#they’re probably still around but they seem like a relic of a simpler time

[pepminttea]

Does anyone else miss imagines? Like what a good time

[refurbishedgray]

Point of Contact

Reader x Tech. Maybe we get feisty and it’s reader x Crosshair, too. In this house, we like both.

Multi-part fic; probably NSFW; f!reader (she/her pronouns)

**Updates: I’ll tag you if you holler

Summary:

“No good ever comes to the Republic from Banking Clan business,” Hunter tells them, “Let’s get this done and get home, boys.”

Arriving on Scipio with the unhelpful directive of, “be discreet, but do whatever it takes,” the Bad Batch find themselves at the mercy of a stony representative whose allegiances lie with the best deal.

Or, the one where Tech and Crosshair think the reader is as intense as she is pretty.

**************************************

Part One

The office is too empty, too bright. The merciless glare of Scipio’s sun cuts across the room, gleaming unpleasantly from the gilded corners of all the fine furniture and glass. A corner office, inherited from an out-maneuvered relic of the past. 

All light and no warmth, you think, not for the first time. Never any warmth. In your early years with the Banking Clan, being stationed here had felt suspiciously like a punishment you hadn’t deserved, a proving ground when you had already proven so much. These days, however, you’ve come to understand that the frigid peaks standing vigil beyond your window are a reminder of how far you have climbed.

Now, as you shift in your chair, the expensive Corellian leather barely squeaking beneath you, you squint past the harsh light filtering in from the floor to ceiling window at your back. It’s all pristine snow on those peaks. Icy. Easy to slip if the cold didn’t kill you first.

Yes, you had climbed and clawed your way up these proverbial mountains. And like the man who last haunted this office, it has left you with so very far to fall.

The early days had been simpler. Smile. Look pretty. Never forget what can be saved for later. You hadn’t forgotten. Beyond the pale blue sky, twinkling out of sight, are worlds fraught with battles, littered with unsuccessful or unlucky tacticians from two sides of a conflict that won’t ever be ended, not truly. You have always preferred to keep your strategizing corporate. Clean. 

A frown drags at the corners of your mouth at the uncharacteristic foray into reminiscence of the…

The…

A phrase comes to mind and you allow yourself a small, private smile against the sunlight. The bad old days. 

Since then, things have always been kept tidy.

Until now. 

An unwanted spur of concern digs in behind your chest as your gaze turns from the window to sweep over the room. To your dismay, you realize why, and realize too clearly that the concern is not solely for yourself. 

He should be here.

Things were less empty when he was around, a relic in his own right and your pride and joy and confidant. How proud you had been when you had been informed that you would require a bodyguard. “A mark of success if there ever was one,” you had told the few family members you kept in contact with, of which there were very few, upon being informed of the recommendation after your previous promotion. “Aren’t you proud?” you had wanted to ask. But you had not asked. Better not to make the query when the answer was always so heavy and obvious. 

He had become your one and only friend. But he, too, is absent now, and upon permitting the observation, your office seems at once less empty and instead, guttingly, horribly hollow. Two rotations it’s been. Two rotations to give into the inconvenience of noticing.  

No, no, you think. You had noticed. Admitting it, that is the phrase that would be more accurate, but if it makes you feel less or more weak, you find you cannot decipher the bitterness creeping up your tongue.

Rising from your seat, you at once miss the meager warmth provided by the leather as the cool office air licks at you. Once upon a time, you had comforted yourself with the promise that one day, you would get used to the cold here. It was one of the few lies you allotted yourself over the years. Crossing the office, the marble floors as white and frosted as the mountain peaks outside resounding crisply beneath your heels, you make your way to the small bar trolley tucked away in one corner. Your last guest, a senator with strong -- unsubtly strong -- ties to the Clan, had complimented your selection of fine whiskeys and other alcohols. You had not admitted then that you did not keep the bar stocked for the guests who were few and far between, but rather for yourself, to chase away the damnable chill in this place. 

Your hand stills between decanters, your mind hesitating at the threatening burn that awaits your selection.

A bad habit.

You can imagine that peculiar modulated voice now. “Madam, the faces you make.”

Instead, you shun the alcohol and the ice that never thaws, yet still gets replaced each morning, now resting in a round chest, as gilded as everything else in this room, and reach for the Felucian pear juice. Duller, perhaps, but you don’t need anymore guilt on your conscience. 

A sip, then two, settles a gnawing in your stomach you only notice once it passes. 

Intolerable, you muse, downing what remains in the glass. The beverage is sweet, almost as sweet as the air outside is cold. Too quiet. Where are -

A rush of air and sliding metal breaks the silence. Glass in hand, your eyes narrow over the rim at the assistant who scuttles in. This one has been particularly insipid since her arrival. The daughter of someone marginally important, she is small and hunched shouldered -- she hasn’t learned, not like you did, and a part of you suspects she never will. 

She stops just short of where the tile begins and as she does, your eyes track down her uniform to a pair of shoes that have never been polished. Stars help her. 

In a quavering voice, she asks, “Madam?”

You raise a brow. 

“We’ve received word. The transport with the troopers has requested permission to land. They’re on their way.”

You set the glass aside, gingerly, its bottom barely clacking against the tray atop the cart. Republic troopers. A battering ram when a scalpel is needed. 

“Ah, the Senate’s grand favor,” you murmur. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

So many years spent with watchful eyes on you has made you good at hiding your frustrations. You swallow a sigh before it ever rises and allow yourself a brief moment to thumb the crystalline edge of the glass. The senator had warned you. 

Your voice is quiet as you instruct the girl, “Get out.”

She scurries gracelessly back through the door. It is an improvement; the last time she had squeaked pitifully before leaving. Perhaps you should have enjoyed the alcohol while you could. If this goes badly, all these nice things, all this luxury will be reassigned, a new name on the door. Such is the way of things -- you know the warnings well.  

Until forty-eight hours ago, they had been going so smoothly. An unfamiliar voice at the back of your mind whispers at you. Had you gotten complacent? You never get complacent. You had been warned for star’s sake. Senator Clovis had been all too clear that vaults here on Scipio were being targeted. You had taken that to mean the transports would be targeted as well. Credits were valuable, gold was valuable, as were artifacts and treasures. The Clan stored it all.  

But most valuable of all were and would always be secrets.

And secrets...you were very good at secrets. Finding them. Keeping them. Exposing them. 

The hand on the glass tightens and through touch or through sound, you sense that just a little more pressure will splinter it. Gently, you lift your fingers. 

You’ve got enough messes to clean up already.

.

…………….

.

Two of his brothers look unhappy. Hunter suspects he, too, looks unhappy. Only Crosshair remains unaffected, toothpick lolling from one corner of the man’s thin mouth to the other as he watches the sky shift from icy atmo to the very tips of craggy mountains. 

“Looks cold,” rumbles Wrecker from his seat, thick legs kicking out miserably. “Nobody said it was gonna be cold.”

From the pilot’s chair, Tech glances at Hunter, sitting in the co-pilot’s seat. Now that Hunter can see him full-on, rather than that goggle-obscured side-profile of his, he realizes that he’d been right. Even Tech is unhappy with the assigned locale. Still, the man sniffs and turns back to navigating the gunship.

“It is Scipio,” says Tech. 

“What’s that got to do with anything? Just sayin’, a little warning might’ve been nice.”

Crosshair shifts, the movement almost imperceptible, just enough that Hunter knows the sniper is asking for his attention. “I believe Hunter was preoccupied with warning us about the...what was it you called them, Hunter? Denizens?” 

“The word does have an apt connotation for the Banking Clan,” Tech mutters. He gives Hunter another look, this one says that he’s no more excited about the prospect than Hunter has been. 

Their mission brief had been a strange one. It wasn’t their usual brand of run-and-gun from the sound of things, but it was important to all the right people, and they needed guaranteed success. “Go to Scipio, meet the point of contact, establish the responsible party, recover the stolen data.” It was more or less all they had been told. 

Hunter knows his frown is getting deeper, sinking into the lines on his face -- he can feel it pulling at his bandana, and he raises a hand to scrub it away.

“Who is this contact anyway?” asks Crosshair. “You never said.”

“Because I wasn’t told a name. We’re to meet with the, and I quote, ‘Principal Trades Specialist for the InterGalactic Banking Clan.’”

“Trades specialist?” Crosshair plucks his toothpick from between his teeth and for a moment, it takes Hunter longer than he would like to decipher the look on the man’s face. He doesn’t look unhappy...he looks intrigued. Crosshair replaces the toothpick, then says, “Sounds like a fancy way of saying ‘corporate spy.’”

“Head corporate spy,” Tech says, “If he’s - “

“She, from what I’m told,” corrects Hunter. His frown has yet to go anywhere, so he lets it stay, his hand falling to his lap.

Tech nods. “If she is based here on Scipio, we’re dealing with someone who needs to be watched closely. Some important players are based on this planet.”

Crosshair folds his arms. “Did the spy part give it away, Tech?”

“The Banking Clan part, actually,” Tech replies dryly, “We’ve dealt with spies before. The IGBC is something different. It is...new territory.”

