle the mob dispersed. Provost Stirling had by then sought refuge in the Castle.

The riots were said to be partly political organised by radicals – and partly a protest about high food prices.

The photo is generic onedepicting a riot.

[mamamittens]

Nikia has a hobby of learning new things. She doesn't always remember what she's learned, she's a little forgetful and absentminded behind the RBF, but it's pretty obvious when she's trying to memorize things.

Spending so long with little to no socialization means it's very easy for her to forget herself and get very... Weird bout learning something new. It's inquisitive and cute but also jarring to have her suddenly up close and personal to see what you're doing. Exactly how you're holding a blade to carve meat or roll dough. She's just FIXATED on what's in front of her.

This is how she learns sword play with Thatch and pistols from Izou. Sure, she knows how to hold a knife and carve. Do great damage while hunting. Or shoot a small handheld gun. But the finer details escape her. She's not confident holding the weapons. Instinctively more defensive.

It's an interesting process where they all learn a bit more about each other. Like how steady and firm Thatch is with his blades but quick as a whip. Izou a deft hand at a quick draw and steady grip. And they learn that Nikia still dances with her feet, instinct from years of dance as a child and playfulness translating to a very different style than Thatch's bold stance or Izou's unflinching aim.

Thatch ends up teaching her forms he's not that great at. A flowing rhythmic sort of style that favors reverse grips and grip changes with a twirl. She doesn't have his body strength to use his own style, so its better this way. It's a strange sort of dance and she often plays dirty by suddenly flaring her wings or obscuring her blades between feathers.

Her shooting style is more geared towards distance and hair trigger shots, so pistols are hard to get used to under Izou's tutelage. They struggle to find an intuitive style for her with much weaker guns and she ends up missing a lot. Her shots taking too long to line up so she over thinks. She just can't be patient with a gun, can't duel like Izou can against blades, lining his shots meticulously to win. She just wants to shoot their head and be done with it. He ends up finding the sweet spot with speed, helping train her wrists to handle the recoil she's used to taking with her whole body. It ends up a lot like gun-slinging in old westerns. Faster and faster until it's like you blink and miss it.

It's good exercise for them, forcing themselves to recontextualize how they fight.

Thatch still isn't okay after discovering how bad of an idea it is to encourage her to talk while she fights. He wanted banter, fun light stuff. But with all her focus on a fight, Nikia's filter dies quickly.

Sure, it's cute and flirty at first, but the... Violent intrusive thoughts really throw everyone for a loop.

"You look so cute with swords. So proud and accomplished."

"I should kiss your nose after this. You deserve to be flustered after tapping my ass with the flat of your blade."

"You have such a beautiful smile, Thatch. It makes me nervous to hold a blade to it--theres not point messing with perfection, even if I think you'd wear a Glasgow well."

"I keep getting distracted by your ankles, why do you wear slippers? One little knick and you'll never walk again--I worry about you so much, you know?"

"I hate it when our blades cross. I can feel the grinding metal in my bones and it makes me want to rip your face off with my teeth."

"I don't want to get too comfortable holding a blade to your throat. It's so easy to bleed out from the arteries there. Same for your thighs but if I manage to put a blade there, one of us has made a massive mistake."

Izou laughs at him, thinking it's about time he was on the other end of shit talk...

He definitely doesn't make the same mistake at least. Easy not to since she she's how loud guns are.

[doom-nerdo-666]

You know how some Doom mods make the pistol into a pickup and even start you off without it?

Like some ZDoom mapsets or something.

Imagine it somehow done with Doomguy's fists.

He starts off without hands like they were chopped off, sees his hands on the floor and then picks them up like a weapon.

Think of mods like Zharkov Goes to the Store or Combined Arms that involve ripping off your hands and throwing at enemies... but in reverse.

Speaking of the pistol having a pick up sprite: I wonder about when Romero released unused assets and one was of a pistol pickup sprite and how many mods used it vs mods that had original sprites even if vaguely based off the toy that was used in the first person sprites.

[ternfic]

Reboot

Chapter Eighteen

Mayhem had been tracking them as they approached the Rexcelsior, and radioed them as they finally got close. “If Dangervest gets violent, let Bad Cop and King Bruce handle him. Our armor is designed to withstand Master Breaker punches,” she instructed. “You don’t want to know what it looks like to be on the receiving end of that unprotected.”

“Got it,” Benny responded, and carefully maneuvered his ship alongside the Rexcelsior, lining up with the docking bay door that Emmet pointed out. Bad Cop was the first to disembark, using the enhanced strength of his suit to force the door open. The others followed quickly after that.

“Benny, I want you to focus on reversing the Rexcelsior. Metalbeard, Unikitty, you two watch his back. There might still be some raptors on board.”

“You got it.”

“Lucy, Bad Cop, Bruce, I need you three to focus on Rex. I’ll try to talk him down, but…”

Lucy took his hand, squeezing gently. “All you can do is try. It’s up to him to listen.”

“And up to us to knock his stubborn ass out if he doesn’t,” Bad Cop quipped. Emmet managed a smile.

“So where do you think we’ll find him?”

“We should look on the bridge first,” Emmet decided. “That’s the most likely place he’ll be.”

Emmet led the way to the Rexcelsior’s bridge, anxiety gnawing at his stomach. What if Rex was there? What if he wasn’t? Much as he didn’t want to search the entire ship for his counterpart, he wasn’t certain he was ready for an immediate confrontation either.

As luck would have it, Rex was indeed waiting for them on the bridge, Ripley and Cobra at his sides. He didn’t look the least bit surprised to see them. “Come to tell me ‘I don’t have to be the bad guy’, I suppose?”

“Do you really think this will fix anything?” Emmet shot back. “Do you really think that hurting other people will make you feel better?”

“Do you really think I’m gonna fall for anything you have to say? I know you, kid. I was you once. I know all your tricks. And there’s nothing you can say that’ll convince me to stop.”

Emmet wilted. “I hoped it wouldn’t come to this.”

Rex snorted. “What, you gonna fight me? That worked so well last time.”

“I’m not going to fight you, Rex.” That threw him for a moment. “They are.”

Rex didn’t even have to give the order- Cobra and Ripley hissed and snarled and lunged forward. Metalbeard was quick to punch Cobra into a wall, but the raptor recovered quickly and came back for more. Lucy grappled with Ripley, trying to avoid her deadly claws and teeth. Unikitty added her own claws and hooves to the fight. Bad Cop and Bruce went straight for Rex, tag-teaming the rogue. Taking advantage of the chaos, Benny made his way to the ship’s controls and began pushing buttons and flipping switches.

Bruce let out a surprised shout as Rex managed to knock him to the floor and yanked his helmet off. The protective headgear was crushed under Rex’s boot. He scrambled away before that foot could come down on his head next, and debated the intelligence of rejoining a fight with a Master Breaker with his head unprotected. The suit’s functionality was also reduced without the helmet. “Shit,” he swore. Looked like Bad Cop was on his own.

Rex dodged as one of Bad Cop’s fists came flying at his face, only for the other to hit him square in the gut. He wheezed as the wind was nearly knocked out of him, but was able to block another blow. He’d thought it would be easier, with Bruce out of the picture. But the vigilante’s style was showy, over the top, while Bad Cop’s was… efficient. Ruthless. And with Bruce no longer in his way he could really go all out.

Or just use his pistol.

Rex blinked. He didn’t even have a moment to react before the blast hit him, making everything feel numb. He dropped to one knee before he could make his limbs respond again. Bad Cop stepped closer, gun still in hand, and Rex roared, aiming a punch at the cop’s chest, throwing all of his strength and rage into it, as Bad Cop brought the butt of the pistol down on his temple.

