#which is actually a maintenance door and not even powered

[logansdoll]

ivy, l. howlett (4)

landing on Ellis Island, it was finally time for you to show off what you could do

CW: canon typical violence, gore, guns, mutation, profanity, innuendos, mature themes, mentions of sex, y/n is very poison ivy-esque, jean grey exists but is not present, etc.

After figuring out Magneto and his gang were headed for Ellis Island, the four of you loaded into the Blackbird on a covert mission to stop him.

So after disembarking on the faraway side of the island, and deducing that the machine was hidden in the torch, you all stormed inside in an attempt to get you to the top.

Which meant passing through the museum.

Though it wasn't long before Logan caused a ruckus.

The moment he walked through the metal detectors, an alarm began to blare, forcing everyone to freeze.

Quickly, he drew his claws, stabbing the sensor until the alarm shut off, before turning to the rest of you.

Scott flashed him a cocky smirk, but Logan just flipped him off.

Rolling your eyes, you continued on, dipping in your belt pouches and sprinkling seeds along the carpet walkway, keeping your eyes peeled.

Though Logan was thoroughly confused.

"What's that?" he asked, brow raised as he walked up next to you.

"Our backup," you answered with a knowing grin, pressing ahead to spread some more.

And, as much as he willed them not to, his eyes traveled down your back, all the way to your leather clad ass.

He was only a man, and he had to say it looked absolutely fantastic, perfectly fit for your figure and moving so tantalizingly.

Trust, if you gave him a chance, he'd rock your—

A sharp jab to his side snapped him out of his reverie, its source being a particularly displeased woman with hair whiter than winter snow.

"You're drooling," she raised a brow, almost scolding.

She didn't need the professor to know what the man was thinking, and all that could be saved for after they rescued Rogue.

Before he could respond, he caught a whiff of something.

"There's someone here," he sniffed, brows furrowed.

"Where?" Scott asked.

"I don't know.... Keep your eye open."

"Logan."

But the man paid no mind, power-walking ahead and around the column in search of the source.

Though when he came back around, there was something different about him.

Something odd.

"I know there's someone here. I just can't see 'em."

He stalked toward Scott, his claws suddenly sprouting.

'The hell...'

Suddenly, another Logan tackled the other, the two tumbling into a maintenence room.

'Okay, what the actual hell...'

You three quickly followed, Scott unsure of which one to shoot as they stood off.

"Wait!" the both shouted in unison, their voices the same.

But one suddenly slashed the chain holding the door, slamming it shut right before your eyes.

"All right, back up," Scott ordered, holding the side of his goggles.

But before he could shoot it open, a familiar frog man suddenly swung over, knocking him into another room and kicking you and Ororo to the ground.

 Using his tongue, he slammed the door to Scott shut before wrapping it around your ankle and tossing you onto a higher level, sending you crashing into a display case.

'Bastard...'

But before you could even recover, he was already scaling the wall, having stuck some sort of adhesive saliva on Ororo's mouth to distract her.

Quickly, you pulled yourself up, but his tongue smacked you right back down, before grabbing your waist and tossing you into a nearby elevator shaft.

You hit the bottom with a sickening thud, hitting your head right on the concrete and splattering blood all over the floor.

That was the last straw.

Jaw locked tight with anger, you pushed yourself off the ground, fixing your neck with a disgusting crack as small as thin vines of ivy grew around your wound, quickly closing it.

"He's done."

Taking all of your pouches off your belt, you opened them up and flipped them upside down, dumping every seed in your arsenal on the ground.

And with a flick of your hand, they all shot up into the air, carrying you along with it.

When you reached the top of the shaft, your vines began to grow all over the place, two large ones completely ripping the doors open.

Toad's eyes narrowed, confused to see a gigantic lotus flower before him.

Until it bloomed, you emerging from its receptacle.

"Don't you people ever die?" he shouted, annoyed, as the stormed over.

Big mistake.

Instantly, a vine coiled around his body, tightening as you were carried toward him.

Your plants grew without control, overtaking everything on the upper levels and even encroaching on the lower.

Though you still approached the balcony with your new friend.

"Woah, woah, woah, slow your roll, love," he began to panic, jolting with fear as even larger vines burst through the windows, the flora following you outside. 

The reality of his situation was finally sinking in.

"You can't kill me! That old man o' yours don't allow it!"

You stared at him, eyes cold and dead serious as a humongous Venus Flytrap grew at your side.

"Who said I was going to kill you?"

Terrified, his eyes turned to saucers, especially when it began to move closer.

Without hesitation, the vine binding him shifted its grip, tossing him into her jaws, which she snapped shut the moment he landed.

Of course, you really couldn't kill him, so you'd already given her precise instruction.

"You know what to do," you nodded to her, "Don't go too deep."

She gave you a wiggle of confirmation, before quickly growing toward the harbor, submerging herself and Toad underwater.

With that taken care of, your plants returned you indoors, bringing you toward the banister of the upper floor to look over, where the others seemed to be regrouping.

"You guys all right?" you asked as you descended.

Turning to you, Logan's eyes widened, surprised and quite fascinated.

He knew you could control plants, but he didn't think you'd have the whole damn jungle following you.

"She wasn't kidding..." he nodded, intrigued.

For Christ's sake, you were sitting in a huge flower like some woodland fairy.

"I took care of the toad guy," you reported, stepping out Lottie—the lotus.

"The shapeshifter's handled, too," Logan nodded, focusing back on the matter at hand.

"Prove it," Scott raised a brow, resting his fingers at the side of his goggles, ready to blast.

"You're a dick."

...

"Okay."

You rolled your eyes, turning toward the roof.

"If you ladies are done... there's a girl that needs saving."

Once you all finally made it to Lady Liberty's head, you looked around, only to find that the machine was already powering up within the flame of the torch.

"Everybody, get out of here," Logan stated, seriously.

"What is it?" Ororo asked.

"I can't move."

Suddenly, something shoved him up against the wall, pieces of metal flying from all directions to pin each and every one of you.

You, in particular, getting stuck in front of Scott.

And, of course, the man himself descending from a hole he made in the statue's head.

"Ah, my brothers. Welcome," Magneto smiled, turning to Logan, "Let's point those claws of yours in a safer direction."

Using his power, he forced Logan's fists to point toward his chest, bending some scrap metal to keep them there.

"And you," he turned to Scott, Sabretooth removing his goggles. "You'd better close your eyes."

"Storm, fry him," Scott ordered, his eyes screwed shut to keep from hurting you.

"Oh, yes. A bolt of lightening into a huge, copper conductor," Magneto agreed, sarcastically. "I thought you lived at a school."

"I've seen Senator Kelly," you blurted, hoping to divert his attention.

"So the good senator survived his fall and the swim to shore," he smiled, walking up to you. "He's become even more powerful than I could have imagined."

"He's dead," you corrected. "I saw him die. Like those people down there will die."

Knowingly, he leaned in closer.

"Are you sure that's what you saw?"

You scoffed, not even surprised by his indifference.

He didn't give two shits whether those people down there lived or died.

And he could see the realization all over your face.

"Why do none of you understand what I'm trying to do?" Magneto groaned, "Those people down there control our fate and the fate of every other mutant... Well, soon our fate will be theirs."

"Help!" Rogue cried, her voice muffled but not far away. "Please help me!"

"You're so full of shit," Logan glared, pissed. "If you were really so righteous, it'd be you in that thing."

"Help! Somebody help me!"

Magneto ignored the comment, instead floating up in the air to commence the process, leaving the rest of you to wait for the inevitable.

Although Logan didn't.

Suddenly, he let out a roar of fury, impaling himself with his own claws.

"Logan!" you exclaimed, eyes wide.

You knew he could heal, but that didn't mean it hurt any less.

But his doing so destroyed his binds, dropping him to the floor.

And he played dead for a moment, waiting until Sabretooth got close enough to lift him up, before stabbing him in the gut.

Sabretooth yowled with pain, tossing Logan through the hole and out on Lady Liberty's head to fight.

Which left you to finding some sort of way to escape.

Frantically, you used your power to call out to any sort of flora you could, cursing yourself when you couldn't find anything.

That is... until you felt a tiny wiggle from the corner.

'No way...'

You thanked practically every God in heaven that some contract worker was eating David seeds on the job, because there laid a perfectly intact sunflower seed on the ground.

Quickly, you grew it larger than the average sunflower,

Sabretooth dropped back in, eyes locked on you as he slowly approached.

He caressed his gnarled claw over your cheek, staring at you intently.

"You owe me a scream."

But before he could do anything, Logan dropped down right behind him.

"Hey, bub. I'm not finished with you yet," he growled, eyes flicking to you. "(y/n)."

"Scott, when I tell you, open your eyes," you instructed.

"No!"

"Trust me."

"You dropped something," Logan smirked, tossing you Scott's goggles.

Quickly, the sunflower caught them, angling them in front of your face just right.

"Now!"

Scott opened his eyes, the beams diverted toward Sabretooth, who was blasted clear into New York harbor.

'Oh, thank, God...'

You had no idea that was going to work.

"Thanks," Scott nodded as Logan cut him down, the large leaves of the sunflower pulling you free.

"Don't mention it," Logan assured, breaking Ororo free before turning toward the torch. "We gotta get her out of there."

"Scott, can you hit it?" you asked.

He attempted to aim, but it was no use.

"The rings are moving too fast," he denied.

"Just shoot it!" Logan exclaimed.

"I'll kill her!" Scott held firm, turning to Ororo. "Storm, can you get me up there?"

"I can't control it like that. You'd fly right over the torch."

"(y/n)?"

"Not in my range."

"Then let me do it," Logan stated, turning to Scott. "If I don't make it, then at least you can still blast the damn thing."

'Shit...'

Your weren't for this plan, but it seemed like you had no choice.

"I can get you up there," you sighed, growing Susana—the sunflower—slightly larger, until she was big enough to be stood on. "But she's small. So once you get there you're on your own."

He confirmed with a nod, his eyes looking at you with something almost indecipherable before stepping onto the flower.

Quickly, you grew her stem toward the machine, going higher and higher until he was close enough to jump on top of it.

And once he did, you returned her back to her normal state, thanking her gratefully for all her hard work before turning your attention to the sky.

Where Magneto was stopping Logan from destroying the machine.

"I have a clear shot," Scott reported, powering up his beam. "I'm taking it."

"Hurry!" Ororo rushed, the wave of blinding, white radiation already close to and nearly reaching the delegates of the summit.

With a quick, precise shot, Scott knocked him away, freeing Logan and allowing him to slash the controls, instantly dissipating the radiation.

Sighing with relief, you finally allowed your shoulders to sink, running a tired hand through your hair.

He did it.

The X-men had won the day.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Hidden Heir

Next ->

The Duke's family had very distinct eyes. It was genetic. An aggressively dominant trait at that, though it tended to die off, after a few generations out of the family. Supposedly a "blessing of the Gods". Spring to be exact. Bounty and luck. And the family certainly WAS bountiful.

In all the best and worst ways.

Wealth, corruption, children and bastards. It was a family so aggressively ALIVE, it could only be Spring's blessing that made them so. Pouring mania and madness into their veins like sweet sunlight. Whispering glory and riches, into power addled ears. They burst with life. Even as they endlessly destroyed themselves.

They were fictional.