“We’ve also dealt with new territory before.” At this, Hunter hears them all shift, their quick heartbeats settling into a familiar, all’s-well rhythm. His, too, follows. Just in time, it would seem, for the comms to squawk at them as the Marauder banks left and begins its final descent to the landing pad. He stands from the co-pilots seat, the faint tilt of the floor beneath him a familiar calm before the inevitable storm. He looks to Wrecker, who shakes his head, and then offers a grin. 

“Might be fun. Never clobbered bad guys with snowballs before.”

There’s a snort from Tech and despite himself, Hunter smiles. 

.

**************************************

.

Ten minutes later, they are suited up and disembarking into a cloud of snow flurries and ice crystals. The Banking Clan’s guards are as heavily armored as some of the Separatist patrols Hunter’s encountered. He scowls beneath his helmet. This should be a job for Jedi -- if the Jedi weren’t all dispatched to the war front.   

Soldiers...they don’t deal with these sorts of people. Not well and not effectively. Too much bad blood between the Republic and profiteers like these.

He motions at his brothers to close ranks, their familiar presences a comforting reminder that this isn’t anything new, not really. It’s a mission like any other. 

As the frosted cloud clears ahead of them, the guards, in their gilt armor and insulated cloaks, make way, too much way, Hunter thinks, for the clearance to be for a group of Republic troopers.

Then he sees her.

Half camouflaged by the swirling winds and clad in half a dozen shades of gray and silver, her shoulders draped in white fur, she stands waiting for them, her hands clasped serenely in front of her. She could be a diplomat, a Jedi even, if not for the gleam in her eye. It’s a cold thing, sharper and as frostbitten as this frozen world itself. 

He’s not the only one to have noticed. Beside him, Hunter hears Crosshair draw in an appreciative breath so quiet no one without incredible senses would notice it. In his periphery, he catches an almost imperceptible twitch of Tech’s helmet as his brother spares him a questioning glance. 

When the woman speaks, her voice is crisp, professional. “Clone Force 99, welcome.” She does not smile, but her eyes track to each of them, lingering too long, as though somehow looking past the armor to the men beneath. She introduces herself with a name that sounds too soft for the title she wears. Then, she gives them a crystalline smile. “But you may call me Trader, if you please.”

“Trader?” It is Wrecker who asks the question, finally distracted from the snow and ice. “Sounds like…”

Another smile, this one not quite as cool as the first. Amused, Hunter thinks, though how benign that amusement is, he can’t tell, and it makes his skin itch beneath his blacks. “Like traitor?” she hums. “I suppose it does, doesn’t it?” 

She steps aside and gestures at them to follow. “With me, gentlemen. First, we’ve a meeting. Afterwards, we will take a tram to the vaults, then from there, speeders to the site of the incident.”

“‘Incident’ is an awful clean way to say ‘bloody heist,’” says Hunter as he moves to follow. Her gaze slides to him, her stride never slowing. Shoulder to shoulder with the woman, he has the uncomfortable instinct to slow his steps, to lag behind, as though if he isn’t careful, a blade might slide between his ribs on a blink. He pushes aside the urge, then asks, “How many people were lost?”

“Enough,” she replies. “One could even say too many.”

“But not you?”

“Must someone say something for you to believe they think it?”

Behind him, Crosshair snorts, but does not comment. Hunter lets the statement slide, though the itch he’d felt earlier is heating to a burn now. Together, she leads them through a set of gleaming durasteel doors into a foyer as stark as it is grand. 

“Proceed through those doors.” She crooks a finger to their left. “Senator Amidala has requested a meeting in...eighteen minutes. I will join you shortly.”

Wrecker whistles, the sound too sharp to come from beneath his helmet, and Hunter glances back to see that the man has removed it, his one good eye roving the pristine interior. With a sigh, Hunter follows suit. It’s not exactly warm here, but out from the planet’s whipping winds, it’s close enough that even he can fool his sensitive skin into enjoying it. Soon, they are all unmasked. The woman - Trader - lingers long enough to observe them.

Her expression is...unreadable. There is no twinkle of bemusement in her eyes, not the first twitch of surprise. Normally, when the helmets come off, it gets at least some sort of reaction, gives him some kind of measure. 

Now, the only read Hunter gets is the fact that he can’t get a read on her -- and that, he doesn’t like. There’s no trusting people who have become so numb. 

Her gaze slips between Crosshair and Tech, where it lingers on the latter for seconds longer than it had the rest of them. Something in her frigid eyes warms, the ice of her expression cracking just enough that she might be pleased by what she sees. And Tech...for all his usual detachment, has no datapad to bury his nose in now, and he notices. 

Hunter thinks the woman lets him notice. 

His brother stands a little straighter, eyes flicking nervously to Hunter behind his goggles. Stumped, for lack of a better word. For once, flat out puzzled. 

Then, without a word, Trader looks back to Hunter and inclines her head. “Stay warm, gentlemen. I will see you soon.”

She is gone behind a pair of adjacent doors without another word. 

No sooner do they watch the durasteel whisper shut, than does Wrecker drive his arm into Tech’s side with a chuckle. Tech winces with a hiss and waves the man away. 

“Heh, she likes you.”

“I hoped it was my imagination.” Crosshair’s lip curls, his eyes narrowing until he looks away, and Hunter wonders if they’ve been reflected back at him through the shine of Tech’s goggles.

Tech runs a hand over the back of his head. “What do you think, Hunter?”

“I think she’s Banking Clan, through and through. We’re not among friends here.”

“If we let her alone with Tech, things might get friendlier -”

“Wrecker.” 

Hunter scowls. Another voice has echoed his own and he looks to see Crosshair, arms folded, rocking back on a foot to glare at the wampa-sized man. 

Tech clears his throat. “Perhaps we should wait in the briefing room?”

His heart rate, harder to hear away from the tight confines of the Marauder, sounds schoolboy quick and Hunter wishes, not for the first time, that his brother was more inclined to find company in their off-duty hours than he was. Pretty faces were fine - Hunter himself was inclined to enjoy them - but something about the mask this one wore was dangerous.

Wrecker’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. “Did she say Senator Amidala was waiting?”

“She did. The commander warned us the Senate was at play here.”

“That’s not our usual playground though, is it?” Crosshair is still scowling, his arms folded more tightly now than they had been. All that characteristic suspicion exacerbated by annoyance that has set in and won’t leave him. It makes his eyes hard, his narrow features sharpened and cold beneath the glare of sunlight on durasteel. 

Hunter shakes his head. “It’s not, but I feel better knowing Amidala’s behind us on this.”

“That makes one of us,” says Crosshair.

“Two,” Tech interrupts, his voice crisp; back to himself, Hunter realizes, his relief warm down to his fingertips, until he isn’t sure why he’d been worried in the first place.

“Three! I like Amidala.” 

“We know, Wrecker.” Tech’s smile is gentle, even as he rolls his eyes. “The poster by your bed speaks for itself.” 

Hunter’s gaze slides to his remaining brother, the smile that had spread turning crooked, then fading. “Crosshair?” 

It’s always been an unsettling characteristic of Crosshair’s that his eyes, as brown as all of theirs, manage to be so very cold when the mood hits him. The look in them is not unlike what he had witnessed in the woman. 

The observation tightens Hunter’s throat and he swallows it, turning away, and hopes not to notice it again.

[perahn]

@bettydice said: 9, Khem&Shay

So I cheated a little on this one. A first attempt with the shuffle turned up Caulk Your Wagon, from ‘The Trail to Oregon’, which is a hilarious song in context, but I couldn’t think of anything to do with it except Shay butchering an ox while Khem complained about the smell, which gains nothing by being a story instead of a sentence.

A second go produced Il Divo’s cover of All by Myself, which seemed more promising.

There is so much she needs to do. There is the usual work with her spellbook, preparing for whatever problems the next day will bring (ridiculous things, situations that nobody would ever predict, and she never quite has what she needs); there is another Netherese tome, full of mysteries and challenges and lessons; there’s useless Gerald to contact and Celeste to teach; there’s other spells to master and recently acquired items she needs to investigate; there are conversations she is not yet ready to have, but could be working toward; and Khem is too restless for any of it.

She pushes back her chair roughly, stands up from her desk – duplicates, both, of those she sat at for twenty years. Too big at first, too small now, and she nearly hits her head on the bottom of the narrow bunk as she leaves the room without looking back.

She takes the stairs two at a time, climbing until her legs ache with no clear destination in mind, which means, by the magic she herself wove into the mansion spell, that she goes nowhere at all. She should stop, clear her mind, decide whether she wants to fly among the stars of her dreaming in the observatory, or walk so deep into the library that she finds whatever hisses and whispers in the shadows between the shelves, or let the simulacrum of Mistress Zhanti beat new bruises into her foolish hide… or she could fly on griffin-back with Katy, drink with Harper… probably not. They’ll be curled up together somewhere, after the day they’d had, and that’s no place for her.

She keeps climbing, faster and faster, breath coming quick and heavy, fingers curled tightly into fists and an emptiness driving her onward, an ache she doesn’t know how to assuage. There, she tells her house, her staircase. Take me where I can find an answer to that.

The steps make another full circle and suddenly terminate on a landing.

Oh, Khem thinks. She should have known.