Rex collapsed, knocked out cold.

Bad Cop was thrown across the bridge, hitting the wall hard. The chestplate of his armor was damaged beyond repair.

“He actually did it…!” Metalbeard gaped. Ripley and Cobra both froze at the sight of their unconscious commander.

Bruce retrieved Bad Cop’s pistol from where it had been dropped and pointed it at the raptors. “Claws up.”

They surrendered.

“Bad Cop…?” Emmet ventured, staring at where the officer still sat slumped where he’d fallen, clawing weakly at his chest. Emmet hurried over, carefully removing Bad Cop’s helmet. He paled in realization. “He can’t breathe!” Rex’s punch had knocked the wind out of him hard enough he couldn’t force air back into his lungs.

Benny ran over to them. “Help me get the chestpiece off,” he instructed, keeping his voice calm. Emmet nodded, hands shaking as he tried to hurry. They finally managed to get it unlatched and removed. “Is anything else hurting?” Bad Cop shook his head tersely. Benny nodded and moved him to lay down on the floor, pinched his nose shut and pressed his mouth over Bad Cop’s, forcing air into his lungs. It took a few tries before Bad Cop was finally breathing on his own again. He grabbed onto Benny before the astronaut could pull away, shaking. “Hey. Hey, it’s alright, you’re alright…” Benny soothed.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Benny quirked a grin at him. “What are friends for?”

Beside them, Emmet slumped against the wall in relief. It had been a close one, but they’d all made it through okay. Lucy used the ship’s radio to tell the rest of the raptors to stand down. Emmet turned his attention to where Rex was still lying unconscious on the floor.

He really hoped he was right about this working.

“Oh my gosh I can’t believe you did it!” Watevra gushed as they stepped off the shuttle. Half of them looked like they needed some medical attention, but they’d done it. Lucy and Unikitty both bore a number of scratches- most of them shallow, thankfully, but a few of them would require stitches. And the way Bad Cop was leaning on Benny, half his armor missing and an arm clutched protectively across his chest, had her especially worried. He must have been on the receiving end of a Master Breaker punch. She thanked all her lucky stars that Sweet had the forethought to suit him up before they headed out. Metalbeard held an unconscious Dangervest in his arms as he made his way down the ramp and into the hangar.

 Watevra scooted aside as the palace doctor and nurses made their way forward to offer their help and escort their patients to the medical wing. Sweet marched along at Metalbeard’s side, not wanting to wander far from their prisoner in case he woke up and decided to raise hell. Bruce, though it seemed all he’d suffered was a loss of his helmet, also went with them. She made eye contact with him as he passed, and he gave her a small smile and a nod. He was alright then, probably just offering his help. Benny bit his lip as he passed Bad Cop off to one of the nurses, staring worriedly after his friend.

Finally Watevra couldn’t stand still anymore and bounced before launching herself at Emmet, hugging him tightly.  “You’re amazing!” she squealed. Emmet gave her a sheepish grin, blushing in response to the praise. “We’ve tried so hard to talk to him, you know, find out why he’s so hostile toward us, but he never responds to anything but violence.”

“I figured that out,” Emmet sighed. “That’s why he’s unconscious- Bad Cop had to knock him out. What will you be doing with him…?”

“Doc will have a look at him first, make sure there’s no serious damage, and then we’ll put him up in a room. A secure room, for sure, but still an actual room.” Emmet nodded, opening his mouth to respond, but was cut off by a loud sniffle. They both turned a surprised look to Benny. They thought he’d left with the others.

“Are you alright?!” Emmet asked in alarm when he noticed the tears streaking down the astronaut’s face. Benny yanked his helmet off, dropping it carelessly to the floor, and started sobbing. Emmet was quick to rush forward and try to offer his friend comfort. “What’s wrong??”

“I’m such an idiot,” Benny hiccupped, dropping his head against Emmet’s shoulder. He trembled in the construction worker’s hold. Emmet was really worried now; he’d never seen Benny in such a state, the astronaut was always so upbeat. “Fuck, I can’t believe it took me almost losing him to realize…”

This was about Bad Cop then, Emmet realized. He gave Benny a squeeze. “Hey, he’s going to be just fine,” he tried to soothe, and offered Benny a weak smile. “Thanks to you.” Benny just sniffled in response.

Watevra sidled up to the pair and glanced down at Emmet. She had a knowing look in her eye, and Emmet thought he might have a pretty good guess what that was about. “You should tell him,” she gently encouraged.

Benny huffed. “Right, like he’d have any interest in someone like me…”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that…” Emmet trailed off. Benny’s head shot back up, mouth gaping as he stared at his friend. Emmet chose not to elaborate, giving him a bright smile instead. “Maybe give him a couple days to recover first though. In fact I think we could all do with a good night’s rest.”

“I agree,” Watevra said. “It’s been a very eventful couple days. Come on, I’ll show you to your rooms.”

[weatherman667]

Idea for a sequel to Boltgun

Chainsword

You play a Blood Angels Vanguard Veteran.

I honestly don’t know if Malum Caedo survives, and to be honest, protagonist Astartes have a 50/50 chance to succeed, or have something terrible happening to them.

Base mechanics are the same, except he’s using pistols instead of full weapons.  He uses melee weapons with his right hand and carries pistols with his left.  This reverses the firing direction for corners.

L2:  Rev Chainsword.  Like in Boltgun, it will have a slow-mo targeting of whoever your cursor is pointed at.

L2 + R2 = wide sweep, left and then right.

L2 (after attack):  Rev your chainsword.

L2 (after attack) + R2, you shoot your pistol at a nearby enemy to your left.

X:  Replace Jump with Jump Pack.  Mechanics similar to Space Marine.

He has Contempt, which maxes at 100 with the Crux Terminatus, instead of 200 with Caedo.

Builds up Black Rage. Every time he hits with his melee weapon, or takes damage.  Maxes up to 75%.  This acts as damage reduction and  every 25 adds to 1 to your base Strength and Toughness.  You also heal Health and Contempt with every kill, based on the enemy, and your current rage level.

Weapons (melee):

Chainsword (default).  Deals damage until your opponent can break.  Can be revved to continue attacking, even if they break.  +25 Rage Generation

Power Sword:  Can gore on the basic attack, which acts like the Chainsword.  Double damage against armoured enemies.  When holding L2, it changes from a Rev to a Guard, and can block melee attacks, or parry with perfect timing.

Power Axe:  S:+2, deals more damage, more knockback.  Has a smaller hit zone, and has a dead zone, (so, it would be a bad idea against Nurglings).

Power Fist:  S:x2.  Hits hard and slow, has no dead zone.  Can on-punch regular Chaos Marine.

Thunder Hammer:  S:x2.  Hits extremely hard, but has a slow wind up and large dead zone, and the longer of the two weapons with combi-lock.  Also has an AoE lightning effect.

Lightning Claws:  Paired claws.  You do not have a pistol equiped, but while holding L2, you will attack twice as quickly when you press R2, as you alternate hands.

Weapons (ranged):

Bolt Pistol.  S:4.  Has the same damage as the Boltgun.  If you pump the trigger for the Boltgun, these two will have the same firerate.  9 round magazine.

Plasma Pistol:  S:7/8  He’s not as good with the trigger as Caedo.  Basic attack has no AoE.  Has heat buildup like Space Marine, except there’s no safety.  Instead he just tosses it back.  If you time R1 with it, he will throw an overheated Plasma Pistol like a grenade.  You lose the weapon and all ammo that was still inside it.  7 round magazine.