Fascinating set dressings, for the stage play of someone else's story. Unimportant beyond their role in world building. As the origin story and power base of a character lead.

The Story ITSELF didn't even occur here. But rather, in the capital. Where the players of significance had gathered.

And I? Oh I was some minor antagonist, so insignificant to the plot, I genuinely could not remember which of seven different women I actually WAS. It had been an ongoing series. Otome Isekai. Reverse harem.

And I was either in the ORIGINAL original novel, the isekai'd plot novel, the anime adaption, OR a horrifying fever dream. My memory was largely useless. But? I did remember the characters. The archetypes.

And the fact, that the author had clearly been going though a Yandere phase.

My region of the Reverse Harem collect-o-thon? Horrifying! Red flags everywhere! No one here should date, leave room for fantasy Jesus, have we considered the joys of being a NUN? Yes. Yes I HAVE thought about it.

I was pretty sure I'd never make it. End up dead or captured by some sort of Nun Yandere. Or God Yandere. Possibly both. Assuming the bandit yanderes don't get me first. It... it was very stressful, living here.

Luckily? I knew when I could leave.

Or so I thought.

Because my house? The Dukedom? Had the "yandere butler who is secretly an heir." Who starts out with loyal dog behavior. A little highly possesive master and servant play. Then rises to become a Duke. Presumably? That is when I die. Or am disowned.

Death is most likely. Since my role was "minor antagonist" and I was to be mean to the sweet, earnest, Harem possessing Protagonist. Don't see WHY I would. Live and let live. Good for her etc etc. But regardless? Best to avoid, just in case.

The problem? Who do you think Mr Illegitimate Heir serves before she gets here? The OTHER possible heirs? Of course not! They'd "oops! Hunting accident~☆" him in a heart beat. Father isn't stupid. And my sisters? Issues. Violent, violent, issues.

He ends up with ME.

Father, WHY.

Obviously, I ignore him. I see nothing. I hear nothing. There is no war in Ba Sing Se. Mmmmm, tea. Good book. Ignore his creepy staring. His creepy, creepy staring.

Thankfully? I never really ran out of Totally Legitimate reasons to send him away to learn or do something. Proper tea making. Door maintenance. Eastern embroidery. Something, anything, and off you go! Bye bye~☆!

Unfortunately. He got faster. Better and better at learning. Mastering skills. Coming BACK. Showing up to stand in the corner, silent and looming, like an omen of death. Those damn eyes. The fucking family eyes!

I don't have them. And NOT as, my Father would have me believe, because I "take after my Mother". But because I am not genetically related to the Duke. I have GOLD eyes. When I wear the right shade of green? I pass. So I am condemned to forever wear green. Don't even really like it much. But?

I am pretty damn sure? I was just... pretty.

A lovely, orphaned, golden eyed child that COULD pass as his. So why not? It was a whim that payed off. Unlike in the original stories, I imagine. Since I am by FAR the best behaved child in this entire house. Ha! Suck it, bio-kids, the adopted one's the favorite! Maybe should have been less lil bitchs.

....I carefully do not say.

Those are INSIDE thoughts.

Fuck. He's still LOOMING. Isn't he? Go awaaaaaay. Where is Protag-chan? Come be doe eyed and busty! Trip adorably! Go "kyaaa~" or something! I feel body heat and freeze. He's leaning over my shoulder to pick up the teapot, pour me another cup. I can FEEL the barest graze of his knuckles against my back, from where he's gripped my chair. The smell of his aftershave almost hauntingly pleasant.

Like he KNEW exactly what smells I liked most. Went out of his way to find one that best suited my preference. Coincidence. Please, PLEASE be a coincidence! I do not turn my head. Keep my eyes locked straight ahead. Barely breathing.

He steps back.

The new pot is sharp and herbal. Almost bitter. I force myself to drink. Can't see a sugar dish, and REFUSE to turn around and ask for one. Ignore. IGNORE. My pounding heart calms. My muscles slowly start to relax.

It... it IS weird, though, now that I think about it? That Protag-chan hasn't reached the Dukedom yet. She should have. God only knows I sent Creepy to the capital enough times, with enough highly specific instructions, that he should've had his meet cute's and dates by the dozen. Been half way in love. So... why...?

Huh.

Dizzy.

The taste of tea sits wrong on my tounge. I stop drinking as the world sways. Letting the cup fall from my hand. Splatter, roll, and shatter. I try desperately to stand. A gentle gloved hand catches my elbow, supporting me. I turn. Giddy eyes. Triumphant, wide, spring green eyes. Too green to be gold, too gold to be green.

An almost cruel, mocking, yet loving grin.

Another hand slides around my waist, braces me against his side. Gleeful little murmurs, too pleased to be reassuring. You. You did this! You DRUGGED ME!

I can barely move, body relaxing against my command, going limp, as he draws me close. Presses his face against the side of my head, against my temple. A deep, shuddering breathe, that he savors like wine. I try to pull free but can not. Feel his lips pull into a vicious grin against my skin. Hands begin to run in gentle, claiming, exploration.

And at last the drugs kick in... the wo..rld..

G..oes..

Dar..k........

[ugotnojamzzz]

Chapter 11

Genre: Mafia!au , Slowburn, Angst, Hurt, eventual smut, TW (it is a mafia!AU, after all)

Pairing: Mafia!Jungkook x reader

Disclaimer: English isn’t my native language. Also, don’t come for me over the theme, people. It’s an Alternate Universe, which means the bangtan boys are essentially what I like to call meat puppets to serve the storyline. This is obviously not a projection of their actual real-life personas.

Wordcount: 1.8k

Masterlist

Chapter 10

—

In her long list of world’s end scenarios, the fear that the sky should eventually fall on her head had always struck Y/N as mere superstition.

After two weeks of Jungkook’s strict lockdown, however, it started to sound like mercy.

Past restless and miles beyong bored, YN struggled to admit that what she craved, far more than an escape, was an impact. A crack in the ceiling. A break in the routine.

When the storm hit again, it gave her all three.

She was already asleep when the knock came. Not urgent—just firm. The kind that didn’t wait.

Before she could answer, the door opened.

Jungkook stood in the doorway.

“Up,” he said.

She blinked, groggy. “What—?”

“Power’s out. Again.”

Y/N sat up, rubbing at one eye with the back of her hand. “Seriously?”

“Cameras are dead. Elevator too.”

That made her blink harder. No elevator meant no way out of the attic. But no surveillance meant no evidence.

Just like last time.

She stared at him for a second longer than she meant to. He didn’t explain. He didn’t wait.

He just turned and walked away, expecting her to follow.

It was pretty clear.

Last time the power went out, she tried to run.

He wasn’t taking any chances.

Muttering under her breath, she swung her legs off the bed and followed.

The floor felt colder than usual, the hall silent but for the hum of the storm pressing at the walls, rain drumming against the windows like it was trying to get in.

The common room was pitch black, save for the flashes of lighnting coming through the skylight every few seconds.

YN dropped onto the couch, arms crossed. “This is getting repetitive. Maybe you guys should invest in an stay-in electrician.”

Jungkook didn’t smile, didn’t even turn around. He just leaned against the wall, arms folded. “We don’t need to talk.”

She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and muttered, “Aw—And here I thought we were gonna braid each other’s hair and tell scary stories.”

He rolled his eyes.

Y/N let the silence sit for a moment.

She studied him—just a shadow leaning against the wall, all sharp edges and unreadable eyes. Like the storm outside had taken shape and learned how to glower.

“Jesus,” she said dryly. “So you really pulled me out of bed just to sit here in silence until the power comes back?”

“That’s the plan.”

She exhaled through her nose, slow. Let the quiet drag out.

Then, standing, “Can I at least get a drink?”

He didn’t move. “Pour it yourself. Unless that’s too much effort.”

Y/N arched a brow. She walked to the cart in the corner, poured two fingers of whiskey, neat. Took a slow sip, and turned back to face him.

“You know,” she said, “you don’t have to keep pretending I’m the most exhausting part of your job.”

“I’m not pretending.”

She let out a quiet, humorless laugh and moved back to the couch, curling into the corner. “Right. ‘cause I’m so high-maintenance. What with the whole being-locked-in-my-room-day-in-and-day-out and all that. »

Outside, thunder rolled. The skylight buzzed faintly in its frame.

Y/N sat back down, curled sideways, blanket still wrapped loosely around her shoulders, one leg tucked beneath her. Jungkook remained by the far wall, arms crossed.

The storm outside had swelled. Rain smeared down the glass like oil. Every few seconds, lightning lit the room in flashes—white, then gone.

Y/N spoke first.

Not loud. Not dramatic.

Just… conversational.

“You ever notice how every time the power cuts, everyone’s first concern is what I might do?”

Jungkook didn’t respond.

“It’s always about where I might run, who I might stab, or what I might break.”

Still nothing from him. But his posture stiffened.

She went on. Lightly.

“Funny no one ever seems to worry about what you might do.”

That got his attention. His eyes cut to her but he stayed silent.

“You don’t think that’s a little backwards?” She didn’t look at him. “No lights. No cameras. No one listening. No one coming.” She paused. “It’s just us. Alone. And you’re not exactly known for your gentle disposition.”

His voice was cold. Controlled.

“Don’t start.”

She turned her head now—just enough to meet his gaze.

“I’m not starting anything,” she said. “I’m just saying… statistically speaking, girls are a hell of a lot more likely to pay for what happens in the dark.”

He clenched his jaw.

She could see it even in the dark—how the muscles in his cheek twitched, how his fingers curled slightly tighter under his crossed arms.

“Say what you mean,” he said, low.

Y/N tilted her head. “I think I just did.”

“You think I’d—” He cut himself off, breathing through his nose. “You think that’s what this is?”

She tilted her head. “I think guys like you rarely ask permission.”

His eyes darkened. Not with guilt. Not with confirmation. But with something colder.

“You don’t know the first thing about guys like me.”

“Oh, I think I do,” she said. “The ones who keep their hands clean while doing the dirty work. Tell themselves they’d never, but stop pretending to be decent the second no one’s watching.”

She was still. Unflinching. That was the point.

The silence stretched again—longer this time, with only the storm to fill it. She leaned back in the chair, arms folded under the blanket, voice softer now.

Lightning flashed.

He looked away first.

Her mouth twitched, not quite a smile.

Only her victory was short lived—

“I know girls like you, too,” he said.

She turned her head, “Do you.”

He went on, calm and bored. “Silver spoon. Always pampered. Always right. Always the victim when things don’t go their way.”

She gave a humorless laugh. “Careful,” she said. “You’re starting to sound like you’ve thought about me.”

“You’re an heiress. Everyone knows what that means.”

“Oh, right,” she said, voice tightening. “Because being born with my name means nothing bad ever touched me.”

“Compared to the rest of us?” He shrugged. “Yeah.”

The storm thickened.

She stood. Sharp. Sudden.

“Is that the best you can do, then? Spoiled little girl?”

He stepped forward once.

“Sit down.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Y/N didn’t look away.

Neither did he.

“No,” she said, stepping closer, “I don’t think I did. Why don’t you try it again?”

His jaw clenched.

The wind screamed against the skylight above them. The whole ceiling groaned.

He stepped forward too. The air between them narrowed.“I said s—” he began.

“Fuck you,” she snapped, cutting him off.