This door and the place behind it have been here since the very first time she cast the spell. She’s never sought them out, never looked at her handiwork. They had simply existed, held secret by the fact that nobody knew to look, and there are only two people the door will open for anyway. The first stands in front of it, palm pressed against the varnished wood. Her eyes are fixed on the plaque that bears only the name of the second. The one the room was created for.

It says: Shay.

Khem takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and steps through the closed door.

Her eyes open onto a semi-tamed wilderness, a riotous profusion of flowers, trees and mushrooms. Every plant she has ever seen is represented here, awaiting Shay’s hand to turn them into an orderly and ornamental garden, or into dense thickets of floral defense. Whatever she wishes.

The earth smells of thick dew, evaporating in the slow warmth of a fine spring morning; the breeze teases wisps of cloud over the rising sun; somewhere in the distance birds are singing and the waterfalls laughs over rocks. Those details seems right, as far as she can see, but they’re the easy ones. Frowning, Khem lays aside her boots and presses her bare feet into the damp soil of the narrow path to the waterfall. She hasn’t done this much out in reality, not enough to be certain she’s replicated it correctly for Shay.

She walks, slowly now, concentrating on what her senses are telling her and perfecting the details of the extraplanar space. Now and again a carnivorous plant takes a swipe at her, but they must obey her will and thus always miss; Khem doesn’t even flinch. Near the waterfall, the spray soaks the path into dark mud, and the footing becomes less certain. The sensation isn’t really pleasant, for all its authenticity, and so Khem forbids the spray from drifting beyond the shallow pool at the waterfall’s base – at least, after it washes her muddy footprints from the line of flat, sunwarmed rocks.

The water laps around her ankles, no more than pleasantly cool, and the hem of her robe grows heavy with it as Khem walks on. Tiny fish flash silver against the sandy bottom; disturbed by her passing, they flee for the cluster of water lilies. Khem can’t remember Shay ever expressing an opinion on fish, so possibly they’re superfluous, but for now she lets them stay. The ripples are convincing, eddying out from Khem and from the waterfall.

Khem steps into it. Water pummels her bare head, her shoulders, saturates her robe instantly, and the uniform is cursed heavy when it’s wet, but Khem pushes that aside. Her hand makes a twisting motion. The force of the water increases until it stings on skin and threatens to drive her down – too much, too far, but it is a cleaner ache than the one that drove her here and a simpler one to endure. It distracts – but it doesn’t really change anything, Khem knows, and she adjusts it back to something strong enough to relieve muscular tension without hurting before she steps out of the curtain of water and into the cave behind it.

It should be dark, and in a way it is: Khem cheated with the lighting here as she did in Katy’s room.  The visible light sources don’t account for the clarity of vision available. There are a few brackets of fungi gleaming palely against the smooth rock walls and a small fire dancing in its centre, but the shadows are softer than they should be. The alchemical laboratory against one wall, for example, is perfectly visible in every detail, and so are the jars of reagents and monster relics labelled in small, neat handwriting. It should be Shay’s, perhaps, but such education as Shay was permitted was hardly focused on legibility; she’s better off with Khem’s labelling.

The cave is both drier and warmer than a hollow of rock behind a waterfall should be – perfectly comfortable, in fact, even though Khem is still soaked through. It’s no climate for the bed of soft, thick moss she sits down on, runs a hand over. Yes… this would probably do. Shay had avoided her bed in Skullport, preferring to sleep in front of the fire with Twitch; the moss seemed like an appropriate compromise, and it is as comfortable as any bed Khem’s ever slept in.

Khem lets out a long breath, hands flat on the moss. She has been busy – has barely even needed to find work to keep herself busy. Katy has needed her, and Harper has… well, Harper has been grateful for the little she’s been able to do, but dealing with the needs of a new-made vampire and securing a cure for her is much simpler than negotiating with a sekhme-at. Onora has left her little space to concern herself with much beyond necessities. But Onora is dead now, and Katy is alive again, and Cort is back in Arrabar. True, he’s left more damage behind him; true, Katy is embroiled in the will of Mielikki; true, corpsefucking Cyric seems to want Khem for something, which is scarcely less terrifying a prospect than his personal wrath. Khem is still busy, but tonight it has become impossible to deny or ignore how much she misses Shay.

It doesn’t make a lot of sense. Five years ago she was barely aware that any such person existed. Two years ago, she was a valued ally, but Khem was quite prepared to leave her behind. In the weeks before she left, they’d barely talked – well, they’d never really talked, Khem being too quick to simply reach into Shay’s mind and extract what she wanted to know. But she had trusted Shay, she had loved her, she had wanted Shay to have what would make her safe and happy, and she had let Shay walk away without a word to hold her.

Now Khem sits, dripping, among a triumph of spellcasting, and misses her.  She’s not used to this. A Red Wizard is a solitary creature. Fine, Khem is no longer quite that now, and she’s not alone: she still has Katy and Harper, and they mean more to her than she’d ever imagined others could, but it’s not enough. She wants Shay here, in this room Khem created to please her. Even if they don’t talk. Even if Shay opens her mind to Harper and spends her rare smiles on Katy alone.

Khem curls her fingers deep into the moss, tearing muddy holes into the lush green. A flick of her will grows the moss thick and tough, curling firmly around her wrists. Every wizard fears the capture of their hands, being unable to lift them into the fluid gestures of spellcasting: Khem herself can only endure it for a little over two minutes, on a good day.

This isn’t a good day, and she can feel the panic rising, quickening her breath, tight in her throat, beading on her brow. But if her hands were free at this moment, she would call to Shay, beg her to return, tell her Khem needed her…and she must not. Shay has to be free to choose.

Which means Khem has to go, has to get out of this place that speaks of Shay in every fireflicker and leafrustle. She wrenches clear of the moss, leaves it regrowing, and runs back towards the door. She’s hampered by her wet skirts, by the returning ache in her calves, and nearly stumbles over her shoes, but she doesn’t cast.

Nobody sees me, she tells the house, and begins again to climb stairs that lead nowhere.

[ironstrange-is-the-endgame]

2019 Fic Review

thanks to @strangemischief for the tag

1. Fics Completed This Year (jut the finished ones and from January to December)

And maybe I've always been in love with you

Scarred chest and broken mind

Can we live that real life

The Matchmakers Team

I would whisper words, singin' you to sleep

Dreams start their drifting & you hear a lullaby

Secrets that are not meant to last

You're making the typical me break my typical rules

feeling so high, but too far away to hold me

I've been afraid, don't wanna fade out of my body

That's what you get for waking up in Vegas

It's crucial that you see the truth

The worst and the best idea

'Cause people believe That they're gonna get away for the summer But you and I, we live and die

Flip a grin, shake a thing, name a shame

Romantic confessions are overrated

And yet a masterpiece, and yet I'm half-diseased

And in the end, it is about you.

And if yours is the last voice I hear, I'll die happy

You were dancing in your tube socks in our hotel room, flashing those eyes like highway signs

Promise you'll remember that you're mine

Giving up control

There's nothing I want but money and time 

I need another story, somethin' to get off my chest

You're not ready for what's commin'

In your eyes there was an honesty no lies but you weren't free

You should know you're beautiful just the way you are

If you were ever in doubt, don't sell yourself short, you might be bulletproof

And maybe you're not the villain, maybe you are the hero

'Cause I can't help my mind from going there

I'm looking for someone who speaks my language, someone to ride this ride with me

I love the sound of happiness

You rest your head and turn the light on, if only I could wish your kiss

To make a name you pay the price, you give your life, no other way

I'm still comparing your past to my future

Did you loose what won't return?

The cause and effects when life interferes

Who lives, who dies, who tells the story

Tell me what you need I'll give you everything I can

The only person who matters

Some scars are deeper than they seem

Boyfriends' relics and other Avengers-worthy things

I’ve been questioning when you’re gonna see I’m not part of your machine

Feels like I'm falling into a world I can't control

Help me piece it all together before it falls apart

Soul broken

You are a sweet relief, you save me from my brain

I think there's a flaw in my code

I'd been down, give me some space, you don't know what's in my brain

So many questionable choices, we love the sound that our voices make

we can do anything if we put out minds on it

Wonderin' if I could sneak out the black

A simpler life, an odder relationship

Who has the knowledge and wisdom Tell me who'll be the hero to protect the kingdom

2. Words Written: 168397 between published WIPs and completed fic.

3. Most Popular Fic:  for hits People come and people go, the trouble is that sometimes you don’t know who is meant for you while for kudos Dreams start their drifting & you hear a lullaby

4. Personal Favorite: I have no fucking clue, probably I'd been down, give me some space, you don't know what's in my brain

5. Favorite Scene: “I’m offended, and I’m sure Carol would be as well if she heard what you said about her powers,” Tony smirked and Stephen found astonish how the man could go from serious to a complete playful tone in zero time. That reminded Stephen why he didn’t need to complicate things. Yes, he was probably gone for the man, but he needed all the friends he could get, and making things weird between them was the best way to walk out Stark’s life. He didn’t want that. “Will you ever stop to think that much? Stephen, people like you for who you are, not because you can hold a fucking river with a single hand. Or because you can create a shield against the power of six Infinity Stones, or because you brought everyone back from Halloween Town dimension. People like you because you are smart and funny, and a person who can give advice, and someone who really listens to others’ problems. And because you have a Cloak with a lot of personality.”