Hand Flamer:  S:3:  Safe wide AoE attack.

Inferno:  I’ll wait until I get the Melta in Boltgun to compare mechanics.

[herarcadewasteland]

Protection Comes At A Cost

A/N: For the wonderful and overly sweet, @orchidyoonkook. It's.... dark ish.... but still your concept and I hope it satisfies your craving for a complete fic even though its a oneshot.

-CEO!Jungkook x Bodyguard!Reader (reversed bodyguard!jk because brain said no, hope its okay still though)

-violence and confusion from my brain. This got sad... and is very fast-paced. curse you, brain

~~~~~~~~~~

You followed him like a shadow, his safety your only goal as he walked through the streets in his expensive suit with his bouncy, fluffy and downright sinful hair. Your job was simple. Protect Jeon Jungkook at all costs. Easier said than done as he went around town doing the stupidest things. Just last week he had pulled you by your bulletproof vest to watch a drug exchange in the dark alleyway behind a hotel near his office. The men hadn’t noticed your intrusion until Jungkook had laughed at something they said, leading the two of you to be searched for weapons, your silenced pistol and throwing knives being removed from your person as Jungkook was robbed of the money he had in his wallet. 

Attempting to negotiate your way out of the situation led to Jungkook being held back while you were kicked and stomped on until your breaths came out wheezed as blood pooled around your outstretched hand that had been stabbed in the hustle of the whole thing. Your training kicked in soon after and you had taken them down one by one as Jungkook sat and watched you beat the life out of men who had almost done the same to you. Your hand ached further afterwards but broken ribs and a stabbed hand were the least of your worries when Jungkook grunted in pain. At this point in your career as his bodyguard, you had learnt his different noises. This one, even to the untrained ear, was clearly pained. And it made sense when you turned to him after strangling a man with his shoelace to see him holding a bullet wound in his leg. 

The event led to physical therapy for your hand and a large scar running across the inside of it while Jungkook limped through his building with his usual smile and waves. Your paid leave for healing was boring in short, your days filled with Youtube and some Netflix while praying that your boss just stayed within the safety of his building until you were cleared to go back. Your co-workers told you he had done just that, staying in the building except to leave with a group of 6 following him closely. Your relationship with the other 6 was not unknown as you frequently… entangled in the throes of desire with them. Jungkook knew of those days, he always knew everything about you somehow. It never surprised you. He had to keep his tabs on employees to be sure they were being legal and not doing anything dumb. One of these nights is what he approached you with on your return.

“Y/N. My lovely bodyguard and personal assassin~ You see, I’ve been keeping tabs on my guards as always and it’s been made blatantly clear that you’ve been indulging in sexual behaviors with the others. I have no issue with this, just so you’re aware. I’m very glad you’re relieving yourself in that way.”, his jealousy and nervous tone seeped through your ears as his small boyish smile lit up his face, “All I ask is that you don’t do those things in the guard room… with security cameras…”

He chuckled anxiously as he turned his laptop to face you, your own ass being shown to you with the one and only Min Yoongi, hacker and bodyguard, pounding into you. Your face turned red as you coughed, his eyes avoiding yours as you deleted the footage. 

“I am so sorry, Mr. Jeon. It won’t happen again. You have my word. I’m truly sorry you had to see that.”

He mumbled his acceptance with something that suspiciously sounded like ‘I’m not’. Shaking it off, you turned to leave the room, not having to be in the same room constantly when he was secure and very safe. People passed your station with nods and brief conversation of how your hand was doing. “Fine, just stiff.” was your response to everyone who had asked you until your beloved break. 

Entering the guard room was always fun but having that security footage in your mind was making it slightly less fun. The boys greeted you with enthusiasm as always, Yoongi and Seokjin on their breaks with you. Conversation turned from topic to topic as you ate in peace, a smile on your face for the first time that day that wasn’t forced as you relaxed with your friends… with benefits. The truth was, you hated Jeon Jungkook. His cocky smiles and walk made you seethe and the events of the alley made you hate him more. He had caused so many sticky situations for the two of you that you just couldn’t stand him anymore. At first you had enjoyed your work around him but he got more confidence, more money and more stupidity. It evolved enough for you to hate him. And to think you had a crush on him when you started as an intern in business. Bodyguarding, if that’s what you called it, was much more suited to your strengths in the end when you stopped a pickpocket with a blink of an eye, Jungkook not even noticing the old man attached to his pocket. That was the turning point of your crush. If he could be so distant from his body and not feel that, how in the hell would he handle a relationship? The continual decline in his competence in your mind left quickly. It wasn’t difficult to live with though, his constant attention for everyone else giving you reprieve from it until you were alone with him. 

A stab wound was not all you were willing to take to keep him safe despite your hatred for him, but as you chowed down on your beloved pizza pockets, you didn’t care. At least until the building went into shut down and Hoseoks voice filtered into your walkie talkie from his CCTV station in the building. 

“10-33. Copy? 10-33, Jeon in danger.”

You shot out of your chair instantly, hands gathering your gun as you sprinted through the halls, gunshots ringing from above you as you took the stairs 3 at a time. Safety off, you burst through the doors of the 7th floor, Jungkooks office door wide open and his secretary dead on the floor, blood winding down her head to hit the carpet. You shook your head and pushed forward, steps light and finger on the trigger. Stepping into the office with a large stride, your gun was knocked from your hand before you could react, your arms being wrenched behind you as you noticed Jungkook being held at gunpoint by Park Jimin, his biggest competitor. For businessmen, this was extreme, you thought as you were forced down onto your knees. The struggle tired out your captors, clearly not used to being fought so intensely. 

“Now, Jungkookie. We have you and your little pet. It’s either you cooperate with me and accept my deal or you both die in a tragic homicide-suicide.” Park's voice hit you like a wall as you focused on Jungkook's reactions.

Something had happened that you weren't partial too. You didn’t care what per say, just that Jungkook had put himself, and others, in danger once again. He was infuriating you at this point. But you were here to protect him. And that's what you would do. Swinging a leg out to kick the back of Jimin’s leg, he fell forward, gun firing off towards the windows as his head hit the desk. Park knocked out cold, the two holding you were your next focus. Their arms snapped back in unnatural positions, their cries cut short as you punched them once your hands were free. Pain shot through your hand as you punched, the pain making you see white until you were punched in return. The new ache in your pushed you forward as you knocked the men to the ground, Jungkook standing and watching with a proud smirk. That annoyed you enough to swing a man at the large windows, his body flying through it and sailing down onto the street, the screams of pedestrians meeting your ears to let you know he had landed in a grizzly scene. 

“Just. fucking. die!”, you shouted at the last man as you slammed him to the ground.

A slow clap filled the room as you stood straight and fixed your loose hair with a sigh, removing it from your vision. Your gaze snapped to Jungkook in anger as he chuckled and walked around the desk to place his hands on your shoulders.

“That was awesome. We should do that more often!”, he clapped you on the back and started out of the office, his eyes tracing the blood soaked hallway.

A click caught your ears and you froze. Another click. A third. A spin of metal. A click.

Thud. 

Thud.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Your heart rate picked up as you heard the revolver being loaded for use. Your eyes landed on the guy you body slammed, his breathing very slow. Eyes moving to the other CEO, you inhaled sharply. The revolver in his hand caught the light as he lined it up with Jungkook’s fluffy head of hair. Your mind going blank, you sprinted for Jungkook, his body turning to question you with a large smile until a gunshot rang through the space, your ears ringing as the force of something colliding with your back sent you flying into Jungkook. Bodies tumbling on the floor, you heard a distant laugh that clearly belonged to Jimin. Your hands searched Jungkook for a bullet wound shakily. Weird, you thought, your hands were never shaky. The gasp your boss let out was enough to have you concentrating on his gaze. Following it to your chest, the large red splatter on your shirt and the hole in it was enough for you to freeze again. 

A painful cough wracked your body as you fell off of Jungkook, blood spilling from the corners of your mouth as you lay in shock. 

“Oh.”, you said in a small voice, fingers probing the exit wound. “That's less than ideal-”

A cough ran through you again and you spluttered blood out onto the floor. Jungkook's hands removed your own from the wound, pressure causing you to cough again as your coworkers ran into the hall with varying gasps of surprise and despair. Yoongi was at your side instantly, helping you sit against Seokjin as his hands pressed on the entry wound. Words of comfort filled the space as you coughed some more, distant sirens letting you smile as your head got heavier. A third set of hands held up your head, but noticing the slick feel of them, you gathered Jungkook had instructed someone else to apply pressure to the exit wound. 

“You can’t die on me, Y/N. Not after everything. I won’t allow it. I know you hate me, I know. But I love you. I have since you stopped that pickpocket. You were so cool to me at that moment… I knew I had to gain your affections at some point.”, he trailed off before rambling about every moment his love grew for you.

The alley incident. A shopping mall mishap. The pizza thing and today. Little moments in between had helped his love for you grow but each moment you showed your dedication to keeping him alive, even if it meant a serious injury and possibly a collapsed lung. It made your head spin. Or perhaps it was the blood loss. Either way, as his sweet voice filled your entire being and his eyes traced your features lovingly, you realized that maybe you hadn’t stopped liking him at all. Despite his annoyance and constant want for danger and adrenaline, you loved him like he loved you. It was funny how blood loss and being so close to death let you realize just how much you appreciate something you believed you didn’t. 

“I- Jungkook, I know.”, you paused to cough, “I realize I love you too. Your stupid-”

Cough.

“Your stupid face and beautiful hair…”, you groaned in pain as someone applied more pressure, “Your dumb jokes in the morning and the spring in your step when we go out somewhere…”

Jungkook chuckled and shushed you, tears in everyone's eyes as your voice got weaker and rougher. His hands cradled your face as you heard people rushing through the building, people shouting over each other at bodies until a paramedic reached your floor. The stretcher following behind him made your heavy head fill with confusion until you glanced drearily over at the blurred figure of Hoseok, phone in hand with a sad smile, acknowledging your unspoken thought.

You were content dying in that moment. You had told Jungkook the truth you were denying yourself, your friends were around you and you protected him. At that point, you couldn’t ask for more. The light people talked about came closer, the comforting cold that came with it drawing you in as your grandparents stood to the side of it. Beckoning you. It was so comforting and tempting, Jungkooks panicked voice as you went limp in their arms falling into the abyss surrounding the light. 

That was where you were supposed to be. You had a feeling about it just nudging you towards it. But you focused. Suddenly you were above the scene. Jungkook nearly sobbing as he shook you and lightly slapped your cheeks to wake you up, Yoongi crying silently as he pressed harder on your wound, Namjoon’s hands on your front now doing CPR as tears trailed down his face. The paramedics lifted you onto the stretcher, your limp hand falling over the edge and into Jungkook's larger palm as you watched from above. It wasn't right. You couldn’t leave him. Not him. Never him. Pushing through the abyss towards your own figure in the stretcher, you reached. You lost sight of everything in the next moment, darkness filling your being as you faded.

—---------------------------------------------

Bolting upright in the bed, you gasped, your chest aching with pain as a voice filled your ears. It was frantic, excited, almost overbearing as you heard a more calm voice quiet the voice. 

“Miss L/N. Can you hear me? I’m going to have to ask you to look at me now.”

Your eyes focused slowly, the blue threaded blanket leaving your view as you took a deep breath. That was a bad idea, you thought as you winced and focused on the person with the white coat. Ah. The hospital. You managed to survive it all apparently. Open chest surgery, the ride, your recovery and one more surgery. The doctor ran through basic diagnostics, your eyes were focused on Jungkook though. The bags under his eyes, his thinner frame, weak smile. It was clear he hadn’t taken care of himself during your recovery. Doctor Chen left soon after, your vitals fine and everything functioning well, your stitches closing nicely. 

“You’re awake.”

“You look like shit.”

“Says you, Miss ‘I’m going to take a bullet for you now’”.

You huffed a laugh, careful of your stitches as you swung your legs over the side of the bed. 

“I had no choice. Protection comes at a cost, y’know. This was the cost, so be it.”

Your voice scratched at your throat after so long without use, your hands reaching for the cup of water and Jungkook's hand as you sipped on the cool water. A cough left you and you groaned, Jungkook's arms wrapping around you gently in a hug as he whispered over and over how glad he was to have you in his life. You interrupted him with a small laugh, a smile on your face as you guided him to make eye contact with you.

“This first date kinda sucks, Kook. You’re gonna have to do better for the rest.”

Laughter filled the space, your friends and family came and left and your hand held his the entire time.

Now, years later and walking down the aisle, your daughter bouncing by her father at the altar, you would never not say that protecting him was worth all of this and more. All you had to do was protect your daughter now. And fuck if that wouldn’t be a large task. She took after her father that way.

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Reunion, pt. 2 (Reluctance and Recall)

(A/N: I just wanted to get this out there. I might continue writing it and put a better ending on it, but for now I just want it off the WIP pile so it stops haunting me. Happy New Year and the like. Hopefully I'll have more stories out this time!)