The words landed hard, loud. Like a match to gasoline. Jungkook didn’t flinch, but something shifted in his stance. Outside, thunder cracked again, sharper this time. Closer.

His voice came low, even—controlled only because it needed to be.

“I’ll say it once. Get away from the window.”

She let out a laugh—harsh, humorless. “Oh, right. Because the window’s the threat here.”

He didn’t move. The storm did.

Outside, the wind shrieked against the walls, and the thunder hit harder.

She turned her back on him and took one slow, deliberate step until she stood right under the skylight.

“What do you think is gonna happen, Jungkook?” she said. “The sky gonna come crashing down if I don’t follow orders?”

She faced him again. Steady.

“Good. Let it. I’d rather have the sky fall on my fucking head than listen to you bark for one more second.”

His fists curled.

The tension snapped tight between them—no air left, no space to breathe. The thunder roared.

He started to speak.

“Don’t push me—”

But she cut him off, voice rising over his.

“Why not? Go on, yell a little! It’s really cathartic. Besides, who knows? If you’re loud enough, lightning might just strike and put us both out of our miser—”

CRACK. A shatter. A breath too late.

Lightning struck the glass like it had been waiting. The glass above exploded.

The crash was sudden, but his reaction was faster.

In an instant Jungkook had her pinned against the wall, one hand at her ribs, the other braced beside her head. His body covered hers in a hard, instinctive shield as shards exploded across the floor where she’d been standing—not a second too soon.

For a long moment, neither of them breathed.

The drumming of their pulse was barely covered by that of the storm, the terrifying clatter of glass skittering across tile and rain trickling down through the gaping hole.

He didn’t move. Neither did she.

His chest rose and fell against hers.

Too close.

Then—her voice. Dry. Tight.

“You can let go now.”

He hesitated—just for a second—then stepped back, rubbing the back of his neck, pacing once like he needed to burn the adrenaline off. He cursed to himself as he observed the damage.

“Careful,” he hissed, as Y/N stepped around the broken glass, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. She didn’t sit again—just stood there, arms crossed, pulse still pounding faintly in her ears.

If she wanted—if she really wanted—this could be the moment.

His throat was right there.

Her foot was already near a jagged piece of glass.

He felt it too.

“Don’t even think about it,” he muttered, eyes still forward.

Y/N rolled hers. “I’m not.”

The wind pushed at the broken skylight, the rain speckling the tile, but neither of them moved to clean it up.

Then she spoke again—flat, offhand.

“Well. I’ll make your life easier and go back to my room. No shattered glass in there for me to swan dive through.”

Jungkook didn’t look at her. “That’d be smart.”

She scoffed, turned toward the door, then paused as she grabbed the handle.

“I hope you’re not expecting a thank you,” she said.

“I’m not.”

—

When she closed her bedroom door, Y/N leaned against it for a second longer than she meant to.

Her skin was still buzzing.

From the cold, probably.

Or maybe it was from him—that too-close weight of his body against hers, the feel of his hand on her ribs.

She scowled. Rolled her shoulders once, like she could shake it off, then crossed the room and climbed back into bed.

She exhaled. Short. Annoyed.

Nothing happened.

Just glass. Just rain.

Just him.

Nothing at all.

But her pulse was still off-rhythm when she closed her eyes.

Careful what you wish for. The sky listens. She had asked for a break, and the storm had kindly obliged. The heat, however, was extra.

—

Hope you liked it. If some of you are intrigued or interested in finding out more, don't hesitate to interact and I'll start posting some more chapters! Also questions and remarks and feedback are welcome xxx

Chapter 12

Masterlist

Taglist

@princess-sunshyn

@loumin908

[robotics5]

Making sense of NERV's layout

Ok, so, one of the biggest things bothering me about the layout of NERV is the various ways it's entered.

So let's get the simplest one out of the way first: By car

In the very first episode of the anime, we see Misato driving into what is presumably an underground tunnel and onto a car train, which descends into the geofront.

Like other trains seen later, it travels through the geofront itself, rather than being fully enclosed underground.

Meanwhile in episode 11, we see that cars can just drive straight into NERV via tunnels, and not only that but straight into central command

Which, well, seems problematic from a security standpoint. But this also leads into my next topic, which is where is NERV HQ?

Now ok, yes, it's obviously in the Geofront and we even see a big fucking pyramid, but that's not all of NERV.

It's implied that the pyramid is just "tip of the iceberg" so to speak, with the rest of the facilities buried within the floor of geofront. This would also explain how the evangelions are actually able to launch, since they can't exactly go through the big open space in the center of the geofront, and so their launch tubes must be located within the earth around it.

What does this have to do with cars? Well given that we see Hyuga commandeer a car and drive it into a tunnel during the power outage in episode 11, it's safe to assume that the tunnel slowly descends along the edge of the geofront's wall until it reaches central command, although likely branching quite a bit before then.

So with cars out of the way, let's move onto the next bit: Trains.

Now obviously yes, trains have an important symbolism in the series, but that's not what we're here for is it? I believe the first instance of a train to NERV HQ is in episode 5, when Shinji & Rei take the underground monorail, which is seen again in episode 11.

However, this train doesn't simply send you to HQ, as seen in episode 5 you have to go through the automated gates first.

However, as seen here, the gates seem to lead directly into NERV itself, with the iconic green walls visible through them when open.

And yet, these gates appear again in episode 11, after the power outage, and look to be identical.

However, as mentioned previously there's no power by this point. So there are a few options here, each with their own flaws:

These gates are under the geofront and lead directly into the underground portion of NERV. How did the pilots get here without power, and why did they return to the surface in the next scene?

These same gates appear in lots of locations, both at aboveground entrances and in the geofront itself. Entirely possible, but boring.

The subway doesn't go deep underground, and instead circles the city at the surface level, and these gates simply lead into a portion of NERV's facilities that are closer to the surface.

Option 3 is my preferred option, since option 2 would likely mean employees would have to scan their IDs twice to enter HQ, not to mention the additional step of getting a train ticket. That's right, the subway station is established to not use ID scanners like the gates do, as seen in episode 11:

The biggest benefit to these gates leading to an aboveground portion of NERV is that it explains this room, seen in episodes 2 & 12, wherein we get a view of the geofront from above:

This is established to be the bottom floor of one of the buildings that retracts into the geofront, and yet seems to be part of NERV itself, given its usage.

But then there's another issue, that being whatever this fucking hallway from episode 11 is:

This is very clearly part of NERV, and yet it's both at the surface AND accessible without going through the gates, as the trio head here after the gates fail to open.

I'm gonna be honest, I don't really know what this hallway is.

Where do all the doors go? They can't be maintenance tunnels, as we see Route-07 in the very next shot and it is noticeably different from the fancy electronic doors of this section. Why does NERV even have this hallway? And why is it not locked behind the gates like everything else? There's a lot to unpack here.

Anyways, this hallway is the reason why I know that the gates from the previous scene can't lead into the underground portion of NERV itself, since why would they bother heading all the way back up to the surface?

Now, Route-07, as previously mentioned, is clearly a utility corridor or maintenance tunnel of some sort, which makes sense given the abundance of NERV surface infrastructure, such as the eva plugs, missile silos, and equipment elevators.

And once the pilots actually enter it, you can see a remarkable difference in it from the clean surface hallway, full of exposed pipes instead of polished surfaces.

This appears to be the final method of entering NERV in any sort of normal fashion, with this labyrinth of tunnels and airducts that lead down around the edges of the geofront and down into HQ.

But why did they bother with a maze when they could've just gone down the tunnel from earlier???

[vodika-vibes]

Throwing this thought at you like a paper airplane after I saw the corri dating pole, admittedly the first clone I felt in love with was Rys right off the bat from episode one. The smooth personality and tattoos got me like a bear trap immediately, then there was the hair and the color scheme and the way he was just toteing around a heavy ass rocket launcher the whole episode. I was also 16 when I first watched that episode and I do not digress, he’s still fine af. Uhg, he’s just so cute.

We Belong Together

Summary: You have your eyes set on a boy. And not just any boy, but Rys, a member of the Guard. A surprise power outage from an even more surprise storm gives you a chance.

Pairing: Clone Trooper Rys x GN! Reader

Word Count: 1805

Warnings: None

A/N: I had so many ideas for this, but this is the one that I eventually settled on. I hope you like it!

“You’re staring.”

You don’t pull your gaze away from Rys, even when your friend elbows you roughly. “I’m not staring. I’m…admiring.”

“Yeah. Which translates to staring.” 

You finally pull your gaze away from Rys and glare at your friend, “He’s gorgeous and I love him.”

“Girl, you don’t even know him. Maybe he’s a prick.”

“He’s not.”

“Why, because your imagination says so?”

You huff and fold your arms over your chest, “Because he’s nothing but polite when I talk to him.”

“Oh, so you’ve talked to him before?”

At that, your face burns, “I…well…”

“Ah, he comes to you for tech support.” Your friend has a slightly smug smile on her face, and you pout at her and look away.

“It’s…a start.”

“Oh, yes. Everyone knows that all of the greatest love stories start when one part doesn’t even know that the other one exists.” She teases, and then she drapes an arm over your shoulder and hugs you lightly, “Maybe you should set your sights on someone who actually knows you exist.”

You shoot her a dirty look.

“You know…like that nice man at the shipping store?”

“You mean the one that smells like rotting meat?”

“Well—”

“Thanks but no thanks,” You scrunch up your nose at the thought, “I’m done with lunch and heading back to my office, you?”

“Mm, I have an extended lunch today since I’m staying late this evening. I’ll see you later, though.” She turns back to her lunch and you shake your head, though you push out of your seat and throw your trash away before you slip out of the cafeteria and head towards the stairs that will take you to your office.

You could take the lift, probably, but the last thing you want is to end up on the lift with some snooty senators.

They always say the same things, “Is that your natural hair color?” No. Humans aren’t born with rainbow hair. “Are those tattoos permanent?” Yes, tattoos generally are. “Are those face piercings religious?” No, they just look pretty.

Honestly, with few exceptions, the Senators are so annoying.

You head down the four flights of stairs and then push open the door leading to your level, and you have to side-step a group of senator aides who seem to think that they own the Senate building, before you key in the code to your office door and head back into your office.

“I’m back!” You call to the office, but there’s no response. There never is.

You work alone, after all.

An almost silent sigh falls from your lips, and you reach over to flip the lights on, only for a light in the back of your office to flicker, and go out.

A second, louder, sigh falls from your lips.

“You should work for the senate,” You mutter under your breath, mocking your old guidance counselor, “They need an IT person, and it’s high paying. Just like you require.” You climb onto a spare desk and pop the lid off the light, and scowl at the dead bulb, “I might be high-paid, but this place sucks.”

You are, after all, required to do your own maintenance.

About fifteen minutes later, the door to your office slides open. You don’t look away from where you’re, carefully, trying to maneuver the light into place. “I’ll be right with you.”

There’s silence for a moment, and then heavy steps, “Do you need any help?” The voice is familiar in the way that all of the clones' voices are familiar, and you spare him a glance over your shoulder.

It’s Rys.

For a moment you just blink at him in bewilderment, and then you shake your head, “Ah, it’s nice of you to offer, but I’m almost done.” You slide the new bulb into place, secure it there, and let out a triumphant noise as the light comes back on. “There! Perfect!”