As if prompted, the Cloak moved over so that it could also cover Stark’s arm. Stephen had no idea of what he could tell. A part of him knew that, probably, but another, a bigger one, was well aware of the fact that he was nothing without magic. Tony’s smile was so sincere that he could believe that his words were honest too.

“How?” He asked, almost a whisper.

“I don’t know about the others, but for me, it’s because of the snark. You are the first person ever capable of keeping up with me. But for Rhodey, but he’s always seen me as a little brother and turned me down every time I tried to make a move on him.” [ Who has the knowledge and wisdom Tell me who'll be the hero to protect the kingdom]

6. Biggest Challange: Writing smut, especially Giving up control and  I'm looking for someone who speaks my language, someone to ride this ride with me

7. Proudest Line: “Are you fine?” Rhodey asked her, after some minutes in which they just stay there like this. The man’s arm was around her waist, almost completely support her weight.

“Always,” She replied, almost immediately, without even giving the man the possibility to add something. She knew that she wasn’t, but she was just too stubborn to admit it.

“Do you want me to let you go?”

“No,” It was a plea, her eyes still fixed on Tony’s form, in the background, she could hear the siren from an ambulance.

When James answered her, Nat knew he was smirking: “I wasn’t expecting anything else.” [ Help me piece it all together before it falls apart]

8. Most Touching Comment: I don’t know... I received a lot of touching comments, I usually love when people compliment me on my insight on the characters and getting them in-character (which is something that is being extremely difficult for me recently and this is why I slowed down with the writer aspect of the fandom), but I can’t choose just one of these comments. 

9. Something That Inspired You: It mostly depends. It can be a tv series, a movie, a book, but also a lecture at the university or just walking around with the music in my earpieces. 

10. Proudest Accomplishment:  Again, writing smut which got more than 2 kudos is niece. 

11. 2020 Goals: post the Peter is Tony and May’s kid fic which is basically mcu rewritten with ironwidowstrange. 

tagging; @amethyst-noir @notjustamumj @drstrangefangirl8900

[shadows-twilight]

RWBY Volume 6, Chapter 2

My various thoughts and opinions on Chapter 2 of RWBY Volume 6, "Uncovered"

SPOILERS BELOW:

Wow, they didn't waste any time showing us that Cinder was alive, did they? I must say, the opening shot of her in the water was gorgeous enough that, were it not for the sake of spoilers, I would have said that it should have been in the opening.

So, the only thing keeping people out of this super secret and super important vault that contains one of the most powerful artifacts known to man...is a very thin wall of rock? By a beach that anyone can just wander onto? At the base of a school that houses this world's equivalent to superheroes? Great security, Oz, really knocked that one out of the park.

Hmm, some random woman dressed exactly like the mysterious hooded woman from the opening has approached Cinder out of concern. Well surely she will decide to take Cinder home and nurse her back to health, an act of kindness that will surely touch Cinder's heart and put her onto the path of redemptiohaHaHAHAHAHAHAHA, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I tried, I couldn't do it. Nah, Cinder totes kills her and steals her clothes.

Ahh, I see the exposition house gets one last hurrah before we depart it completely. For some reason, the sitting around and talking doesn't seem as bad here. Probably because they're not just sitting around, but actually doing stuff while they're conversing, like wandering around and packing, making the conversation seem a little more natural.

So, did Yang not tell anyone who the Spring Maiden was? Considering the reaction she and the others have had to Ozpin's secrets, I can't help but feel that this will come back to bite her in the end.

So, the Lantern has the power to answer three questions, that are specified to not be wishes. I guess this means that the Relics won't just be mere MacGuffin's, but interesting allegories themselves. Now I find myself far more curious about the other three.

Despite Maria's comment, I have a feeling she is far from defenseless. Also, apparently Calavera means 'skull'. I did not know that, but I guess that's what I get for being a monolingual dumbass. I wonder if that's a hint towards her character allusion, because as it stands I haven't the first clue.

Ok Ozpin, I'm sure you have some explanation for not telling them about the Relic, but surely someone as old and experienced as you is familiar with the concept of a "Lie of Omission". You know, I get that this scene is supposed to frame Ozpin as the bad guy for keeping his secrets, but to be honest I can't help but sympathize with him. On one hand, I can't really sit here and blame Team RWBY and Qrow for their reactions, it always sucks to hear that someone doesn't trust you, but then you look at it from Ozpin's point of view. He's been fighting this war for countless years, and over those year's he's probably gone through dozens of Team RWBY's, STRQ's, Glynda's, and so on, and over those years, it makes sense to say that he's seen plenty of his allies turn against him. It makes complete sense to me that it would weigh on him, and create no short of trust issues, regardless of his overall optimism towards humanity. Despite the harshness of his actions, I can't help but feel that they're justified...

...Ooooooor at least that's what I would be thinking, had it not been for everything that happens afterward. As much as I feel that Ozpin isn't really a bad guy, and that everything I said before is true, his intense insistence to keep the Relic from Team RWBY and preventing them from using it, as well as Oscar's comment about what he's hiding, definitely screams that there's more to it than he's letting on. Oscar and everyone freaking out about it and throwing that trust to the wind was more or less reasonable. So there's an actual entity in the Relic, and her name is Jinn? Wow, they weren't even trying to be subtle about this one, were they. Are you sure you just have to say her name? You don't have to, I don't know, give it a rub, or anything?

Holy crap, the Genie allegory is the lady from the statue at Haven and- woah...um...wow...uh...what's the general age range of this show's audience, because I think some of the younger viewers might have just received one hell of a sexual awakening. Rule 34 is certainly going to have a field day with that one.

"Ten Thooouuusand years will give you such a crick in the neck." Oh don't look at me that way, you know and every crack video maker in the FNDM was thinking it too.

And back to Cinder. I must say, the 'Wanted' bulletin intrigues me. Did the public at large really know who they were before? Like, I know the White Fang was blamed for the Fall of Beacon, but was Cinder's crew named as well? Feels almost weird having our shadow villains being named so publicly.

You know, that symbol reminds me, I still haven't played the new Spider-Man game yet. Might have to pick that up next paycheck...

You know, outside of Maria, these character allusions are getting simpler. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, Genie, and now we have Little Miss Muffet. Seriously, she's even eating...well, I mean it could be curds, I don't know, might be yogurt or something, but still, seemingly dairy-based gooey stuff. Paired with the spider emblem, it's hard to miss.

So, is there any connection between this Malachite and the Malachite twins that worked for Junior? Ooh, it seems Cinder's battle with Raven shook her up pretty badly. I wonder what it was about a guy simply coming in that freaked her out, though.

Ooh, so Hazel and company's looking for Team RWBY/JNPR too? I wonder if dealing with him will be part of Team JNPR's arc.

Ooh, so even without prompting, Madame Jinn is already exposing more of Ozpin's lies, with Oz's attitude about it winning him zero favors. I mean, not even Qrow seems to be on his side right now, and I always thought he'd drank the kool-aid a long time ago.

Seeing WBY turn there weapons on Qrow, though. Oof.

So, this might be an awkward time to bring this up, but is anyone else curious as to why Maria doesn't seem to have more of a reaction to what's going on around her. I mean, they've been discussing Relic's, Lionheart, and a little boy possessed by a thousands of year old spirit right in front of her, and she doesn't seem even the slightest bit of fazed. Hell, even when they summon the frikkin' genie from the lamp, she simply seems almost as astounded as everyone else. How in the know is this woman?

You know, Oz, any sympathy I might have had for you just vanished with that reaction. I mean, I know we're pretty much reading your diary in front of the class here, but that was downright violent, and at Ruby no less

. Heh, I can already see the shippers having fun with which names the girls are calling out (checks the RWBY tag) Yep, they most certainly are.

Huh. All this time I thought Salem was the Wicked Witch of the West. Turns out she was Rapunzel. Looks like we know who the blonde from the opening is, at least. On a side note, someone  pointed out to me that "The Girl in the Tower" was one of the fairy tales that Pyrrha mentioned in Volume 3, alongside "The Two Brothers" and "The Four Maiden's". If this is the kind of stuff those fairy tales are, I can't wait to find out what "The Shallow Sea" is all about. Ahh yes, how could I forget the noble Rooster Teeth tradition of "cram as many cliffhangers as we can into these serialized bitches". Sigh, whelp, guess we'll find out the story next week.

[imhereforbvcky]

Watch Me Run - Part 7

Masterlist  -  Series Masterpage  -  Part 6  -  Part 8

Summary: You inherit a family relic that gives you the gift of foresight but there are others who are interested for more nefarious reasons. You turn to the Avengers for help. (Bucky x reader… eventually. I love a slow burn okay?!)

Prompt: The nightmare comes frequently and at the same time every day - one day you manage to sleep peacefully only to be greeted with the morning news by a story of a gruesome murder. The victim is the same person that’d appeared in your dreams

Warnings: Light reference to murdery violence, probably swearing, the usual.