~~~~

It hadn’t escaped him that she had left her combat jacket on that night. Or that she was wearing it when she came out the next morning. Or the day after that. Or the next six mornings. 

They portioned out their days. Arya would spend the morning drafting reports and debriefs, filling out paperwork to reverse her apparent death and half begrudgingly taking on Brom’s share of more mundane documents as he joined Eragon and Saphira at Oromis and Glaedr’s lessons. They split the evenings, Arya going sometimes to guide Eragon and Saphira around Ellesméra or attempting to mend her fragile relationship with her mother. Other nights she joined Glen for dinner and spent the night remembering the days they spent crawling in trenches and infiltrating camps, Fäolin perched above them in his little nest.

Afternoons, though, were for wandering the pines together, walking aimlessly and just talking. Glen told her about the last months, his recovery and the process of fitting, building and bonding with his new arm. The struggles and the joys of connecting the nerves without further surgery, the excited yelling that earned him a pair of tongs to the face when he finally picked up a mug without shattering it or throwing it into his own teeth. 

The three months he spent without leaving Rhunön’s shop. He didn’t tell her it was because he couldn’t find the courage to face the Queen. 

In turn she told him the entire story of Eragon and Saphira, everything the two had shared and every bit of information Brom would reveal about his and their lives in the village of Carvahall. The Raz’zac, the disastrous first flight, Brom’s near death experience, the young son of Morzan and his surprising allegiance. Glen could tell she glossed over the madcap escape from Gil’ead, their eventual return to the Varden getting a similar treatment along with the post battle recovery under Farthen Dûr. 

He didn’t press for a time. But eventually, he knew he had to.

It was eight days after their impromptu reunion, meandering alone past one of the solitary beech trees that some elf had planted and warded years ago with leaves near dripping with the winking lights of bioluminescent moths, when he finally tried to break through. 

“You know you can take that off, right?” Glen teased, plucking a wrinkled fold on the arm of Arya’s combat jacket. “You’re gonna get more looks than usual if you keep wearing it with those cargos.”