You swiftly pop the covering back into place, and then climb off the table so you’re standing in front of Rys, “Sorry about that! How can I help you?”

He stares at you for a moment, and then offers you his datapad, “It stopped working.”

You take the small device and open your mouth to ask what happened, exactly, though you’re cut off by a low, deep, rumble from outside the building. And then there’s a loud crack that makes you jump, and the entire room goes dark.

The room remains dark for about thirty seconds before the backup generators kick on and the room is lit by eerie red lights.

“Well, that’s not ideal,” You murmur as you move to your desk and set the datapad in your hand on the edge.

“No, it’s not.” You turn to look at Rys, who’s frowning at his comm, “The Commander says to shelter in place until they figure out why the power is out.” He moves to an open chair and drops into it, kicking his feet up on an empty desk.

Well, you’re not going to complain about being stuck in a room with the man you’ve been crushing on for months, so you drop into your chair as well, and then dig around your desk to pull out a deck of cards, “Wanna play?”

“Yeah, alright.”

Two hours later, the senate building is still running on emergency generators, and you and Rys have long since moved away from Sabbac to just chatting with each other.

He’s removed the top part of his armor and is sitting on the floor next to you, taking turns throwing the cards across the room into a box.

“So, I have to ask,” Rys says after a moment, “How does someone like you end up working here, of all places?”

“Someone like me?” You repeat with a laugh.

“You definitely don’t look like you should work at the senate,” He points out, as he lightly tugs on a strand of your hair.

“That’s fair,” You agree, “I was encouraged to apply here after college, they hired me sight unseen.” You shrug, “And I’m good enough that they look the other way when it comes to the dye and piercings.”

“Well, I’m glad.”

You glance at him, but he’s not looking at you, “Well, me too. I wouldn’t like to be jobless.”

He glances at you, and his smile is one you’ve never seen aimed at you before, “I just meant that you add some color to a pretty dreary place. Plus, I can always pick you out of a crowd.”

“Why would you need to pick me out of a crowd?” You ask, genuinely confused.

He throws another card into the box and you frown at the box, wondering if you should move it further away, “No reason,” Rys replies quickly, “And if my brothers ever tell you anything different you need to know that they’re all horrible liars.”

You laugh and lean against the wall, “Okay, so what would they tell me?”

He still won’t look at you, “They’d probably say something along the lines of me having a crush on you.”

You blink at him, having not expected those words to come out of his mouth, “But, since your brothers are liars,” You say slowly, “It’s not true.” You fold your arms, “Huh, that’s a shame.”

His head snaps towards you fast enough that you genuinely worry about his neck, “What’s a shame?”

“Oh, well,” You shrug, almost nonchalantly, “If you did have a thing for me, we could have tried seeing how we were together, but since you’re not—” You shrug again, and then place your hands on the ground to propel yourself to your feet to collect the cards from the floor and the box.

You don’t manage to get to your feet.

Rys’ hand wraps around your wrist and he tugs you so that you topple over onto his lap, and then his lips are against yours. You adjust yourself so that you’re straddling one of his thighs, and your arms snake around his neck so you’re able to play with the hair at the base of his neck, as you kiss him back, just as enthusiastically. 

For someone who, you assume, has never kissed anyone before, Rys is a really good kisser. Or, maybe, all of the people you’ve ever kissed before have just been really bad.

Either way, he’s a very enthusiastic kisser, angling his head so he’s able to deepen the kiss without forcing you to stretch, his tongue sliding against the seam of your lips, and then against your own.

And the kiss only breaks when the lights overhead flicker back on.

His hand moves to your cheek, and he has a very small, very smug, grin playing on his lips as he adjusts you so that he can press his forehead against yours. 

“You’re really good at that,” You say, slightly breathlessly.

His smile becomes even more smug, “I must be a natural then.”

“Must be,” You agree, leaning in so you can brush your lips against his, and he tilts his head back slightly so he can catch your lips in a proper kiss, only to have to stop when his comm chimes.

There’s a glimmer of annoyance on his handsome face, but he grabs his comm and reads the message on it. And then his head thumps back against the wall.

“Time to go back to work?” You ask, sympathetic, even as your fingers move to the tattoo on his jaw and you trace the shape lightly. 

His gaze lingers on your face for a moment, “Unfortunately. If I don’t go, the Commander will come and look for me.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” You joke lightly, already moving to get off of him, though his hands tightly grip your hip, as though he’s not ready to let you go.

You grin at him, kiss him quickly, and then slip off his lap. “You know,” You muse thoughtfully as he gets to his feet and starts pulling his armor back on, “There’s a nice little restaurant not far from my place, delivery or pick up only.”

“That right?”

“Mm, they have really nice food,” You continue, “If you wanted to come around to my place after work?”

His fingers fumble on the latch to his armor, and his gaze locks with yours as a wide grin crosses his face, “It’d take an act of god to keep me away.”

You grin right back at him, “It’s a date then.”

Rys finishes strapping on his armor, and then lightly taps your chin with two fingers, “I can’t wait.” He drops a kiss on your cheek, and then he’s gone, back to work.

And you’re left to try not to erupt into elated giggles as excitement wells inside you.

You’ve never been so happy in your life.

@imabeautifulbutterfly @n0vqni

@bad4amficideas

@justiceandwar98

@Mira-Loves-Star-Wars

@tiredbi-peach

@dukeoftheblackstar

@trixie2023

@kimiheartblade

@padawancat97

@falconfeather23435

@etod

@bb8-99

@kiss-anon

@continous-mistakes

@yoitsjay

@liz-stat

@cc--2224

[bekolxeram]

I know we've been manifesting S8 Air Ops since that photo of a hangar was posted by a member of the scouting team. And I know the other side has been mocking us for being delusional when other bts photos of an aircraft came out. So here I am, taking my shipper's goggles off, and diving into the aviation side of things. I have to admit, it left me with more questions than answers.

They already have a hangar for Air Ops in S7, they don't need another one

No. The 911!Air Ops we see in S7 is the Helinet hangar at Van Nuys Airport. Helinet is a company that rents and operates helicopters for news stations, film crews, medivac service or regular charter flights. You can compare images from 7x02 and 7x03 with Google Street Views of the Helinet Hangar.

You can also see N67TV and N29HD here.

Helinet is where ABC usually rents its news helicopters from, so it's cheaper and more convenient to film a couple scenes there when helicopters are needed. It can't be used for regular filming though, because Helinet has a business to run, and when a helicopter takes off, it's so noisy that you can't even hear each other talking, let alone shooting a scene. (I recommend watching the whole video, if you're interested in accuracy when it comes to writing fics.)

It's a plane related emergency so it must be related to Tommy

Also no. Again, I've written a piece about how Tommy was not the air tanker pilot in 2x14 before, and if he was not qualified for that, he's not qualified to fly an airliner either. It's not impossible that he flies a small turboprop aircraft like a Cessna 172, but he would never have the time to get certified as a commercial airliner pilot while working as an active firefighter since 2005.

And this is a prop for an Airbus airliner.

It's actually pretty easy to tell an Airbus aircraft from a Boeing one, as the shape of the rear cockpit windows is pretty different between the two. It's just a matter of which Airbus model it is. I believe it's a narrow body single aisle aircraft from the A320 family.

Wide body Airbus aircrafts, like this A300, have their side cockpit windows more tapered to the top. It also applies to other Airbus twin aisle aircrafts, like the A330 and the A340.

On the A320 though, the side windows are flat on the top.

So it's a pretty safe bet that the aircraft we see in that bts photo is one from the A320 family. I can't pinpoint which one it exactly is, because again, I can just see a tiny section of the cockpit, not the rest of the aircraft.

So the hangar must be for the airplane then?

The hangar itself is a former Air National Guard maintenance hangar at Ontario International Airport (ONT/KONT). It's especially used for filming. There are bigger hangars at the same airport for filming, but this one looks the best on camera.

They don't need a hangar for scenes inside of the plane, they have cockpit and cabin mock-ups at the studio for them.

You can clearly see the cabin door right here from recent bts footage. It looks just like a training facility for flight attendants.

They only film on location if they want shots of the entire aircraft from the outside. Like in 1x04, the scenes of Athena responding to an alleged unruly passenger were filmed in a set. The plane crash rescue parts of the episode though, were filmed in an actual retired 757 in a tub of water.

(Lone Star worked with this exact company for 3x08. Though, that plane was a 737 I believe.)

I can't think of any disastrous scenario happening in a maintenance hangar, where the aircraft is powered off with only maintenance staff present, no passengers or crew. Well, there have been cases of planes crashing into a hangar, but even then I don't see the need for the 118 to be there. Every major airport has at least one fire station on site with dedicated foam and crash units. In fact, there is a fire station right next to this hangar IRL.

Another problem, although I'm not sure because I don't have the actual measurements, is that the celling of the hangar looks quite low. (Refer to page 44 of this document) It was originally built in 1955 to house fighter jets. The F-102, the type of aircraft operated there in the 60s and 70s, has a total height of 6.5 meters. The tail of an A320 on the other hand can reach 11.76 m from the ground. (The shortest variant of the A320 family is actually even taller, 12.51 m.) So there could be some tail bumping action if you try to tow an A320 into this hangar.

So Air Ops is still a possibility?

Yes. This hangar is quite a bit larger than the Helinet hangar, but still not as big as the actual Air Ops facility. A helicopter is obviously much smaller than a passenger airliner that can seat over 180, you can easily fit multiple helicopters in there with plenty of space left for other set props. But the problem is, they don't have enough helicopters.

They have that one replica of N211FN that they used to film the search and rescue in 7x03, that's it. All the other helicopters you see on screen, including the real N211FN that actually flies, belong to Helinet. Sure, they can get some more fake helicopters that are empty inside just for looks, but I don't see the need to spend so much extra money just to show Tommy's place of work unless it's related to some major plot points. For now, I don't see how that would fit into the story.

There is also the possibility that the hangar has nothing to do with anything aviation related. I mean, they've filmed countless ads, music videos and movies, including Ford vs Ferrari there. Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe that's why that crew member eventually got the green light to confirm the hangar is indeed for 9-1-1, it tells us absolutely nothing.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Could you do A, C, I, G, K, L, and P for EJ in the fluff alphabet? It would make me reallyyyy happy :3

Fluff Alphabet w/ EJ!!

ive been waiting for someone to do EJ you dont understand!!! i saw this earlier but the power went out when i finally had time to sit down and get to writing </3 my apologies as for other stuff/for everyone else, requests are still open, and the fluff alphabet will be open indefinitely!!