Word Count: 2993

A/N: Omfg this took me forever. I’m not even going to try to make excuses because they’re boring. I hope you enjoy despite the wait!

Loki sat still and poised as a statue upon the steps of an office building around the corner from your apartment. Though still and silent, he looked on the verge of springing forward at any moment. One hand clasped the scepter anchored into the concrete at a forward angle, the other gripping the edge of the stair upon which he barely sat. His feet were flat on the steps, staggered beneath him as if already mid-stride. Apprehension read like a neon sign through his coiled position and focused attention.

As he waited, watching the corner with fist clasped tight around the scepter, his mind swirled with possibility, opportunity, and with doubt. The longer he waited for Stark’s driver to return, the more agitated he became. Old warnings echoing from the past like a cold sharp blade, cutting at the seams of his plans.

“If you fail… there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he cannot find you. You think you know pain? He will make you long for something sweet as pain.”

Imprisonment on Asguard had been a luxury compared to what followed. The wrath of the Mad Titan, as The Other had predicted, came as a tidal wave. Unrelenting and cruel.

Only Loki’s newly acquired knowledge of a curious sorcerer in Nepal had spared him. For now. This sorcerer held records of a talisman that contained a glowing green stone that gave its wearer visions of the future. According to rumor, in the right hands, the stone could be used to manipulate time itself.

A new deal was struck and Loki found himself with a new and simpler purpose: find the talisman, return it to Thanos and his previous failure would be undone. Forgiven. But Loki was never one to pass up an opportunity, and he saw opportunity at every turn.

A slighted ruler without a kingdom, his ambition devoured any thought of mere survival and reviled the reality of his servitude to a Mad Titan. This new and powerful trinket shone like a beacon before him as his chance to correct the failure of the past.

He slammed a fist on the steps beside him before rising to walk quickly toward your apartment. It had been too long. The driver should have returned by now with the stone, as he’d instructed. Loki knew with a burning frustration that you must’ve slipped away. The stone had eluded him again. Just as it had with the old man on the ranch. This particular trinket was proving more slippery than the others.

He’d been playing it safe so far, knowing that the longer his presence went unnoticed, the better his chances of collecting all the necessary pieces in this high stakes game. When he’d noticed the unmistakable opulence of a Stark vehicle parked outside your apartment, he’d opted for the less personal approach and had quickly taken control of the driver and directed him to collect the stone. When the driver never made it to the drop off, Loki moved to circle back for answers.

By the time he arrived on your block there were at least 5 police vehicles blocking off the street and one ambulance with doors flung wide. The paramedics ambled around the vehicle, unhurried and waiting. The yard was swarming with law enforcement as they slipped in and out of your door.

In the interest of moving unnoticed, Loki had embodied his best visage of the local attire - a crisp black suit, with a dark dress shirt beneath, transforming the scepter into a sleek black and silver cane. As he moved past the scene, looking like any other gawker, he gripped a patrolman by the bicep and pushed him behind the boxy crime scene truck.

Before the officer could speak or protest Loki demanded, “What did you see?” and quickly pressed the base of his palm to the man’s forehead.

In an instant the memory flashed in both the officer’s and Loki’s mind.

The living room was a disaster. Broken frames and chairs lay strewn across the floor, large holes in the wall from elbows or fists or lamps-turned-weapons. The bedroom seemed intact aside from a smear of blood across the wall where someone had stumbled against it.

The bathroom looked like a bad TV drama. The shower curtain had torn half off the rod. There was blood everywhere, a knife and a bloody sweater lay amidst the chaos. Crime scene techs reached with gloved hands to place small yellow numbered placards at particular points around the room.

Most prominent was the man taking up nearly all of the floor space. Sprawled across the blood-stained tile, with vacant eyes and a seeping hole in his forehead lay the driver. There were two sets of footsteps through the sticky congealing blood,  both leading out of the room; one set smaller with shorter strides.

“Looks like one male, one female left the scene,” he overheard a tech remark casually to a detective. “Guy took a beating before your kill shot. Defensive wounds all over. His knuckles are pretty cut up, and he ain’t small…”

“So whoever we’re looking for is going to be pretty roughed up, too,” the detective surmised.

The tech nodded in agreement and shrugged. “Unless they’re enhanced.”

Loki let out a frustrated huff through his nose; teeth clenched tight as he pulled his hand away and the officer’s memory faded. Before the patrolman managed to sort out what had just occurred, Loki was gone.

You had escaped with the talisman. His best opportunity to find you with it had been just barely too little. Now he would need more resources and more time. Time for you to make a mistake.

Dorothy Coleman lived comfortably in a modest home outside of D.C. She was a firm woman, observant and quick. The type of person who had spent her whole life working, who had seen enough of the world to know exactly the types of people who inhabited it. Anyone on the right side of her snap judgements found unyielding loyalty and generosity. She looked out for her own but dared not expect the same in return.

The pounding on the door of the hotel room beside hers at 4:30 in the morning accompanied by a man’s frustrated pleas were nothing she hadn’t heard before. She rolled her eyes as she glanced at the clock and groaned at the now constant ache in her spine as she turned in bed, listening.

“Y/N, c’mon open the door!” The voice demanded amidst the heavy knocking. “We’re leaving. Now!”

Snap judgements. Dorothy did not like this one. Anyone giving her orders like that would’ve been chased off her doorstep with a string of curses and a glare whose heat very few had ever learned to withstand.

Dorothy was traveling for work and the walls of this mass-produced chain hotel were thin. From the far end of the room she just barely heard a muffled reply.

“No! What if–what if you’re not yourself? What if you’re…?”

“Drunk?” Dorothy grumbled to herself, finishing the sentence with a roll of her eyes. “Sweetie, it’s 4:30 in the morning; that man can’t be anything but trouble.”

“Because I’d be in there already if I wasn’t,” the man in the hall answered. His voice was so loud seeping through the cracks around the door. So determined. And your voice had been so shaky and small. Dorothy knew that sound. Fear.

Without a second thought she rolled out of bed, pulled a robe tight around her and yanked her door open.

“Is there a problem here?” she snapped, glaring fire at Bucky. With one hand on the door her other anchored on a cocked hip she made a show of scrutinizing him from head to toe with an arched eyebrow and an unimpressed frown.

“Not at all ma’am, sorry to wake you,” Bucky tried to placate her with half a smile, not turning the rest of his body even the slightest bit away from your door.

Dorothy didn’t move. Her glare continued to burn into him. The silence simmered between them and pushed against him almost palpably. It pressed a weight on his chest that urged him away or at least to speak.

“I just forgot my key,” he finally lied. Relenting to the pressure of this nearly ordinary suburban woman. “My girl’s in there, she’ll let me in.”

“I think she’s made it pretty clear she doesn’t want to let you in,” Dorothy insisted. She straightened her posture, one hand still firmly clenched around her own door handle lest this stranger turn on her. “Now, it’s 4:30 in the morning and you’re keeping us both up so I think you need to find other arrangements for the night.”

Bucky froze; staring at her for a long moment deciding what the hell he should do. He suppressed the first thought almost immediately. It was more of a reaction than a thought - procedural memory. It was the soldier’s training that told him she was an obstacle to be removed swiftly. In seconds he tried to reason that he needed only temporarily incapacitate her, needn’t hurt her badly. He didn’t want to hurt her at all. But he wasn’t charming like Tony and he wasn’t quick with a lie like Natasha.

In the seconds it took to cycle through his options you’d made your way to the door. Somehow every decision you made now seemed like it could potentially be your last. You could open the door to the gleaming blue eyes that would mean Loki had gotten to Bucky; that would mean your death. Or you could find the soft blue-grey that you so clearly needed. With shallow breaths you wrapped trembling fingers around the cold metal handle and pulled.

Bucky’s attention snapped back to your doorway and his arm pushed behind you to hold the door open, preventing any retreat away from him. Relief flooded your body momentarily like a warm drink on an empty aching stomach. Chasing the cold first from your shivering thoughts, then down your spine, sifting out to warm and calm every last muscle. The knot in your stomach loosened and you managed to breathe again.

All of the air rushed out of your lungs in a desperate sob as you thoughtlessly wrapped your arms around Bucky’s waist. You pressed your face against the rough fabric of his jacket. The zipper was cold and sharp on your skin, but you couldn’t be bothered to care. He was the only safety in your world at the moment and you thought you’d lost it all. The relief that he had found you and he was still himself was immeasurable and it far outweighed any sense of decorum.

Bucky glanced down at you for a moment with wide eyes, arms hovering in the air as he tried to reconcile your reaction. You’d been rightly suspicious and hesitant to open the door. He’d expected the apprehension to give way to anger over having been left on your own on the train. He’d come ready for an argument. Instead you were clinging to him like a frightened cat, fingers digging into the fabric at his back.

He glanced briefly at your neighbor for the night who stood watching the exchange carefully, unconvinced. Bucky’s arm eased gently around your shoulders as he tried to guide you back into the room. He needed you ready to move, and this was not going to work.

But Dorothy Coleman wasn’t giving in so easily.

“Miss, I… I can see you’re upset, but can I talk to you a moment?” she asked you gently. “Just us ladies?” She offered a warm smile and nodded her head back toward her door.