Arya looked down with a frown. “Hey! I think it looks good with these! Green and tan go good together, right?” She had never been much for fashion, or even being all that presentable beyond the occasional inspection back during basic or black tie events for the Varden. At those, all it took was a black dress to get whoever dragged her along off her back, even if she insisted on wearing combat boots with it. 

For a moment she remembered, with some fondness, the first time Fäolin had been forced to join her at a fundraiser in Surda. Teasing him about his slicked back hair, chucking him under the chin to get at the bowtie that was damn near choking him over the starched collar of his borrowed suit. His laugh when she asked him where he had put the backup pistol, her own when he subtly touched the grip of the one strapped to her leg under the dress. “You’re my backup pistol, remember?”

Then it was gone again.

Shaking his head as if his commander were a lost cause, Glenwing peered up from under his brows at the dappled sunlight filtering through the heavy needles above. “Come on. What are you hiding under there?”

“Nothing.” 

The medic closed his eyes with a deep inhale and soft sigh at the deadpan tone, the sharp hint of warning contained in the single word. So it would be like that.

He stopped walking. “Arya.”

“What?” Her momentum had carried her three paces beyond, so she had to stop and turn to him. Her fists were jammed in the pockets of the combat jacket.

“We don’t lie to each other.” He fixed her with that look. The medic look. The look that said ‘I am here to help and if you don’t let me there will be a very difficult road ahead.’ A look that he hadn’t given her for years, decades. 

His heart sank when she cut her eyes away from him. “I don’t…” Arya broke off and rubbed the back of her neck again, fingers digging in roughly. “There’s too much to do. We can worry about it later.”

“You finished the paperwork this morning.” Green eyes slid closed in a quiet, nonverbal curse for telling him that earlier. “You– we –were relieved from guarding Eragon and Saphira days ago, and we won’t be called to that again until they leave. Please.” Movement caught his attention. “Your hands have been shaking since you got back.”

Arya looked down. The tremors had been increasing in frequency since Tarnag. The moments of recall around her wrists always followed their appearance. 

“Arya, you know that I can’t break my oath to you. I can only help you if you allow me. I can’t tell anyone unless you tell me to.” Careful that his approach was seen well before he reached out, Glen touched his commander’s shoulder gently. “I don’t want you to do this alone. I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

And still, she refused to look at him. “You don’t need this on top of everything else.”

“Cut the bullshit.” That got her attention. Glen swore only half as much as the rest of their little squad, and when he did it was usually cause for alarm. No one wanted the man holding their bleeding guts in suddenly swearing out of nowhere. “You’re scared. I understand. And I’m here to help you.”

The accusation made Arya let out a short bark of laughter. At Glen’s raised eyebrow, she merely shook her head, half a twisted grin on her lips. “Ah, Glen. I’m not scared. Nothing really scares me anymore.” Again she let out a short laugh, squinting up into the needles above much like he had and put her hands on her hips. 

He really didn’t expect her explanation. 

“I’ve puked on a shade’s shoes before and lived through the consequences. And I did it again, too. Twice.”

Glenwing stared, bewildered. It took him some seconds to find his words. “...I…I don’t know if you’re joking with me, or if this is your way of saying you’re going to talk about it, or–”

“Oh, I one hundred percent puked on Durza shoes multiple times. That’s one of the things that I like to remember about all that.” Arya was smiling broadly. It didn’t reach her eyes. “If you really want to know,” The smile fell. “I’ll tell you. But later.”

“No.” 

“Glen–”

“I have the file. You know I do.”

Arya closed her eyes in surrender. The file had been sitting on the table for days now, a clear sign to her that he was waiting for her consent to begin the process of unraveling the last nine months. “Yeah.” She inhaled. Smelled wet concrete and tasted copper and iron. Released the breath with a rough sigh. “Okay. Tonight.”