ATTRACTION- Honestly I think you gotta be a real catch to end up as Jacks partner, considering his entire hermit thing... I personally think that he separates himself from society after he becomes Eyeless Jack via a funky cult sacrifice thing... which he was kinda pretty much unwillingly roped into. I think he would want someone who's capable of taking care of themselves, and perhaps someone whos smart. maybe even lower maintenance. its not that he doesnt want to treat you as you deserve, its that sometimes he cant given he sometimes legitimately goes feral (though this is only really due to him pushing off his needs, blood frenzy type deal for when he pushes off eating people, can get real ugly). understanding as well, he needs someone whos willing to be understanding of his position and current predicament and know that eventually jack is going to fully not. be there anymore one day (possible angst idea? ooo?) but also even before the whole, demon thing, jack wasnt the most cheery or social and things definitely havent changed

CUDDLING- hes really cold so thats good for hot nights! not good for cold ones though </3 but hey maybe you guys are somewhere where its perpetually hot. as for the actual act of cuddling, he prefers to be the big spoon. likes sleeping closer to the door, kinda makes a barrier of himself for you in case someone were to come in. which is unlikely since if this were his place, its literally a cabin in the woods in bumfuck nowhere, but the point still stands. only engages if youre asleep or ask for it. if youre the one holding him, he kinda. freezes still and doesnt dare move. poor dude, hes so scared hes going to bite you or something

GIFT GIVING- since he lives in the woods and doesnt have a job he cant exactly go out and give you gifts. he also isnt fond of taking belongings from victims, since he already takes pieces of their bodies. coughs. anyways, i think hes more of an act of service person (will talk more about that in L)

INJURY- youre in luck, he had plans to be a doctor, thats what he was going to college for! plus i think he had a little fixation on medical stuff in general growing up. little hc that his other choice was to be a microbilogist. idk, i can see it. but i dont think it needs to be said that neither became reality. but he does know how to treat some injuries and illnesses! so youre both in luck! but how does he react, emotionally? honestly, as long as youre not bleeding while hes in his frenzied state hes more than willing to help you... although its more so because he doesnt want the scent to trigger anything in him... he cares about you, i promise! its just that ultimately its better he doesnt go feral on you- now if he was the one injured hes already patching himself up... oh but imagine convincing him to let you clean up a wound he got while trying to do his thing.... ouuuugh... let the man be vulnerable, let him be taken care of... ueueue... anyways- yeah

KISSES- he doesnt wear his mask when hes at your place or his cabin- in fact he only really wears it when hes 'hunting' or 'prowling', so!! loves kissing your cheek. will absolutely refuse to kiss you if hes just ate, though, let him wash his face and brush his teeth first. and change his clothes. he likes being kissed anywhere; forehead, mouth, cheeks, hands, ect ect ect. now in terms of frequency i dont think he likes it too often, but that may be some internalized thing about no longer being worthy of love or something but hey who am i to say (loudly winks)

LOVE LANGUAGE- as previously mentioned, acts of service is how jack shows his appreciation and love for you. need something done? hes on it! need to do some chores but dont feel like it? you dont even need to ask! stuff like that, hell, even if something doesnt need to be done he will probably tinker at it and try to make it better if its an appliance or something that can be upgraded to be more efficient and effective. when it comes to receiving he likes words of affirmation, this man has been through hell and hes still going through it, so reassuring him that you still love him even though hes changing makes things a little less scary

PET NAMES- he likes calling you babe and baby. he likes being called hon! doesnt really do petnames, he finds saying someones name intimate enough... which honestly i kinda agree with, i kinda hate how utilized it is in romantic media. just two characters loving each other, sharing a moment, and one softly utters the others name in a sweet tone. GUH!!!! anyway

[thezombieprostitute]

A Cornucopia for You!

From: @brandycranby

Jake Jensen; friends to lovers, idiots in love, competency; academia; fluff

You swore you’d never do this. Heck, if it were a year ago, you would’ve laughed in your best friend’s face at the idea of watching something you didn’t understand for twelve hours. Not to mention it was on a Saturday, one of your very valuable and cherished bouts of free time with your packed teaching schedule at the university, but you just couldn’t help it. At this point, you’d do whatever Jake asked, or as his students who were watching him almost as intently as you at this hack-a-thon called him, Professor Jensen.

It wasn’t fully your hopeless romantic-ness controlling your actions. Jake truly was a good friend to you, too, staying several times to fix your computer when you were up late grading for hours, or helping out with the maintenance of your archives. He really didn’t have to do it, but he did anyway without hesitation. You’d be a terrible person to turn down supporting the one big event of the computer science department that happened every year, but more and more, you questioned if you should go home and cool yourself off.

Jake was working in a frenzy, clicking away on his laptop in competition with one of his students. Owen, who had actually been in a couple of your own class sessions, and whom Jake had mentioned the genius of once or twice. But really, all your eyes were on was Jake. Well, his hands mainly. And how effortlessly skilled they were, following his every command. And maybe a little bit on the adorable look of focus that was taking up his face.

Occasionally, he was glancing up over his shoulder at you between lines of code, your zoned-out face briefly shaken to give him a reassuring smile. And each time he sheepishly returned it, going back to the keyboard with a renewed vigor.

Oh how you loved to watch him work. This was truly the time where Jake was in his element. You weren’t even sure what he was coding for, but it was some time trial against his student to drum up attention for the event.

In a blink, all the lights went dark and the students in the common room cheered. But just as fast, power was restored and the projector screen lit up again.

On it was your name and title, followed by “Will you go out with me? -Prof. Jensen”

Your hand flew over your mouth as all the students looked at you in anticipation.

Jake’s head whipped around, his eyes sparking with some sort of mix of hopefulness and possibly surprise.

There wasn’t too much time for you to take that in, though, as everyone waited for your response.

“Y-yes. Yeah, let’s get out of here, Jake!”

You were furiously nodding as Jake set down his laptop and threw his arms around you in a tight hug.

The two of you walked out the doors hand-in-hand, but Jake looked back over his shoulder when he held the door open for you to lead him to the diner down the street.

There, the group of CS majors stood with their thumbs up and big, mischievous smiles. Not only had Jake won his competition, which was turning off the lights in the rec center, but he’d finally won a date with you. Thanks to Owen, who wasn’t competing with Jake at all, but instead coding to set up his two favorite professors who obviously had heart eyes for each other.

EEEEE!!!!!!! Thank you so much for writing this for me!!!

And it's so adorable! I would, 100%, be oblivious to anything other than friendship from Jake. Hell, I'd just be happy to have such a good friend!

And I love that it's the students that make it happen. I can imagine how fed up they are. 😆 Thanks, Owen!

Thank you @brandycranby!!! And thanks for not requesting an Andrew story, though I know you were tempted. 🤭

[fizziepopangel]

Husk Headcanons (Cat Tendencies Edition)

Husk makes biscuits in his sleep or when he’s falling asleep. And yes, Angel does have countless videos of the hell cat doing this when he’s too exhausted to notice the man pointing the camera at him.

He can move as stealthily as any other cat and often uses this fact to sneak up on Angel and scare the hell out of him most of the time. He did this to Charlie once, but ended up making her cry when he scared her. He felt like the biggest asshole in the entirety of hell and he offered to wear a bell after that incident for no other reason than to make sure Charlie would always hear him coming. Although Charlie declined his offer, Husk does try to make some kind of sound to let Charlie when he’s coming so he doesn’t accidentally scare her.

Despite disliking his cat attributes, Husk is actually very well groomed most of the time. He takes regular showers and baths because the hot water helps with the joint pain he suffers, he also uses a lot of deshedding conditioner to combat the ungodly amount of shedding he does, and detangle his fur. On top of that, he also grooms the way most cats do to the extent he can, but he finds it embarrassing so it only happens in the comfort and privacy of his own room when he’s sure the door is locked.

On the subject of grooming, it’s a known fact that the man who practices sleight of hand also has extremely good grooming practices for his paws. Angel can attest to the fact that the low maintenance appearance of the man is in fact not as low maintenance as it may seem since he’s seen Husk’s vast collection of self care products that range from creams for the pads of his paws to special nail filing board to keep his claws at a manageable length.

He does chase the red dot. Angel keeps a laser pointer on hand just to bust out the red dot at random moments for his own entertainment. Husk has tried everything to resist the urge, but the chase for the red dot continues. It pisses him off to no end.

The reason Husk let his hair grow out so shaggy despite his former well-groomed appearance is because his contract with Alastor meant he lost the souls he owned, including the soul he basically staffed as a groomer for himself. Niffty offered to cut his hair for him once, but despite his comment about only needing the hair on his head trimmed, he somehow ended up with the whiskers on the left side of his face cut nearly in half. It didn’t bother him at first, but he quickly learned the importance of whiskers to a cat. After that incident, he has opted to just let his hair grow as it is and he still shudders whenever he sees Niffty with scissors.

Purring. So much purring. 

In terms of vocalizations, Husk also growls, hisses, and meows. Most of these sounds are involuntary… The hissing and growling doesn’t bug him too much, but the meowing and purring he occasionally feels self conscious and embarrassed about.

Husk is guilty of allogrooming. This mainly happens with Angel Dust when the two are having more domestic moments in their relationship so sometimes the spider demon finds himself being groomed while they cuddle.... Husk also really enjoys being groomed, especially when he's not feeling well since it makes him feel loved.

Similarly, Husk sometimes absentmindedly grooms himself when he zones out, to even licks at his paws as a way to self soothe when he’s overly stressed. Alastor hates the habit, but Charlie, Angel, and Sir Pentious find it pretty cute.

Husk actually suffers from arthritis throughout his spine, which actually affects his tail too which can drastically affect his mobility and his balance.

When he first sold his soul to Alastor, there was a bit of a power struggle issue before Husk was able to fall in line where the radio demon wanted him, Alastor would often walk him on his chain as if it were a leash, referring to Husk only as his pet. To make this more demeaning, Alastor even went as far as to buy him scratching posts and cat toys….. As much as he hated it being a show for the man, Husk did end up keeping the cat toys he enjoyed playing with in his room in a box under his bed, and he does have a scratching post in his room as well. He would never let Alastor know that though.

Like most cats, the bartending demon is lactose intolerant…. violently lactose intolerant.

Alastor has a cat muzzle for the drunkard because, while Husk isn’t normally a mean drunk, he has threatened to bite the radio demon multiple times, and on one occasion, the boozed up cat actually did it. Alastor still has the scar from the incident and keeps the muzzle on hand just in case now.

He does occasionally have the cat urge to just knock things off tables and counters. He has broken multiple mugs and glasses and such. He tries to control it but sometimes he just can’t so he spends a lot of time sweeping up broken glass. Vaggie has an order in for some nice reusable plastic cups and mugs for the bar.She knows it probably won’t stop Husk from knocking over cups, but she figured it would at least be safer since they’d be less likely to break.

[spectrechosts]

Engine Maintenance

What if spaceships were powered by fucking machines? This is a viable technology probably.

Kim drags her torrented romances onto her second monitor, and clicks on the angry red call notification buzzing at her.

"Cap'n." She says, still side-eyeing her show.

"We aren't going fast enough." Says the Captain, leaving her to infer her request.

Kim sighs and alt-tabs to the readouts she's actually supposed to be keeping an eye on.

"She's outputting at 7.3, I don't know how much faster you want." She says, tabbing away just as quickly.

"She's pushed 8 before."

"Not without crashing. You want us dead in the water for a .7 increase?"

"Replacement's already out of bed, and I know how logarithmic scales work. Wring what you can out of her and next shift will come in for the swap. Go." The Captain says, and hangs up on her.

Kim sighs and pauses her show, shunting it off to the terminal in her room before inspecting the engine readouts again. The machine says that it can push output up to 7.6 points by overloading the core, but-

Sexual energy reactors are finicky at the best of times. Even after billions of credits poured into R&D to make some of the most efficient fucking machines known to man, even after the years of training cores go through, there are a lot of variables.

Kim cleans herself up in the mirror. Fusses her hair into sexy unkempt mechanic as opposed to regular unkempt mechanic. Undoes her jumpsuit's zipper enough to show off the goods in a low cut tank top.