You glanced at Bucky quickly, looking for an answer but his face was stone. This woman was a loose end. If the pair of you left her unsatisfied and paranoid, she could call the police, complicate Bucky’s plan to disappear.

“O–okay,” you stammered and followed her into the relative privacy of her room. Bucky watched with apprehension as he weighed his options.

She sat you down on the end of her bed and took your hands. With concern in her eyes and seriousness in the stiffness of her features, she angled herself toward you.

“Honey, are you alright?”

You weren’t sure how to answer that. Dorothy’s observant gaze fell over the dark bruise erupting across your chest from the knee of Tony’s driver. Now, more than half a day later it was approaching the height of its saturation. It looked fresh and dark. She’d no doubt seen the blood drying in dark mats in the back of your hair while your face was buried in Bucky’s chest.

Between the wounds and Bucky’s pounding on your door, you knew exactly what conclusions this woman had drawn.

“I’ll be okay,” you tried your best to sound convincing. You were never a good liar.

“You don’t have to go with him,” she urged you. “There are resources, people who can help you get out. I can take you somewhere.”

“No, no,” you insisted, searching for any lie that would work and coming up empty. You were too stressed, too exhausted, too scared. The truth would have to do. “He’s helping me get out. I just met him and I’m a little leary of strangers.”

Dorothy nodded. She understood what that felt like but wasn’t wholly convinced. “If you’re sure?”

“Yes, Bucky’s helping me get away from…” you stopped short as you happened to glance at the bedside clock.

4:42am. The cold panic returned. It crept a slinking path up your spine, seizing every muscle along the way until your lungs tightened and you took in a sharp, desperate breath. In the dream you’d woken at precisely 5am and found the hotel manager already dead in the elevator, and in seconds Loki had closed in on you.

It was all different now. Unlike your dream, you were already awake, Bucky was here. But the time glared at you like a road flare, blinding and hot, screaming “Danger! Stay Away!”

“He’s–he’s coming…” you muttered as you turned back to Dorothy with a horrified and distant stare. “I have to go, right now. Lock your door. Don’t come out no matter what you think you hear!”

“I think I should call the police.” Her forehead wrinkled as you devolved into fear and she rose to reach for the phone.

“No!” you begged her, wringing your hands. “He can control them all I’m leaving now. You–you just stay in your room. If you see him… stay out of his way. He’s tall, dark hair, looks… you’ll know if you see him.”

“Even if he has the local police in his pocket, he doesn’t have any power over me.” Even if she couldn’t help you, you were grateful for this woman. She was so resolute, so bold. It gave you confidence. “I’m not from around here, that man ca–”

“He will kill you,” you interrupted, enunciating each word with an unwavering look straight in her eyes, “if you get in his way.”

She stopped speaking and only looked at you with renewed worry as you backed to the door. While you stepped through the threshold you turned back to her with imploring softness.

“Please.”

Dorothy Coleman sat for a long moment on the end of the bed, staring at the hotel room door. There had been nothing more to say as you slipped out, returning to the man with the metal fist who’d woken you both at 4:30 in the morning with his insistent pleas and harsh knocking on the flimsy aluminum door.

With restless fingers, she fidgeted over the loose button at the bottom of her sleeping shirt. Her gaze lingered on the yellowing hotel phone on the nightstand while she contemplated whether to call the authorities. Your warning weighed heavy on her mind, so she remained locked in place. The indecision eating at her as she heard the quick sound of footsteps moving swiftly away from her door.

She moved to the window and parted the curtains only enough to peer out into the dark quiet of the early morning. The tall streetlights in the parking lot made eerie yellow halos in the icy morning mist. Dense forest and thick underbrush met the edge of the pavement and immediately swallowed the swirling glow.

Just as she was about to turn away, you burst forth into the light of the entrance at the far end of the hotel. Bucky stood before you and paused a moment. Positioned carefully with you well behind him, his gaze swept the area before he plunged the both of you into the shadows with an unrelenting grip around your hand.

The flash of blue light out of the corner of her eye had not been warning enough for the violent pulse that radiated beneath her feet half a second later. The force rattled the water glasses on the dresser and shook the cheap reprinted art hanging in lightweight frames on the wall. The window warbled under the force of the vibration and Dorothy staggered back in fear.

Even as she stumbled backward until her knees hit the bed her eyes remained focused on the window. She had lost sight of the pair of you the moment she felt the force reverberate through the thin hotel walls. Whatever it was stole all of her attention and collected all of her fear into a central driving need.

With trembling hands and quaking knees, Dorothy reached for the hotel phone and dialed 911. She could no longer afford to hope it was the right call; she had to believe it would be. Uncertain what thunderous hell you had brought down on yourself, she knew that one man sweeping you into the pre-dawn shadows couldn’t possibly be enough to escape it.

Part 8

[batterymonster2021]

Shai NEW CLASS & June Keynote Updates Black Desert Online 2019

New Post has been published on https://hititem.kr/shai-new-class-june-keynote-updates-black-desert-online-2019/

Shai NEW CLASS & June Keynote Updates Black Desert Online 2019

What’s up guys, Pearl Abyss, the corporation at the back of Black desolate tract on-line today had a keynote presentation where they introduced upcoming planned content, shown some teasers and trailer and printed a brand new category coming very very quickly to the sport. Only a rapid video detailing what used to be recounted for you guys at present. Earlier than we begin I wanted to assert that I won’t play BDO anymore but i am nonetheless in the game and what they do, due to the fact I do nonetheless like the game and would return at any time if the rights matters alternate or are added.I do additionally want to say that with this keynote it does seem like they’re planning a more international unlock variation of the game and having content synced up throughout regions which is a particularly exceptional inspiration for many causes, one of the things I hate most about MMORPGs now days is that you simply always understand the whole lot that is coming on a month via month basis either in view that it is already out in one other vicinity or due to the fact that of public test realms and knowledge mining, on prime of this being up to now at the back of in content material and receiving things months later does make our areas consider like we don’t matter or we’re an afterthought. With PA self publishing the sport in many areas now, I did count on this to occur but we are going to see over the approaching months simply how serious they are about this. A global patch cycle adds somewhat extra of a shock detail to content material and i am hoping they do it right however we’ll see what occurs. I will attempt to handiest touch upon the extra most important stuff in the video so it can be no longer overly lengthy. I do feel it was once all in Korean from what I saw, with subtitles.So some data probably slighty off but i am using multiple distinct group sources to quote my expertise and will update in a later video if something hugely alterations. First up we now have the brand new type which is referred to as Shai. Something I recounted in my previous video about alterations i might like to look in BDO was once more staff content and more race form in playable characters and it looks like that is coming actual. The Shai is an lovely category which is utterly exceptional from what we’re used to in BDO as it’s a most commonly support centered category. It’s an even more youthful persona and once more a feminine persona, so as to a lot of your complaints that the devs center of attention on female characters and race locking yeah that is nonetheless going down. But for folks who already play BDO, new content is new content and you’ll be able to have already got approved that is just how it is.So the Shai will begin with master tier gathering and alchemy which is beautiful cool, just right ways to generate profits correct off the bat. They point out the category is generally help targeted and now not going to be very powerful as offense however is not going to be tremendous a ways in the back of different lessons in phrases of pve grinding speed. It is set to launch on June nineteenth and may have customization within the next patch of June 12th. New forms of donkey mounts are also introduced to the game which have precise talents handiest useable through the Shai type. It seems they’re meaning to expand the gameplay flavour and experience of the game with these newly added classes and plan to free up at least 1 per year which must constantly have extraordinary mechanics and appears, similar to dwarves and Rhutums. Honestly a pretty cool addition and we are going to see how the category performs. Looks as if they’re focusing more on team content with the addition of a pure help category like this although which is likely one of the game’s main flaws.The UI is to be updated wholly once once more, making it regular between the XBOX and laptop releases, a brand new updated enhancement UI is also deliberate. New PVE content material referred to as the altar of blood which is a tower defense like minigame for three plaayers the place they shield a relic from monsters which attempt to damage it. They’re pronouncing conversation and stratergy might be involved more so than gear, involves a ranking procedure. Not a nasty concept however as now we have seen with some of BDO’s implementation of prior just right suggestions it might finish up being utterly worthless or abandoned pretty quickly after like that silly musket minigame thing and the shadow arena so we will need to wait and see on this one. Node battle alterations are coming, making it extra newcomer friendly so smaller and weaker guilds can take part less complicated. Looking to make the sport more accessible for inexperienced persons is something I’ve observed them doing for a while now and with the sport being out for a whilst now and having endless equipment scaling this isn’t a nasty idea, the stat capped nodewars have been a step within the correct direction for me and expectantly they preserve this thought up.They may be planning to make more tiers of content material for more suitable or weaker guilds like we’ve now with tier 1 node wars the entire approach as much as fort sieges, although extra important points will come later in a seperate topic. Summer time updates deliberate are lifeskill enhancements, they may be trying to balance out the earnings between the lifeskills which I agree is a giant drawback, precise lifeskills aree undoubtedly worthless proper now except for the fun component. Additionally announcing lifeskill improvements won’t be colossal however will make being a bigger degree higher. Recommendations being floated around are extra things to do whenever you hit special phases reminiscent of being in a position to catch more fish, constructing plantations or ranches, upgrades to imperial supply and imperial crafting delivery. They may be looking to stability out grinding spots in order that folks don’t just grind at the equal spots causing congestion in these areas, the areas most persons grind being bandits, crescents, aakmaqn and hystria.Ash forest is being transformed to be a new end sport team grinding spot with a 310 ap and 400 dp requirements with buffed drops, this is set to unencumber in June. Loopy high standards and anything most persons will on no account get to, as I’ve mentioned before i’d love to peer extra crew content material for minimize tier gamers from to conclude and not simply keep adding on group content on the very top tier. More data on node and conquest wars, territory conflict function is anything they’ve mentioned before which used to be in actual fact calpheon v valencia faction established factor.It’s still within the works but they are specializing in node war alterations first. Now not so much acknowledged right here besides anything known as platoon subjugation where plaayers can send their characters every weekend to generate sales. No inspiration what this even approach but we will keep an eye fixed on it. They may be pronouncing they may spend more time testing matters so we do not get a repeat of the fight stability patches last 12 months that ruined the game for months and gave the impression tremendous 1/2 assed. Adding functionality for interacting with npcs while on a mount, making food cooldowns not ridicuously infuriating to preserve on top of, making bettering simpler in distinctive methods like growing dragon scale fossisl turn in from 20 to forty stacks.UI changes once more with debuffs and other buffs having their own bars, a good alternate when you consider that at the second your buff scale back debuff bar is solely ridiculous when fully buffed up. O’dyllita was deliberate for unencumber this yr but has been delayed considering that it wasn’t as excellent as they wanted it, this used to be a new field or map enlargement if i’m not mistaken. After this extra planned Sea content material, seeking to make the sea extra than just fishing or sea monster looking content. Changing how travelling on the sea works by adding in currents and wind instructional materials so that you could get a lift to how your boat strikes with clever planning, customizable ships with crew hire, extraordinary contraptions viable to add on…Quite cool thought but we’ll see the way it’s carried out.New ships being added, the carrack , galley and extra to come back including a ship currently in development known as the Panokseon which is an armored ship. New island added which doesn’t have a number of info in regards to the content incorporated however they mention histroy of Patrigio on one and crio and papu battle on an extra. Sailors you could add to your boat to shoot your cannons at the same time you journey on my own. Update will likely be released in two constituents, phase 1 will have a new ship and new islands, section 2 will characteristic new content material distinct to ocean exploration whatever that suggests. I agree ocean content material is beautiful barebones right now and it’s like half of the arena map being water, so fine to look they may be adding some content material there but we are going to see if it winds up being fluff or precise substance.On prime of this as a unique gift each person will receive a free wizard gosphy pet on june 12th so make certain you log in and get that. I feel that about covers the whole lot. I do know I had stated i’m accomplished with BDO however i’ll of course be returning to determine out these content material updates and performing some content material on these when you consider that this does sound like plenty of content material. One factor I’ve constantly said about Pearl Abyss and BDO is that they do add various stuff to their game and at the same time it would not at all times hit the mark, they do certainly try and maintain the game recent. I might no longer return to playing on a day-to-day basis however for all my BDO subs, that you may count on to see some more BDO associated content as this stuff releases. .