“Tonight.” 

~~~

Glenwing was sitting on the couch with tea already made, file sitting undisturbed on the coffee table, when the door slid open and closed. Relief seeped into his limbs, feeling cold on his left and warm on his right. He hadn't been entirely convinced she was going to show up.

He looked up when she didn’t immediately sit beside him. Arya stood in front of the low table, shoulders tight and fists again firmly shoved in the front pockets of her combat jacket. Every line of her body reflected tension, but her dark eyes glinted with steel when he met her gaze. 

“You sure you wanna do this?” Arya motioned to the file with her chin, sharp and jerky. “It’s a lot less…” She paused, searching for the right word. “Brutal. If you read it from there.”

Glen nodded. He did his best to sound gentle but firm. “I need to hear it from you.” 

Her jaw clenched. “...I don’t know how much I can tell you.”

“Whatever you can. Whatever you want to.” The medic patted the cushion next to him. “We’ll stop whenever you want.” She waited a few more moments. Then, with stiff steps, Arya sat a few feet down the couch. “Take all the time you need.” 

Arya braced her elbows on her knees and leaned over, studying the moss that made up part of the floor of their flat. “I’m not…I’m not ashamed of what happened there.” A shiny backed beetle meandered onto the edge of her boot. She reached down and let it crawl onto her finger, lifted it to examine the iridescence of its carapace. “Hell, I’m proud of what I endured. I don’t know why it's so hard to talk about it like this.” She grinned as the little creature fluttered its hidden wings, the thin sheaves dark in contrast to the elytra’s color. “I’ve joked about it plenty.” 

Glen leaned back. He had his notepad in his hands, rumpled and scuffed and one of the corners charred. “You’ve always preferred deflecting whenever something’s bothering you.”

With a gentle puff of air, Arya encouraged the glittering insect to take flight. They both watched it go, floating to the window where it escaped through the barely open latch. “...Yeah.”

She took a deep breath then, resumed her previous position, and rubbed the flats of her palms together. “I guess I should start from the beginning. 

“That night we were ambushed, when you lost your arm and Fäolin was killed, Durza captured me after I teleported Saphira’s egg.” Again the woman focused her eyes on the ground, watching the miniscule hairs of the moss waver in the near imperceptible movements of air created by the cracked window, her breath, and Glenwing’s breath. Connecting currents that linked everything in the room. “I was in and out, but when I woke up fully I was in a cell under Gil’ead’s keep, their maximum security wing. 

“There were shackles on my wrists. They weren’t connected to anything, so when Durza came in I obviously tried to take his face off.” Half a smirk touched her lips, a tone of bitter pride coloring her words. “So he locked the shackles to the wall. Then I tried to headbutt him when he got too close. So he put me in a chair and locked me to that.”

The woman tilted her head slightly, brow knitted in a hint of confusion. Her braid slid over her shoulder to hang free. “He just…talked to me that time. Sat across from me and told me who he was, gloated about the spells he made to break our wards with just bullets and Urgals at his disposal.” To Glen’s surprise, Arya had an almost wistful, crooked grin when she looked over at him. “You know what he did next?” 

Despite her previous assertion that nothing could really scare her, Glen saw, buried beneath the convoluted and contorted emotions in his friend’s eyes, a glimmer of fear. He shook his head, afraid to break whatever courage was driving her to speak. 

“He asked me, point blank, if I would submit. Asked if I would surrender then and there, knowing the spells he had created, the potential he had, knowing what he was. He told me what awaited me if I did. I would be taken to Urû’baen immediately and presented to Galbatorix. He would receive the information I had to give, take more if he wanted, and then I would be released into his service. I’d swear oaths to him and become his new Forsworn, and used however he saw fit to bring down the Varden, Surda and Du Weldenvarden.” She let out a soft scoff, that pained look still twisting her lips. “I told him ‘no.’ Only word I said to him besides ‘bite me, bitch’ and ‘fuck you’ a few times.” She laughed again, and it sounded desperate, near panicked at the edges. “He just smiled, that fucking smile, and said ‘good.’”

Her own smile gone, Arya dragged a hand down her face, skin going pale as she remembered. “He spent…I don’t know how long. I’ve got no sense of time anymore. He spent what had to be hours just…just telling me what he could do to me. What he would do to me. He paced around and around that stupid fucking chair, grabbed my neck from behind and whispered in my ear the experiments he wanted to try.” 

A shudder passed from the back of her skull to the base of her spine. Arya did her best to focus on the swaths of moss between her boots. Pincushion moss. A bryophyte. They grew it there because it was soft and stayed that way even when the weather turned dry for weeks at a time. 

She could feel his hand gripping the base of her braid, head yanked back against the metal edge of the chair. The way he cupped her throat, thumb pressing just under the joint of her jaw and stroking her skin as she did her best to appear nonchalant. Simply met his gleeful gaze with cold fire in her eyes. She would not look away. 

The elf took a shuddering breath and untangled her fingers from where she had been clenching them together hard enough to leave bruises. “And then…he did. He did all of it and more.” She blinked, willed the floor to return to its green carpet rather than the grey creeping in. “And I fought it. I fought whenever I could. He stopped using the shackles in the cell because my wrists were shredded and I wouldn’t stop fighting them. I don’t know how long it was till I…” Her words caught in her throat. She blinked again. Why was this what made her choke up? “Till I couldn’t fight anymore. 

“He dosed me with Skilna each day, tried to wear me down.” Her lungs hurt at the memory. The time that he had sat on her cot, one leg daintily crossed over the other while he let the poison run its course longer than before. Watched her, that fucking smile plastered on his face, the antidote held in his lap, as she coughed up blood until she couldn’t anymore, as she writhed against the feeling of her bones shattered like crystal glass and the overwhelming, all encompassing fever that turned her veins to molten lead. 

He had wanted her to ask for it. To beg for the antidote. 

She crawled over, every movement triggering more liquid glass to explode within her cells. Grabbed his leg. Saw that triumphant, gleeful grin in the haze above. 

With her last ounce of strength she slipped a finger between his leg and his high, polished boots and deposited a mouthful of blood into the space.

Her gurgling laughter at his disgust made her smile briefly, lost when the noise ended abruptly with a crack and the sound of a tightly gripped, torn throat struggling to breathe. Still. The broken jaw and flail chest had been worth it. And she didn’t even have to ask for the antidote.

“He uh…” Arya cleared her throat, tasted the same blood as he dragged her out of the cell again, fury evident in each step. “He had to change it. To a longer form. One he could trigger at will. I was apparently getting some sort of tolerance.” She could see the pen moving from the corner of her eye. “He couldn’t always be there. Something about reporting to Galbatorix. He told the guards to keep his…his work, going while he was away. Only rule was no blows to the head. Needed the information in my mind unscrambled.”

Glenwing’s pen slowed. He didn’t want to ask the question. He knew she could feel his eyes on her, the way she shifted and raised her laced together hands to her lips. The way she tensed when he put the pen down and leaned toward her to touch two fingers to her forearm. “Arya….”

She refused to look at him. “They didn’t.” Her jaw was clenched. “They…they tried.” One of her hands twitched before the other clamped down on it. She blinked. “One of them…one of them must’ve found some old book somewhere…talked about elf customs or something.” Slowly Glen saw her entire body go tense, muscles locked and coiled to their limit. The first mumbled words of her next admission were lost in the quiet breath that delivered them.  

“...tried to notch my ear.” 

Glen’s blood went cold. The practice was ancient, heralding back to the bonding of the dragons and elves and the…peculiar…additions the dragon’s blood had on elves' practices of coupling. While a gentle bite on the ear of a mate was considered a pact of love, of devotion…a notch was a symbol of bitter solitude. Any elf with a notched ear was considered almost untouchable when it came to love, mating, partnership, acceptance. They were given only for horrific deeds, the slaughter of children, taking an unwilling mate, murder of a partner, and, above all else, for the betrayal of the entire elven race. 

If Durza had learned of this from his men he would have carried it out as the ultimate humiliation, and bound the mark to her body so that no healing could touch the wound. 

It took every ounce of Glenwing’s self control to not seize his best friend’s face and turn her to him, looking for the telltale rift. Instead, he steadied his voice as best he could and managed an only slightly enraged, “They tried?”

“They didn’t manage it.” The words were hollow, the memory of just how close she came to being marked still bouncing in her skull. Unlike the others, this one was…hazy. She could feel the panic in her chest and the many hands forcing her to the ground as she struggled to lift her broken body. They wanted revenge for the men she had…disposed of…after their attempts to take advantage of her weakened state. The cold, cold metal of a set of wire cutters sliding against the side of her head and behind her right ear. 