The reactors are finely tuned to the cores, monitoring suites doing thousands of checks a second to adjust to their needs. They're ruthlessly efficient, kept at maximum settings; They shut off, if the core can't take anymore, but if you don't surpass what it says their maximum is they'll keep the core right below that limit for their entire eight hour shift. They can even weigh the boost from letting them orgasm against how much it'll need to slow down afterwards to prevent a shutdown.

And then of course there's the overload sequence. Punch in the override and it'll just squeeze all the power it can out of the core, massive computer banks dedicating all their power to calculating the most efficient way to make them cum their brains out, ability to continue going afterwards be damned.

She lazily types in the code, confirms it, and sets it on a slight delay.

There are limits, though. The profound depravity of ships that run on sex power meant that the tech faced a lot of pushback. One result of which is that they can't legally be rigged up with direct brain links. The documentation still insists that they're the absolute best thing for harvesting sexual energy (you know, until they want to sell you the next model), but there's anecdotal, completely unfounded evidence that when working with a core that didn't sign up because they're hot for the unyielding perfection of cold, sleek metal, silly things like a real human connection can bump output by a good 0.5 points.

She keys in the door code, and enters the reactor chamber.

"Warning. External stimuli can interfere with reactor output." Warns an artificial voice, that Kim silences via the built-in terminal. She punches in a few more commands, and the sensory helmet attached to Riley hisses and detaches.

"Whuh?" She mumbles, disoriented.

"Hey babygirl." Kim says, as the overload sequence starts. "Are you ready to be good for me?"

Riley's eyes go wide as the machine changes gears; blunt silicone-capped vibrator wands, electrodes, grasping robotic arms- all ramping up to an irresistible intensity.

"WAit, wait I can't, I'll crash, I'll craaaA-" She whines, bucking against her restraints into the thrumming wand.

"Good." Kim says, in the dismissive, clinical way she knows will drive her wild. "I'm going to wring you out for everything you're worth, babygirl."

Riley lets out a loud, sharp moan, her legs shaking. The machine is very very good at what it does. She's already ticked over to 7.4, there's only a few short moments for Kim to weave her way into the tangle of wires and arms, to grip her cheeks and kiss her neck and growl "Don't cum until I give you permission."

Yellow warning notifications for unexpected behavior begin popping up on the various monitors decorating the engine room, because the reactor didn't tell her not to cum so why isn't she, try harder I guess. Riley squeals, her voice rising in pitch as it becomes harder and harder for her to try and fight her impending climax, until Kim shoves her fingers into her mouth to silence her.

"Do you want the whole crew to hear what a slut you are?" She asks, and she feels the ship lurch forward as Riley's control slips and she's brought to her messy, violent peak.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kim sees power output hitting 8.2 points.

How's that for fast enough?

It stays there for a good few seconds, until the overstimulation is too much and output plummets; all the monitors flash red warnings and the machinery winds down and disengages, releasing a shaking Riley into her arms.

"S-Sorry Mistress, I'm sorry-" She babbles as Kim strokes her hair.

"No, you did so good! My good girl."

"I disobeyed. I-I didn't have permission."

"It's okay, it was a lot." Kim murmurs. "You liked the thing about everyone hearing what a slut you are?"

Riley shivers.

"So much, holy shit."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Riley takes a few panting breaths nuzzled into Kim's chest before peeking at the readout screens.

"Eight-point-two???" She asks, stunned. "What the fuck are we trying to do?"

"Cap'n got notified her new model kit came in, wants to pick it up ASAP."

"Fuck me."

"Mhm." Kim agrees. "Be glad you're not on second shift, we're a ways out yet."

"God. Carry me out of here before she tries to put me back in."

[lhs3020b]

Morlock Revisionism - The Time Machine, HG Wells

Yes, it's a books post. Haven't had one of these for a while, have we?

By random chance, I happened to find myself re-reading Wells's "The Time Machine" last night. I enjoyed re-visiting it. It's a story that's stood up surprisingly well, considering a) its age and b) its de facto (if not quite de jure) status as the trope-creator for the time travel story.

First off, one interesting aspect is that it does not bother with the modern trope of the time paradox, really, at all. The Time Traveller never considers whether his own actions may affect the future that he discovers in the year 802, 701 (or, indeed, the later ones that he encounters further into the narrative).

As a scientific note, it's worth commenting that the astronomy in the story is deeply dated - the story was written before the discovery of nuclear fusion, so the implicit framework is that the Sun is powered through Kelvin-Helmholtz contraction. It's not. The Sun of 30 million years hence would not display the dramatic changes that the Time Traveller observes. (Also the "large and red" Sun of 30 Million AD should have roasted the Time Traveller to death, as luminosity increases with the surface area of a star. That future shouldn't be frozen, it should be burning!)

One aspect of the narrative that stands out is that the Time Traveller - actually by his own admission! - may be an unreliable narrator. He specifically-notes that his initial theory about the world of 802,701 AD was disproven by events there, and there may be an implication that he's wrong about other conclusions too.

Could he be wrong … about the Morlocks? Are they actually the monsters the narrative paints them as? Let's have a look at what evidence we possess.

First off, most of what we know about the world of 802,701 AD is canonically-speculative in nature. Weena and the Eloi seem to know little-to-nothing about their history and origins. In his time in the deep future, the Traveller finds no interpretable written records. Even his sojourn at the museum offers only a few clues - and as we'll discuss later, some of them may actually conflict with his interpretations. (The presence of the matches and the camphor, in particular, is a bit suspect.)

The Time Traveller is a human being like the rest of us, and he comes from a particular cultural context, namely late-Victorian England. It would be naive to assume that none of this had had an effect on his world-view or how he interprets what he sees. And some of his conclusions … well, they did read to me a bit like what a very stereotypical moustache-twirling Nineteenth Century imperialist might settle on, you know?

Notably, the Traveller severely under-estimates the intelligence of the Morlocks. See the events near the end of the story, where they leave the doors to the sphinx-structure open and the Time Machine itself on display, clearly intending to bait him in. They're able to determine what he's looking for, where he will go to look for it and are able to impute his likely actions. And they're right about all of it. The only reason their plan failed was that they apparently didn't understand the Time Machine's user interface (if they'd noticed the slots for the missing levers…) The Morlocks apparently also have at least some control over the world's remaining machinery, they're presumably the source of what manufactured goods the Eloi have and it's also implied that whatever maintenance occurs aboveground is done by them.

Whatever else they may be, the Morlocks aren't idiots.

Contrast this to the Eloi, who bathe in a dangerous body of water, post no watches at night and make no effort to save one of their own (Weena) when she gets swept away by a stray current! The Eloi also apparently make no effort to maintain the "big houses" in which they reside. They seem to have no writing or material culture, and not even that much in the way of speech; the Traveller specifically-notes the limited character of their language. Their faculties clearly are the more restricted. (It's worth noting that even the Time Traveller himself concedes this point.)

Are the Morlocks the monsters that the Time Traveller sees them as? The narrative clearly wants you to follow his conclusions … but, I do find myself wondering about that. I mean, by his own admission, some of his deductions were false. Could other conclusions be false too, or incomplete?

Let's consider the evidence, or at least the evidence that we have.

First off, the proposed Eloi-phagy. Do we really see an unambiguous depiction of this in the narrative? The closest we get to it is what the Traveller thinks he sees in the Morlock tunnels … except it's only a brief glimpse, while a single match flares, seen from a distance, and even he doesn't sound absolutely-sure of what he thought he saw. He's also in a distressed, confused and distracted state of mind at the time, will not have helped with making clear and factual observations. Did he actually see a butchered Eloi, or could it have been some other animal? For all we know, he just blundered into a Morlock operating theatre while in the middle of surgery! Everything about that would be consistent with the evidence in the text!

It's also worth noting that the Traveller is openly-biased against the Morlocks. He describes them in language which, let's be blunt about it, would be considered unambiguously-racist if applied to a modern human population. He takes one look at the Morlocks and decides they just must be bad 'uns, and everything else seems to flow from that assertion.

(Also, well, "Victorians making wild accusations of cannibalism" is a thing with an extensive and dark history, you know?)

Lastly, the "Eloi as lunch, dinner and elevenses" hypothesis has a bit of an ecological issue. There are far too many Morlocks and not remotely enough Eloi. Eloi are slow to mature, small in stature and lacking in substantial muscle mass. They're just not good cattle. If Weena's accident in the stream is any guide, they're also prone to randomly-dying in very stupid accidents, which could only make farming them even harder. It just doesn't make sense for the Morlocks to be eating them, unless Eloi steak is perhaps a rare delicacy that they consume in small amounts every other year, or something.

As to the Morlock's supposed hostility, well, did they ever actually do anything that bad? They steal the Time Machine, though you could argue that perhaps its owner shouldn't have simply left it lying around. (What a litter bug!) Then the Traveller himself climbs down into their territory without seeking invitation - by our standards, he's literally a tresspasser, so it's probably no wonder the Morlocks were alarmed! And honestly, a lot of their behaviour toward him could be interpreted as more "curious" than "hostile".

Next there's his use of the matches. The Morlocks are clearly harmed by it - the light hurts their eyes, and the fire apparently scares them. (As well it should - if you live in an enclosed underground tunnel, fire is bad news!) From their point of view, he's a weird, gangling, threatening invader from the surface world who suddenly appeared one day, and whose intent is entirely unknown. He shows no concern for their territory and is cavalier in his use of fire. Viewed in that light it's unsurprising that the Morlocks would be uneasy around him!

(On a small side-note, one thing I've wondered about is whether Morlock vision is actually now in the infrared. Their tunnels appear a little too dark even for very sensitive eyes - they're not dim, they're pitch-black! - and the effects of the matches and the later wildfires seem a bit too much even for sensitive eyes. On the other hand, if the Morlocks had evolved to see heat, they wouldn't need artificial lighting - your body would be self-luminous! you are your own reading lamp! -, and it would explain why the matches were so debillitating.)

The Time Traveller also makes no attempt to communicate with the Morlocks, despite their canonically-clear higher level of intelligence. He views them as nothing except a monstrous enemy. It's a very, well, Victorian sort of attitude, isn't it? Of course there's nothing that the moustache-twirling imperialist could ever learn from the lowly and degenerate natives!

There are two further pieces of evidence for the "Morlocks are evil" hypothesis. One is the lack of sick or elderly Eloi. But here the narrative contradicts itself somewhat, as the Traveller also believes that the future world is largely free of pestilence. If dangerous microorganisms had been eradicated, then of course there are not many sick Eloi! As to the lack of elderly ones, well, Weena's river misadventure may offer some clues. The Eloi apparently have little in the way of self-preservation instincts, so one does wonder what the accidental death-rate for them is. It could be high. Perhaps he doesn't see any elderly Eloi because they don't usually make it to a recognisable senescent state, but through accident and misadventure rather than via Morlock celebrity chefs.

The other item of evidence is the Eloi's collective fear of night, and moonless nights in particular. The narrative suggests - though, never actually clearly shows us - that these are the times when Morlocks go small-game hunting. They're apparently able to get in and out of the "big houses" without ever waking up the Eloi and apparently reliably know where to find the Eloi. (Not wanting to victim-blame here, obviously, but the Eloi could consider maybe posting some sentries, and perhaps varying where they sleep … I mean, they're not short of half-abandoned buildings, right?)