[itsiotrecords-blog]

http://ift.tt/2sOKWwn

With all the modern technology that’s available to us it’s easy to forget some of the older devices that were used just a few years ago but have now become obsolete. New pieces of hardware like smartphones combine the features of many different devices into one package, making the older technology less desirable. But even with the latest advances there are still some old technologies that are routinely used by a variety of people. Some users simply don’t see the need to move with the times, but other technologies are still in use for more elaborate and complex reasons.

#1 Windows XP Despite the fact that Windows XP was released in 2001, it’s still used on nearly 30% of all desktop computers in the world. While that wasn’t too much of a problem as late as the first half of 2014, Microsoft has since stopped offering support for the system. That means the software giant is no longer providing security patches and fixes, leaving computers running Windows XP vulnerable to attack. Microsoft has suggested that anyone running the old operating system upgrade to a newer version to negate the risk, but it’s not just desktop users that are at risk. What you may not know is that ATMs also have an operating system beneath the bank’s own software. There are around 420,000 ATMs in the United States, and almost all of them are still running Windows XP. This puts them at risk, too. Many banks are planning to upgrade to Windows 7, but the cost and time required to change each individual machine makes this a slow process.

#2 Floppy Disks Floppy disks are a relic of the 1980s when users only ever had to save a few kilobytes of data. Today the technology has been replaced by huge hard drives, CDs, USB flash drives, email and cloud storage that allow users to store thousands of gigabytes of information. However, that hasn’t stopped floppy disks from being in common use. Sony actually sold 12 million units in 2009 and they can still commonly be found in stores. The biggest buyers of these disks are businesses that still use old computers that can only accept older storage mediums. Until they upgrade to newer and more expensive hardware, they’re stuck using floppy disks. One of the biggest culprits in the United States is The Federal Register. Documents can only be sent to other agencies on certain types of media and upgrading to a secure email system is too expensive. This leaves government employees having to scan documents, save them to floppy disks and send them by courier to their destination.

#3 Dial-up Internet With high speed Internet access offered to users all over the country it might come as a surprise to learn that there’s still a significant number of people still using dial-up. But a study by the Pew Research Internet Project showed that 2% of Americans use dial-up. That’s around five million people still using modems to go online, often in rural areas. Another explanation shows that a huge proportion of people who subscribe to AOL’s dial-up service don’t realize that they don’t need it. Around 75% of subscribers to AOL have broadband as well, but are unaware that they can cancel their dial-up service and still access the Internet. These subscriptions amount for up to 80% of AOL’s profits, which seems incredibly sketchy.

#4 Dot Matrix Printers Those devices that would print noisily and painfully slowly onto hole-studded paper aren’t as rare as you might imagine. First introduced over 40 years ago, they became the standard printer for decades before being replaced by ink-jet and laser printers. Despite the new models being in common use, dot matrix printers can still be found in a variety of businesses up and down the United States. While they operate much more slowly than their modern counterparts, they do offer some advantages that certain companies require to run smoothly. Their biggest feature is the fact that they handle multi-part forms much more efficiently than laser or ink-jet printers. As they don’t make an impact to put the ink on the paper, they can’t imprint on multiple sheets of paper at the same time. Furthermore, dot matrix printers can also print on continuous paper rather than separate sheets.

#5 VHS Tapes VHS tapes were once the bastion of home entertainment. It was a simpler time when family room shelves were full of the clunky tapes and people would actually go to a store to rent videos. DVDs put an end to major film studios putting their movies onto VHS tapes in 2005, and now services like Netflix and Hulu are putting DVDs under pressure. Nevertheless, there’s still a large market for VHS tapes. Over 50% of all Americans still have a VCR according to research carried out in 2013, a drop from over 80% in 2005 but still relatively high. Online stores like Amazon and Wal-Mart also still sell blank tapes, suggesting that someone must be buying them. There’s also a large community in the United States that still buys and rents VHS Tapes for their media needs. The New York Times reported on older immigrants who preferred to watch their shows and movies on the tapes.

#6 Magnetic Stripe Bank Cards Most Americans are probably still using magnetic stripe debit and credit cards, which is incredibly outdated compared to the chip and PIN method used by most of the rest of the western world. The magnetic stripe system is far less secure — the large-scale theft of data from Target demonstrated this spectacularly earlier in the year. In the United States customers who want to purchase something with their card hand it to the cashier, who will swipe it and ask for a signature. The magnetic stripe that allows the card to be swiped is vulnerable to data being stolen very easily. Chip and PIN uses a much safer PIN to identify the user and the cashier never has to touch the card, stopping them from being able to swipe the card in a copying machine. Studies have shown that the embedded chip can help cut fraud by up to 80%. Luckily, both Visa and Mastercard have pledged to introduce the cards in the United States by the end of 2015.

#7 Phones Books Phone books are something that everyone has delivered to their door, yet with phone numbers able to be retrieved much quicker from a simple online search they’ve become obsolete. Seven out of every 10 Americans either never or very rarely use a phone book, making it something that the vast majority of people simply don’t need. But in most of the United States and many other countries they’re still delivered to the whole population. According to research carried out by the Iowa Policy Research Organization, stopping the production of phone books would save five million trees a year and significantly reduce the cost to dispose of the unwanted books. The research also reports that the vast majority of people do not want a phone book at all, with just 2% of those asked by AT&T saying they would like one delivered. The commonly proposed solution is to have an opt-in program rather than opt-out. Those that want a phone book can ask for it to be delivered rather than simply forcing the book on everyone.

#8 Telegrams Telegrams were the dominant method of communication for over a century before the advent of the telephone and later email, text messages and instant messaging. They were even responsible for people trying to create shorter and more concise messages, though Victor Hugo may have taken it too far asking about his latest book sales by telegramming his publisher “?” who simply replied “!”. Although telegram companies such as Western Union ceased their operations some time ago, there’s still a market for the service. The United States, Canada and the United Kingdom all have their own commercial telegram services. However, they’re mainly seen as a way of sending someone a novel or joke message for special events rather than a way to communicate. India operated a large telegram service that sent up to 5,000 messages every day until it shut down in 2013.