Then just…relief. Gratitude? And spending time curled under the cot, pressed as tightly against the wall as she could manage until the pale hand dragged her out for another span of agony after a longer than normal gap. 

For some reason the sense of relief sparked warmth that soothed the growing lump in her throat. She pressed her fingers into the spaces between her knuckles, grounded herself in the discomfort as she found sore tendons and protesting connective bands. “Eragon was captured some time after that. I don’t know how long. Adrenaline and pain tablets kept me on my feet long enough to get out with them. Eragon, Saphira and Brom healed what they could and got me awake. The rest you already know.”

Glen picked up his pen again and rolled it between his fingers. “Poison?” He had masked the tremor in his tone, but the rage wasn’t going to fade quite so easy. He wouldn’t press, not now at least. This was enough for one night.

“Right.” Gil’ead retreating from her mind, Arya straightened somewhat and clasped her knees with hands now blooming with fingertip shaped bruises. “Durza activated it. We got through the Hadarac before it caused problems. I might have…had to use the dream state to survive it.” She winced, fully expecting a lecture. 

Instead, Glenwing chewed the end of his pen. “You got out of it.” It was a statement of fact, laced with a hint of assurance that he wasn’t angry. He had taught her how to trigger the dream state for emergencies, and poison was certainly on the qualifying list.

“After a bunch of Tunivor’s Nectar…yeah.” Arya blinked, suddenly remembering another visitor during her half-addled state in Tronjheim’s hospital. “And the Wise One gave me something to pull me out.”

Glen stopped his absentminded chewing, pen dangling from his lips as he shot his commander a look of shock. “She’s back?” The way the stylus bobbed with his words made him look almost comically like Brom with his pipe. 

“Werecat and all.” Arya frowned. “Didn’t I say she’s the one that fixed Eragon’s back?”

“You kind of ignored the recovery period.” 

“Ah.” 

The woman’s bearing had shifted again. Glen saw more anxiety than before, less tension in her limbs as she cut her gaze away again and picked a loose thread by her knee. “Speaking of the recovery period…” 

“I broke the Star Sapphire, injected myself with four full doses of adrenaline to try and stop Eragon’s back from bleeding, overdosed, had several cardiac events, and Vilks put me on strict orders and told me I’d die if I didn’t follow them.” 

‘Ah’ indeed. No wonder she looked nervous. There was nothing that could trigger fear in a lifelong, diehard soldier with nothing else but their deployment than the anger of a very exasperated medic with the power to put them on an indefinite hold.

“You what?!”

Arya had already bolted off the couch, skittering past the coffee table. “Look, I know you’re upset with me for pulling a stunt like that again–”

“FOUR?!” 

She was already down the hall, nearly slingshotting past her room when she grabbed the doorframe. “Just…read the file, Vilks took good notes, I’ll change, just…yeah!”

Torn between fuming and alarmed, Glen grabbed for the file on the coffee table. He swore when his knuckles impacted the side of the wood, the metal leaving a decent dent. Making a mental note to speak to Rhunön about his continued issues of emotional override, he snatched up the packet with his right hand and flipped it open to the tab at the very back.

Vilks’ handwriting still kept its tight scrawl in his advanced age, and after so many years the doctor had perfected the art of short, sweet and to the point in his notes. Possible seizures. Fluid in the lungs, intubation for two hours, O2 mask for six after. Five VTach events before AED applied, unknown number post. Repeated attempts to leave bed before fully aware. Restrained for aprox 10 minutes before reminded of patient history. Energy extremely depleted, side effects of poisoning, imprisonment, poor diet, adrenaline overdose and magic overuse. Given orders of NO MAGIC two weeks, consistent bedrest and sleep (unlikely), multivit 2/d two weeks, recheck two weeks. Warned of consequences. 

A quick note at an angle, dated eleven days after the initial list, added ‘Given consequences after discovered participating in rigorous PT. Patient given icepack for forehead contusion and required to replace hospital clipboard at next possible opportunity.’

Despite his frustration, Glen couldn't help the smile that curled the edges of his lips. ‘Of course.’

“If you’re going to chuck that at me, let me get a head start first.” The medic looked up at his commander’s wry request. She had donned a pair of jogging shorts and a loose tshirt, the standard PT gear of Varden recruits in Fathen Dûr. 

Glenwing snapped the file closed. “I wouldn’t warn you if I was going to throw it, especially after reading that. Let’s sit at the table, better light.” Arya shrugged, thumbs hooked in the small pockets of her shorts, and followed him to sit in the dining area where bright werelights hung above their heads. 

They sat together, bathed in light tinged with the greens that dominated their home away from the Varden. Arya, after a moment of hesitation, placed her forearms on the table, palms down.

The medic resisted sucking his teeth, and instead bit the tip of his tongue as he reached out and gently lifted the woman’s left arm. A swath of scar tissue encircled her wrist, creeping up her hand and palm just slightly before diving down and dipping a concave wrap two inches down her forearm. The right side mirrored the same mutilation, both dark and a mottled red mix of soft ridges and silken patches. With a light touch to the back of her hand and a nod of acquiescence, he turned her palm up to reveal her tendons etched at the surface of her skin, as if locked permanently taut. 

“They’re just like that.” Arya broke the silence. A half hearted shrug tilted her wrist, and the flexor tendons jutted out further. “Tissue’s gone. Tendons just kind of…stand out, I guess.”

Glen hummed in acknowledgement, inwardly swearing at the possible damage that lurked beneath her skin. “Do you have any numbness in your hands or fingers?”

“No. The shaking started when we were around Tarnag. It feels like pins and needles sometimes, but it’s not affected my grip or range of motion.” 

Gently manipulating the joints, Glenwing confirmed her words before picking up his pen and scribbling a note down. “And you didn’t heal these…?”

“I like them.” Arya’s eyes were clear when he snapped his gaze up to hers. 

“Arya, they've got nerve damage. In your hands.” 

At that the woman pulled her hand from his grip and crossed her arms, hiding the dark bands from view. “Can you heal the nerve damage without healing the scars?” 

Glen frowned. “Yes, but–”

“Then we do it that way.” She held him in her gaze for a long moment, waiting for him to acquiesce. “This is my way of taking it back, Glen.” And again, she suddenly cut her eyes away with a quiet mumble.

“What?”

“It helps…” He could see her flex her fingers involuntarily under her arms, gnash her teeth at some unseen jolt. She looked like he did when the phantom pain kicked in unexpectedly, a shock that lingered for minutes or hours. “It helps when I have recall. When…when I touch them it’s like….” The woman fumbled for words, distress building. “He never left scars when he gave me hallucinations.” She gripped the table edge with white knuckles, tilting the chair back slightly. “And when I feel the scars I just…I know I’m not there. It helps bring me back sometimes.” 

Sometimes. Not always.

‘Recall.’ That cursed thing. Sensory recall and elvish memory went hand in hand, making the calling up of emotionally charged memories laden with past sensory detail a normal, if not somewhat uncommon, occurrence among their race. Arya’s had always been strong, bringing back physical touch and involving a majority of the senses for most of her moments of involuntary recall. Glen’s near rivaled hers, built up from the years of war and countless moments where PTSD took hold of the accursed skill, if it could even be called that. They both relived their traumas, ricocheting to the past as the world went on around them, seeing but not seeing.

Every time he thought of the ambush, he smelled the smoke, felt the hot ash and cinders embedding in his clothes and his skin. He could taste blood and pine ash, the grit between his red stained teeth and the excruciating wrong that was the needles and the dirt and bark and ash collecting, sticking to the mangled flesh of his ruined arm. He didn’t always see it, and for that he thanked whatever stars watched over him. That was his only escape. Seeing the metal limb that now dominated his left side, a zing of phantom pain that reminded him that the original limb was long gone…it made coming out of the recall easier. Something to remind him that the past was the past.

Glenwing reached out and, with a feather touch of his mechanical hand, reminded his commander to release the creaking wood of the table. He cupped her scarred knuckles, turned her palm to run a cold thumb over the ghost of a hastily healed burn. 

“I’ll do my best.” He promised. 

A rush of air left Arya’s lungs, a relief she didn't quite realize she needed. An acknowledgement of the scars beyond the cursory looks cast her way under Farthen Dûr, the concerned frown Brom gave them every once in a while. Glenwing understood their purpose, in a way that no one else could. “Thanks.”

Satisfied he could mend some of the frayed nerves, Glen turned to examining the smattering of new scars that littered the woman’s arms. Nothing was particularly egregious, and while several of the straight lines that slid down from beneath the woman’s sleeves looked near surgical, Arya simply told him it was ‘healed fully’ and ‘not a problem.’ Again, he didn't push it.

“Is there more?” Glen took a sip of his now cold tea, making a face before reheating it with a quick word. If this was all that needed checking then he could call himself pleasantly surprised given her previous description. 

Arya paused. “There’s a few on my legs but those were…those were healed. He healed them to the surface at least.” She tried to shake the sudden jolt of seeing steel nubs protruding from her shin, the excruciating ripping, tearing, snapping, as the bone split down its length. All that remained were four pale pink spots in a line from the last time that particular method was used. “Eragon and Saphira healed a scrape on my right leg, but they did well. No complaints there.”