But are the Morlocks necessarily the source of the Eloi's fear of the dark? Could it be something else, like perhaps their tendency to have dumb accidents, or randomly getting lost? (Case-in-point re: the latter, on the final night Weena apparently ran off on her own at some point, which is less-than-clever.) As for Weena's unease around the wells, you do have to wonder how many Eloi have managed to have a a "tripped and fell" moment while playing a bit too close to the lip of the well. Weena is actually implied to be one of the smarter Eloi - she shows some curiosity toward the Traveller, and is seemingly willing to consider visiting parts of the outside world - and even she does questionably-smart things like leaning right over the lip of the well while the Traveller climbs down. I mean, this is sounding like the opening-lines of an official report into a bad accident, isn't it?

I will allow that the Morlocks certainly should have paid more attention to health-and-safety in the design of their access-wells, which honestly do seem to basically be death-traps. However, some of this can be ascribed to negligence and laziness rather than actual malice-aforethoughht-level capital-E evil.

The Time Traveller posits that the Eloi and Morlocks emerged from a socio-economic divergence within the original human population, one that eventually became so extreme that it resulted in an actual speciation event. Essentially, the upper and lower classes ended up not merely socially-isolated from each other, but genetically-isolated too. I believe this conclusion more than I believe the Morlock cannibalism allegations, but I still have some problems with it.

1) To produce an actual speciation event, the separation of the social classes would have to persist for an enormous length of time - presumably, at least a few thousand years - and would also have to have been enforced more rigorously than even the most extreme real-world caste system. Is it really plausible that a system like this could have remained stable for the required timescales? That there were no cross-caste romances or "accidental" pregnancies, ever? That all genetic mixing across social boundaries came to a hard, permanent stop? (Contrast this with the real-world behaviour of some Victorian "gentlemen" toward their servants, and, well … yeaaaaah. Eeeek.)

2) Would the economic system implied by all of the above even have been stable in the first place? Can you really erect a non-prous, binary wall between "producers" and "consumers"? In the real world, the two groups are also made up of exactly the same people. (Consider - you have a job, but you also buy stuff. Both are you.) Were there really never any movements for social reform, no civil rights legislation, no uprisings, civil wars, general strikes or any of the other social chaos that usually overwhelm any proposed social planning? The proposed binary divergence of society implies deliberate central organisation dwarfing anything even the Soviet Union attempted, and it's notable that Soviet central planning was ultimately a failure.

The proposed social divide would have been so extreme that I can't see how it could be maintained without a deliberate and organised program of violent enforcement by a strong State, rather than the kind of emergent phenomenon that the Time Traveller seems to think it was. (The only thing the Traveller sees that might - might! - be evidence for this would be the extensive displays of weapons he found while at the ruined museum.)

3) Also, where does agriculture fit into this schema? Agricultural labour is usually considered low social status, but as plants need sunlight, by definition it has to occur aboveground. Is there an aboveground population of farmer-descended Morlocks out there somewhere? In fairness I suppose there could be - the Time Traveller only visits a small area based around what's no longer outer London, after all. (The "modern" Eloi population appears to subsist on edible plants, which are apparently abundant and near-universal in their surroundings. It's suggested that the origins of these plants were artificial, at some point in the past. While these have presumably supplanted agriculture by the year 802,701, nonetheless there must have been a time when they didn't exist, so they don't get us away from the "Morlock workers in the fields" problem.)

4) There is some implication in the text, actually, that the speciation event may have been more recent than the Time Traveller thinks. Consider all the fossil buildings he finds in the area surrounding his arrival-point. The Eloi clearly didn't build them, and given the Morlocks' troubles with daylight, it seems doubtful that they did either. However, someone must have erected these structures, and it can't have been that long ago - most of them still have their roofs! Even allowing for possible super-advanced future construction techniques, I can't see them as being more than a few thousand years old at absolute most, not hundreds of thousands of years. Honestly, they're probably even younger than that. (Significantly, when the Traveller visits the ruined museum, there seems to be an implication that it was restocked not too long ago. When he finds the camphor and the matches, even he notes the oddity that they are still usable!)

So in summary, while the Time Traveller's account of the year 802,701 is entertaining, I don't think I believe his social biology. And actually, this is one of the strengths of this novel - while it suggests a surface-level narrative, it actually is surprisingly open to alternate readings. Who knows, perhaps this was even what Wells intended (he does, after all, take some pains to remind us that the Time Traveller was not right about everything).

[thefrogdalorian]

Dincember Day 11: Icicle

Word Count: 2204 Rating: General Summary: An innocent icicle causes Din to reminisce on a moment he shared with Grogu on the Razor Crest shortly after rescuing The Child from the Imps on Nevarro. Content Warnings: None! Author's Note: This one was a little bit different but I really enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoyed reading it. This all stemmed from the tiny shot of Din doing some maintenance on the Razor Crest that you can see briefly in Ch4.

Link to read on AO3 | My Dincember Masterlist

Travelling through hyperspace alone in the Razor Crest between jobs had once been a solitary experience for Din Djarin. But now that there was a child with him, the Mandalorian did not have the same privacy that he had once relished. The only time that Din got any privacy and time to himself was when The Child was sleeping. Only then, when its wide eyelids closed over its brown eyes as it snored softly from the confines of its pram, was Din truly alone. But tonight, for some reason, the creature did not want to sleep. Instead, as Din stood there attempting to coerce it into sleeping, it was staring at him from its pram, despite Din asking it numerous times to go to sleep.

Now that Din found himself alone with the curious green child that he had risked so much for, his reputation, his future and even his life… he found that he was entirely out of his depth. Actually taking care of this child was something he had been ill-equipped for. It had been far from Din's mind when he had powered down the Razor Crest and stormed towards the Imperial stronghold on Nevarro. How could something so small, with its wide, unrelenting gaze, terrify him like this? The Child was so helpless, so innocent – hadn’t that been the reason Din had broken into The Client’s base and wiped out so many Stormtroopers? But it was that very same innocence that was the cause for Din’s anguish now. Din felt as though The Child could sense the darkness within him, as though his brown eyes were burrowing right into the deepest crevices of his soul in a way that no one ever had before.

Din knew that something profound had shifted within him when he had encountered The Child on Arvala-7. That his life, whether he liked it or not, had been permanently changed that day. If Din had never taken that particular job, he would still be that lone bounty hunter, traversing the galaxy in a desperate attempt to run from his past. But he was not; that was no longer his reality. Instead, he was standing in the hull of the Razor Crest, begging with this disobedient child to please get some rest. 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of begging from Din, who felt like he might collapse from exhaustion, The Child used its enormous ears to listen. It shut its wide brown eyes and settled down in its crib. Din sighed deeply in relief and clambered onto his bunk, shutting the door behind him. He stripped down to his flightsuit but kept his helmet on, before he settled between the blankets to finally get some sleep of his own.

The wails of The Child brought Din out of the peaceful slumber he had fallen into. It was still dark in The Crest, although that gave no indication of the time of day since they were currently travelling through hyperspace. Din checked his chronometer, hardly any time had passed since the two had gone to sleep. Din groaned, it was the first proper rest he had felt comfortable to take in the several days since the skirmish on Nevarro. He slammed his fist against the control pad and opened the door which separated his bunk from the rest of the ship.

When Din shuffled off the bunk, the first thing that was apparent was the biting cold that had suddenly descended across the Razor Crest while the two had been asleep. But concerns for what had caused the sudden drop in temperature paled into comparison for the concern he felt for The Child. Din strode across the floor to the crib, where the muffled howls of the kid were emanating from.

As Din went to open the pram, he was bemused that it was not opening, despite him holding down the controls. It was then that Din noticed that there was ice in the gap where the two halves of the pram’s lid closed. Whatever had happened out here had caused the pram to freeze shut. Din momentarily panicked, how was he going to get the kid out? But fortunately he remembered the vast array of weapons and equipment that were available to him.

“Just hold on, I’ll get you out,” Din said as he walked back to his bunk to retrieve his vambrace that contained a flamethrower.

Din hurriedly placed his arm in the vambrace and positioned his arm well above the pram before he activated the flame. For a few sickening seconds there was absolute silence and Din feared The Child had come to harm. He held his breath as he feared the worst, but then the wails that had caused him such discomfort only a few moments prior were suddenly a soothing, comforting sound. Thankfully, the heat from the fire had melted the ice without harming The Child. Din was able to open the pram and found that The Child was staring up at him, tears still in his eyes as his little teeth chattered. 

“Sorry about that, little guy,” Din soothed as he hoisted the creature from its frozen pram, the term of endearment falling from his lips without any conscious thought. “I’ve got you now.”

The Child had mercifully stopped wailing now. Din held him close as he padded around the ship, checking to see what the problem was. Din huffed as he noticed the icicles that had begun to form throughout the ship, attached to anywhere there was moisture. He finally made it to the control panel of the Razor Crest and the news was not positive. It would not be a quick fix and Din would have to wait until the Razor Crest reached its destination, a backwater skughole called Sorgan, to begin proper maintenance. 

“Looks like the temperature controls malfunctioned,” Din sighed in frustration. “I’ll have to repair them when we land. Until then, things might be a little chilly.”

Despite how much the prospect of being close to The Child terrified him, Din knew that he could not in good conscience leave the helpless little creature outside to freeze in the harsh conditions. So, reluctantly, Din allowed The Child to enter his bunk and conserve the little warmth that remained in the tiny room. He placed The Child in its pram, but did not close it in case it froze again. Din tried not to look at the wide-eyed creature with its piercing brown eyes, as The Mandalorian settled into his bunk to resume the sleep that he had been so rudely awakened from by its wailing.

Din was exhausted and felt his lids closing, heavy with weariness. The Mandalorian was almost asleep before the harsh sound started up again. The Child wailed inconsolably. Din sat up, rolling his eyes at the intrusion into his peace. Things would be so much easier if he was still alone. But Din couldn't help but be concerned for his unlikely companion. He noticed, his heart constricting despite his tinted visor and the lack of light, how pale The Child’s skin seemed, its little teeth were chattering once again.

Din was momentarily paralysed as the terrifying realisation that he would have to care for this little creature came back to him. The little guy was clearly freezing, having failed to warm up after his ordeal in the frozen pram. Din looked at him sympathetically as he grabbed the little one underneath his tiny arms and brought him close despite how jarring his cries were. Din leaned back on the bunk and held The Child to his chest before he brought the blankets over the two of them. Din sighed gratefully as it seemed that the action had worked to stop The Child’s wails.

Din shut his eyes again, hoping that he would finally get the chance to rest. For a few blissful moments, it seemed as though that would be the case. But then the piercing noises commenced again. Din’s eyes flew open behind his helmet at the terrible racket. Din was at a loss for what to do, there was no way to fix the temperature controls again before they reached their destination. He sighed, staring at the ceiling and the icicles that had formed on the ceiling above them, wondering how in the galaxy he was ever going to be adequate enough to care for this tiny, helpless creature. 