#9 Typewriters Now that almost everyone has access to a computer of some sort, you might think that typewriters would have been consigned to the attic. That’s not entirely true though — typewriters are still used by a significant number of writers in various fields. They’re useful in areas where an electricity supply may be erratic, such as in India where court typists use them. Author Will Self revealed that he now writes his first drafts on a typewriter. He claims that it forces the person to think more about what they’re writing as they can’t simply delete a sentence and start again. They also offer the ability to write without the distractions of things like Facebook and Twitter. Even more bizarrely, typewriters are seeing something of a revival in their use by government agencies. Both Russia and Germany have discussed using typewriters to help avoid leaks and spying that’s made possible with computers and laptops.

#10 CRT Televisions The majority of people watching television today will probably be doing so on a LCD or plasma set rather than an older CRT model. There are plenty of good reasons to upgrade, including the fact that CRT TVs are huge and incredibly heavy, taking up lots of room and making them difficult to move. But even with those disadvantages there’s still a market for the bulky television sets. Some consumers in Asia and South America often prefer CRT to plasma and LCD thanks to their low price. They’re also favored by some because they’re better able to handle multiple resolutions and display color more accurately. The biggest draw is to competitive gamers, who find it difficult to use modern televisions due to input lag. CRT TVs generally have a tiny amount of input lag compared to plasma and LCD sets, something that’s hugely important in rhythm and fighting games that demand high responsiveness.

Source: TopTenz

[1232andthinkingofyou]

The Captain

I took a deep breath as I walked towards an old iron gate I had entered a thousand times before. I stopped just before to gaze up at the sign that hung above the entry, McMartin Peace Camp. This hippie commune I had grown up on, been so desperate to leave as soon as I could, I never thought I would return. It was by no means an eternal Woodstock, but rather a ranch with few rules and many members. The faces were in a constant wave of change, vagrants took advantage of the camps arms open, hearts open mentality, but a few people had been there constantly since I found myself at the porch of Mr. McMartin. The man who held the biggest place in my mind was Carl Corbin, or The Captain as he had always wanted to be called. As luck would have it, The Captain was the first person who was alerted to my presence as I found myself wandering the familiar commune. Little dorms circled around gardens and fire pits, and the overwhelming smell of the honeysuckle vines covering the buildings drowned out the farm animal stench that wafted in from over the hills. The ranch itself was huge, and people who stayed very long were expected to earn their keep in the hills of Peace camp, doing whatever odd jobs necessary to keep the place up and running. The result was a peaceful, organic environment, with the sounds of children running and laughing intermingling with quiet music and the calls of animals in the distance. The sounds and smells and sights of this place jettisoned me back to a simpler time 5 years prior when all I wanted to do was leave. It was a big slice of karma that landed me here again, now realizing the beauty of camp. It was right then, as I was reeling in the memories, when I felt a strong hand land on my forearm. “Well look who found his-self back here at the farm! Been many a plow stroke, boy, and nary a letter to be found between!” The Captain had found his way over to me and was now greeting me in the way only he could. Growing up, my campmates and I would swap stories over fires and garden plots conjecturing where The Captain came from. Was he a pirate, an Irishman, a lunatic, or a poet? No one knew, but his unique dialect and grizzled appearance could weave propositions for eternity. I turned to him and smiled. He looked exactly the same as he did when I had left, like time overlooked him. It was another cheery anomaly of the ranch, people never aged. I would like to think that when people are truly at peace, their soul remains young, and their body is left in limbo. The Captain looked 65, with leathered skin, salt and pepper hair, and a cloudy left eye that added to his mystique, although no matter how many times the kids would ask, he would say “I’m as old as the soil I plow, and as long as I treat it good, it returns the favor.” “Hi, Captain. It has been a long time, hasn’t it? But,” I raised the bag in my hand in emphasis “camp is always going to be home. That’s what they always say, right?” It was true, from the minute you first set foot in the camp, its well-known you are always welcome back with open arms. I was grateful for that right about now; I was yearning for the place I could breathe easily like I once did. “That’s no tall tale for ya, that’s for sure and all! Come and sit, have youself a pint and a puff, fancy man. Tell me of yer travelin.” I was happy to oblige his offer, and soon I found myself leaned against a well-worn stump sipping a beer. The Captain filled a pipe to the brim with whatever he smoked today, and soon was ready to talk. The Captain was always ready to talk. “So what have ya gone and done to youself. Runt off with a lass half a decade ago and we nary hear from ya atall. Figurt ya been havin the time of ya young life, makin yer magic and moolah and maybe a youngin or three, but seens as ya got one bag and not a little skittler in sight, I must be a mistaken man. Have ya been to the moon, or are ya too good for we “smelly hippie peoples” tat ya were yellin to the gods about when ya left to drop us a declaration of your health?” His question was pointed enough to make me grimace. I had left in a loud mess, promising to go off and “be normal”; I had met Lindsey, a beautiful woman with promises galore, and the lure of suburbia was strong enough for me to cut ties with the only family I had ever known. I had bounced from homeless shelter to street corner before I finally found myself at the camp, and I had gotten spoiled to the life of the commune. No one looked down on me, I was given respect and work and a place to stay. It was amazing how little regard I had held for it once Lindsey convinced me that this was no real life to live. For a woman I had met at community college, her attitude suggested she already had a plan to better than everyone else. Her aloof charm had snagged my interest, and I proved myself malleable enough to earn her love. She had visited the camp once with me and made it clear that it was the only time. “Glen, those are not people, they’re animals. The kids don’t wear shoes, the men don’t have teeth, the women don’t wear bras, and nobody uses deodorant as far as I could tell. I don’t care what they told you they were, that’s a camp of Druggies and Do-Nothings, and I can’t tell my parents that you go back to Manson Land on holiday. Something has to give here, and don’t expect it to be my standards. You deserve better than that, whatever that is.” She lectured me with a faux air of concern and a tender grip on my hand. The manipulation rang in my ears now as I surveyed the camp. Sure, everyone here was cut from the roughest cloth, and maybe drugs and laziness were just threads of the fabric that held them here, but that same fabric was eager to become a blanket of warmth or a tablecloth to a stranger. No person here was ever in need, and I had never seen someone unhappy longer than due. That is, except for me. I felt my exit from the camp needed to be unforgettable, a show for Lindsey as I piled my few belongings into her car. I hurled condescension and insult to anyone who had ever set foot through that iron gate, and without so much as second look I slammed the door and drove off. “Look at them, Glen! Just smiling and waving. That’s how you know they aren’t right. They’re acting like they’ll see you again, like it’s some vacation.” Of course, everyone knows how those stories end. Lindsey didn’t like parts of me, and the more I changed to her model, the less I felt alive. And now I was back, and the thought of her chastising them, wishing me well off on my way, it made me scowl into the beer I was downing. “You know, Captain, you probably know the whole story. It’s the same one you’ve heard a thousand times from people who leave here mad and come back sad.”   “Oh, don’t beat youself up too bad boy, every robin sings the same song, but they all still fly into a fookin window once in they lives. The important thing is ya know where the glass is now.” I laughed and his eyes danced. He made things seem easy, and his advice was unforgettable as always. The Captain played many roles to the people in camp, one of the last people alive who remembered Collin McMartin, the farmer who left his ranch to the camp before passing. Now The Captain acted as a sort of an overseer, mostly to the crops and cattle, but also as a man of the people. From minister to medicine man, you could assign a title to The Captain and it would seem as if he had always worn that hat. All his abilities added to his mystique, a relic from the time when a Jack Of All Trades was alive and well. He leaned forward to me with a sneaky leer. “Boy, we all had our share of beauties come and try to straighten our spines and clean up our livers. But ya know what this old man has learnt? Thaint a single one of them ladies want us for what we gonna be til times old. Thas why ya find youself here again. But thas aboot nuff talk of the past and poor. Why don’t ya find youself a bed to sleep in. things mightn’t of changed but a smidge, and ya still got a place to lay yer head.” He winked and started to toss logs into a familiar stone ring. “We’s gonna have to have a bit of a get em all to celebrate ya comin to yer senses.” I smiled and started to wander off toward the blank, but was stopped by The Captain clearing his throat. “And, eh, boy.” He walked close and placed a loving hand on my shoulder. “Clear ya head of all that garbage she tolt ya aboot us and youself and everything else. If she saids ya were anyting less than perfect, well thas 4 horses worth of shit in a 2 horse stall. Thaint any point in wastin yer time in the past. Whats done is jus that, and naught a bit more. Yer home now, and thas that. Ya best be brining yer ass down there in a jiff though.” With that, I walked off towards my old bunk, feeling lighter with each step. I walked through the doorway and was overwhelmed with emotion. Nothing had been touched, nothing had been moved. They all knew I would be back. The only addition was a tiny pillow, embroidered and placed on my pillow. I picked it up with misty eyes and read the mantra it declared, summing up everything I knew. “May your lovers be frisky, may your trials be few, may your drinks be whisky, may your heart be renewed.”