“Uh-huh.” Glen tapped the point of his pen at the upper corner of his paper, resisting the urge to chew on the end again. She wasn’t telling him everything. But it was a start. “Is that it?”

“...No.” Arya sighed and pushed back from the table to stand. “I’m not healing these either, okay?” Her voice was muffled as she tugged her shirt up and over her head. She tossed it into the achingly empty chair across from her and stood clad only in her shorts and sports bra. “Make me look badass.” She turned and pulled her braid over her shoulder, gesturing with a jerked thumb at the expanse of her back. 

Glenwing dropped his pen. “Well. Shit."

“Hey!” Arya whirled to him. She seemed genuinely offended. “Come on, Glen! I survived this shit. You know what that took? I’m fuckin’ proud of these, and I’m not healing them for bullshit vanity.” He didn’t answer. Just stood and put his hands on her shoulders. “What are you–”

And pulled her into another hug.

Arya froze. She could feel the cold metal of his left arm holding her around her shoulder blades, a stark contrast to the warmth of his right hand squeezing around her ribs. Someone was touching her back and he wasn’t recoiling, wasn’t probing, wasn’t hurting. She wasn’t struggling, fighting, desperate to run away. An ache that she didn’t even realize had been tied into the muscles along her spine for months suddenly released, bringing with it a rush of relief and a soothing mix of warm where warm was needed and cool where cool was needed. 

“Don’t lie to me.” Glen murmured in her ear, his voice catching. “You tried.”

Arya squeezed her eyes shut. 

The day after Vilks cleared her for magic use. Checking the multitude of scars that covered her back and criss-crossed her skin with burns, cuts, hills and valleys of hypertrophic and concave bands. The visible slide of muscle where the layers above had been carved away. There was space between them, yes. But all she could see was the red, pink and silver of lingering damage made physical and, above all else, undeniable. She looked…she looked almost broken.

She had tried to heal them. And found herself scrabbling, clawing, writhing on the floor of that stupid little bathroom, choking back a scream of unimaginable pain as the nerves in her back exploded in protest. Everything she had endured, condensed and dripped in a steady, maddening flow along each pathway, electric and burning and pain. Once again it was all that existed for her in that moment, an extended second that encompassed months and months of time she could not begin to grasp nor understand the passage of. 

She ripped away from the magic and lay, panting, on that stupid, stupid bathroom floor. Blood steadily streamed from her forehead to the tiles where she had cracked it on the stone, trying to breathe through the lingering aftershocks and remembering the spells that he had used to the same result. Felt, deep in her chest, an interwoven pity and horror for Eragon and the new hell he was beginning to endure. She couldn’t heal herself. And she couldn’t heal him. Magic wouldn't erase these wounds.

Arya reached up and grabbed onto Glenwing, clutched at the loose folds of his shirt under his shoulder blades as if he were her last hope against drowning. “They’re…” She shivered, pressed her forehead to his shoulder. She had decided already, that day back in Tronjheim, that if she couldn’t remove them then she would wear them as a badge of pride. She wasn’t broken. She couldn’t be. They were the proof. “I’m…. I beat them. I beat him.”

Glenwing didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. He knew, and she knew as well. They’d weather it just as they always did, together and steadfast and strong against the push of everyone else. So they had scars. That didn’t mean they were lost, or broken, or could be cast aside as soldiers who had long passed their expiration date. Fifty years, seventy in her case, was a long, long time to fight.  

They’d just have to keep fighting.

They wouldn’t have it any other way.

[somethingelseishere]

HALFWAY BETWEEN ALICE SPRINGS & GHAN

The small white van screeches to a dead stop, slams into reverse and shoots back about twenty yards - then stops again.

“I’ll get it.” offers Alex, Rod’s fourteen year-old son. “NO, I will! You keep watch.” Rod counters.

Alex grabs the .50 cal rifle and climbs from the back seat. Rod leaps from the still-running van and speeds to the rear, throwing the back doors wide open. Alex stands guard, scanning the barren red surroundings.

Rod claims the newly found roadside item, quickly crams it into the van and jumps back inside. They race away as though it were a crime scene.

“Thank you daddy!” Milly says beaming. “No more stops.” Rod replies bluntly.

The tiny, blonde six year-old fumbles in her dirty, tattered pink purse in search of his reward. Found it!

“You get a gold star.” she says sweetly, placing it onto his left wrist. “Thank you.”

They barrel past a sign that reads GHAN 107 km.

“What’s going on?” asks Beth, Rod’s wife, rousing from some road-trip shut-eye. “Puttin’ miles behind us.”

There was an unexpected calm in the vehicle. An acceptance of sorts - not only of the situation at hand, but of the many potentially unfavorable outcomes.

Beth returns to her nap. Milly carries on singing a jingle from her favorite cartoon. Alex stares vacantly out the window. On the face of it, you’d never know they were running for their lives. Then it happened - one of those unfavorable outcomes.

The van starts knocking - the old spit & sputter - a few more knocks and it dies.

“Fuckin’ Christ!” Rod yells, pounding both fists on the dash.

Beth sits up in the passenger seat.

“What’s wrong, why are we stopped?” “Daddy said a swear.” Milly declares quietly.

“We had enough gas, goddamnit!” “You think it’s a leak?” she asks. “I don’t know. That or the fucking gauge is off!”

Milly reaches forward from the back seat.

“You lose your gold star.” she says with a grimace, removing the sticker from her father’s wrist.

“Where are we?” Beth questions. “Imanpa.” Alex replies.

“So how much further?” “Two-hundred fucking kilometers!” Rod shouts, punching the dashboard once more.

“We will never make that, not out here.” she says with a tremble. “We got no choice. We’ve got to try.” Rod states solemnly.

A quiet few moments pass.

“We’ll take as much as we can carry. Only the essentials. Let’s move."

On his command, they exit the vehicle gathering at the rear. He opens the back doors and is greeted by an almost forgotten gift.

“Looks like Milly just saved us.” he announces.

That roadside item she pleaded over - a rusty little red wagon. It had seen better days but was still intact and functional. This meant they could transport their few remaining supplies. Not to mention the five gallon water jug - which was still nearly full.

Rod and Alex load the wagon. Beth fills two backpacks with most of what’s left. Milly makes sure to pack her purse with all that will fit. They save the important things for last.

Rod tucks away two handguns and grabs the flamethrower and fuel tank. Alex follows suit, sticking a pistol in his pocket, then taking up the rifle. Beth hands Alex one of the packs, slings the other over her shoulder and straps a sheathed machete to her back, keeping one in hand.

It was time to march.

"Killing Fields" - First in the four-part series 'Chimera'.

Mixed media on plywood. My 131st painting.

[nhaneh]

So for today's random post-work obsession: RC car controllers - specifically, how one might make a more interesting one.

Now the generic RC controller is effectively just a twin-stick layout put in a square box - you have two sticks and trims for each axis. More modern examples often add a display, some configuration options, and maybe a few flip switches or even the odd shoulder button to the mix, but at heart it remains a simple twin-stick layout.

When it comes to controlling ground vehicles, the typical control layout is either using the left stick for forward/back and the right stick for steering left/right; more rarely you might see forward/back and left/right both combined into the left stick if the right stick is instead being used for something else, like maybe act as a manual gear shifter or steering a camera gimbal or the like.

This kind of controller is generally more suitable for flying than for driving however, so most RC cars of today instead tend to use a pistol grip controller design.

With this controller layout, you have more of a steering wheel - often designed to resemble more of an actual driving wheel than a steering wheel - which you control with one hand whilst holding the controller with the other, using the pistol-shaped trigger to control the speed, pushing down to go forwards, pushing forward to brake and/or reverse.

Again there's usually some trim knobs thrown in plus maybe some lever switches or other toggles - higher end models might also have LCD displays and various other settings and so forth, but RC controls are typically very simple.

Comparably, things look somewhat different when you look at modern racing games - the left thumbstick is now generally your steering input, while acceleration and braking/reverse are often split up between the left and right shoulder triggers. The right thumbstick meanwhile tends to serve as camera controls, while there's usually also some functions concocted for the buttons and possibly even the D-pad to do.

So basically I'm thinking of what if you took the game controller and ran with that basic layout, but then replaced the main circuit board to fit in a microcontroller and a 2.4GHz transmitter - if you build out of a wireless controller there should already be dedicated space for batteries even. Big question is whether you could somehow increase the steering throw, and basically what to do with the entire rest of the controller.

Honestly part of me is kind of thinking what if you put some kind of key ignition module in there just for the tactile feeling of turning the thing on, lmao