He had almost given up, his brain exhausting every option before him. But then, a possible solution came to him. It was a ridiculous idea, a last resort. It was something that Din doubted would even work. The memory suddenly came flooding back to Din, despite the years that had passed, one that had not even crossed his mind for all that time. He recalled something that parents of foundlings would do with their babies at the covert. After Din had been taken in by the Mandalorians, the observant little boy soon noticed how the warriors were so devoted to their young, despite their intimidating appearance. Now, Din would allow those memories from past Mandalorians to guide him. It would bring him closer than he had ever intended to get to The Child, but the conditions necessitated it. 

So, before he thought deeply enough to scare him off the action, Din hurriedly unbuttoned his flightsuit with trembling fingers. Then, he picked the tiny life form up from its position on his abdomen and gingerly placed The Child upon his bare chest. Din winced at the contact, The Child was freezing and its skin had a bizarre, leathery texture. Plus, it was still wailing and Din could feel the small wet droplets from its eyes leaking onto his chest. Din sighed and wondered, was he doing this wrong? He looked down at the scene before him, feeling utterly lost. But then Din remembered a final step he could take, a last throw of the dice.

Din buttoned up his flightsuit around the little guy’s body, keeping him cocooned between the material of his flightsuit and within the warmth of Din’s chest. It seemed to do the trick, as The Child’s wailing instantly ceased. Din exhaled in relief. Perhaps he wasn’t as terrible at this as he believed. It was the first real problem he had encountered since rescuing The Child; he had successfully weathered it and found a solution.

As Din Djarin lay there on the Razor Crest that night, staring up at the icicles that had formed above his bunk with The Child nestled on his chest, he found his heart beginning to warm towards the little guy, despite the temperature of the freezing cold ship. 

“Din?” You called to him, confused why your favourite Mandalorian was so transfixed by the sight of an icicle outside the cabin. Since you had been distracted by locking the door to the cabin where you were staying before you headed out for a walk, Grogu in your arms, Din had scarcely moved an inch. He stood there, brown eyes wide with an emotion you could not quite place as he stared at the icicles hanging from the eaves at the edge of the cabin. “Din, are you alright?”

Din snapped out of whatever trance he was in instantly. “I'm fine, cyare,” Din replied, clearly a little flustered as he turned to look at you. He swallowed deeply before exhaling, clearly releasing some tension deep inside of him. “I just haven’t seen them since… nevermind…” Din shook his head as he trailed off.

You were concerned, but he said he was alright so you wouldn’t push it deeper. Din walked towards you and wordlessly took Grogu from your arms, cuddling the little boy – who was wrapped up against the elements in his new red coat – close to his chest. His sudden need to hold Grogu was a sweet moment, but your heart ached as you noticed the way Din suddenly looked overcome with emotion.

“Shall we go for this walk, then?” Din questioned, attempting to give you a reassuring smile but it did not quite reach his eyes. He was clearly not keen to elaborate on the reason he had just taken Grogu from you and was suddenly so protective of the little guy.

You just nodded in response, knowing that whatever was going on in Din’s head was something that you could worry about later. You were here on this beautiful planet, and you did not want to spoil a nice afternoon together by pressing him to share a memory that he was clearly not ready to share with you just yet.

So you watched his back, frowning slightly, as he began to walk away from you. You were still confused why such a simple icy feature had clearly moved him so deeply. You were sure you were missing something, somewhere. Perhaps you would ask Din later about the reasons an innocent icicle had apparently stirred such deep emotions within him. Maybe then he would be ready to talk. But for now, you turned your back on the cabin and headed out for your walk, following your complex, multi-layered Mandalorian, still curious about why Din had seemed so moved by a simple icicle. 

[mutipede]

Oh my fucking god loooll I don't know whether I'm exasperated or blessing in disguise - WORK STORYTIME

My 1st shift co-worker has been convinced for a long time - since before I started working here - that one guy has been fucking with him. And so he spends a lot of time setting up elaborate ways to protect against that.

I actually managed to debunk one of his biggest concerns yesterday. We keep getting that turret clamp sensor alarm, right? And he was CONVINCED that it was that guy doing it. Maintenance thought it was just heavy tool blocks throwing the turret out of balance, especially when we turn the machine off every day, the hydraulics unclamp and the turret can drift out of position if it's heavier on one side, so when we turn the machine back on and it's not in the position it expected, it alarms out. Made sense to me. And I thought since it's intermittent and worsening over time maybe the sensor's just going out. But he was CONVINCED it was THAT GUY...

Until he showed me theoretically how someone would be able to throw off the turret position manually. They'd have to turn the machine on (cause you can't open the doors while it's powered down), hit a "turret unclamp" button, move the turret out of position, then shut the machine back off.

And then I realized every time you turn the machine on, it tells you to zero all the axes. <-THAT shows up in the same spot as an alarm or other error message. The machine keeps a diagnostic history of the alarms it displays. So you can go in and see exactly when the machine was turned on, the date and time. And he said it was a load off his mind AND he felt like an asshole accusing that other guy of doing it, even if he still thinks he's fucking with him in other ways.

So one of the things he's been doing is - there's a key in the machine that has to be there and turned on in order to change or edit programs, among other things. So he's been taking the keys out and hiding them. He normally tells me when he changes the hiding place, and if the machine's running you don't need that key to make basic offset adjustments anyways, so it's no big deal.

Except today I'm supposed to do a setup on one of the machines, and the key for THAT machine is not in the most recent hiding place. The one for the other machine is, and he didn't tell me about any new hiding place, and I checked his old hiding places and it's not there, so...

Unless he gets back to my text which I would not be surprised if he doesn't cause he's gotta wake up in <5 hours I cannot do this setup lol

Chances are good he just forgot where he put it but man I Get paranoia so I also can't help but think "man wouldn't that have been an effective way for someone to fuck with him, taking one of the keys out of his hiding place and moving it somewhere ELSE so his defense is turned against him and maybe he'd even get in trouble for hiding the keys in the first place"

But either way aaayyy valid excuse to not have to do a setup. And I can get all the tools and stuff ready and look like I'm doing him a favor even though it's less work for me in the end hahaaa

[free-range-writing-prompts]

Who Resets The Traps?

You know how, in stories where some treasure-hunting adventurer goes into some ancient lost ruins in search of a particularly special artifact or treasure horde, and there's all these traps left behind by some civilization so long gone that the ruins are all overgrown with jungle vine, moss, or some other form of vegetation (or it's filled with snakes, beetles, or some other vermin) with or without crumbling stone, worn rope bridges, or some other signs of the structure being old and worn...

I gotta ask, if the place has been protected by traps since it was built, then why would any part of it show wear of any sort other than old age alone, looking like countless generations of people wore down stone steps or bridges or whatever else? Have there really been THAT many people who tried to break into this place? (Also: Do the vermin never set off the traps accidentally?)

BUT MORE THAN THAT: if it's so long abandoned, old, and untended by a lost civilization that (presumably) is no longer there to tend it, then why do the modern-times adventurers come across multiple skulls/skeletons and other signs of previous would-be raiders having been killed by the traps... which are still sitting in wait, ready to be sprung by the next attempt? Is there some secret hidden someone who lurks around, just waiting for people to get killed by the traps, and then who resets the crushing room and the wall spikes, opens the fallen-down stone doors, closes the trap doors, refills the stock of poison darts and/or arrows in the walls, puts back any large rolling boulders, and rebuilds crumbled statues and other stoneworks? Also, if everything is so old that rope bridges might fall apart at any moment, why would the trap mechanisms not also be falling apart? Why should they work as well as they ever did when they were first made? Organic material components break down over time, metal can corrode in environments where there's enough water present for plants to grow or vermin to thrive, and even stone mechanisms would eventually wear down if the traps have been set off countless times before.

(am now picturing the Knight in The Last Crusade who guards the Grail, waiting centuries for the right person to come along, and most of the time, even if someone does show up, they don't even make it to the inner room to fight the Knight, so after waiting a respectable time after hearing the traps in the outer passages get set off, he's saying to himself: "Well, I guess that's another one who didn't make it very far. Better go reset the traps." )

SO:

In your dungeon, who would reset the traps?

Fairies, gremlins, magic somehow indefinitely sustained by some secret power source, perhaps the very creeping vines that cover the walls have enough intelligence and freedom of movement that they are in charge of dungeon maintenance...

...or maybe it's this guy?

" 'Ello. "

(btw, am now also imagining some kind of scenario where there's an entire working dungeon ecosystem (on purpose), where the artifact in the ruin provides energy (instead of sunlight) to the plants, which perform maintenance (including trap-resets) and where insects feed on the plants, larger vermin feed on the insects, and dumb wandering animals larger than the vermin feed on them... and also randomly set off the traps, which provides the important function of routine testing to make sure the traps are working smoothly as designed. Alternatively, the larger fauna (such as gremlins) might perform maintenance instead of sentient flora. "Oh, hear that? There goes the trap in corridor 2-57G. Today was Bob's turn to test there, I wonder if he survived?" )

(alternatively, are none of the traps actually automatic at all, but instead all function by some life form(s) in the walls manually setting each one off, firing each individual dart, moving the spikes and walls and trap doors because they are always watching for intruders to come by? The sci-fi equivalent would be that nothing would be set to automatically go off, but instead some kind of dungeon/spaceship/building master-control AI is watching everything all the time and chooses each trap to turn on at just the right time... a fantasy-world equivalent of THAT would be some magical being with a crystal ball (or hundreds of them) watching everyone who enters and choosing what perils to inflict on which people, and when. (Like a GM in an RPG, haha)

(Note: Totally am NOT planning to use any of this stuff for anything anywhere in my writing, just couldn't help thinking about it when watching Indiana Jones movies... so it is all up for grabs for anyone (or everyone) who might want to use it, that's why it's here.)

(hoping it won't keep taking up space in my head, causing me to think of more and more related concepts)

[his-name-is-stewart]

4 | Hook, Line, and Sinker

It was hard not to think of Gotham as home. A real shitty home, sure, plenty of bad memories - but they’d grown up here. Teenage years spent exploring the city meant they knew it like the back of their hand, even if it had been six years since they’d last been here. 

God - six years. Life had changed a lot since then, but being back… it was almost as if they’d never left. Almost. 

Coming back to Gotham wasn’t something they’d wanted to do. It was one thing when the memories were all fond and nostalgic, which they were, but it was another entirely when those fond memories had all been tainted by the dark, horrible parts of the city, which was most of it.

They looked across the skyline as they drove over the bridge into the city, and felt a familiar twinge of guilt as they did so. They tried not to think too much about the dilapidated bridge they knew was right down the river from the one they were driving across.

People always joked that you could never get away from Gotham. 

Despite all of their vows to never return to the city, they had been drawn back in by a job offer they couldn’t refuse: Wayne-Powers needed a new Chemical Operations Manager, and they couldn't see any better place to put their new degree to good use. It was the kind of job that they’d always thought they’d end up having, so it just made sense. Why they hadn’t waited for an open position in Metropolis or somewhere else, they weren’t sure. Maybe it was true- maybe you really couldn’t get away from Gotham.

They tapped their fingers against the top of their steering wheel, waiting for the mid-day traffic to begin moving again. The time the traffic was giving them to think was definitely not needed; they sighed and reached to turn on the radio. Of course, they were met with nothing but static, having not changed the station since leaving the countryside. None of the small town stations they usually had their car tuned to worked in the city. With a small frown they glanced up to make sure that traffic wasn’t moving - it wasn’t - and set to adjusting their frequency. Eventually, they settled on a channel that was playing some bad pop music with some discussion of local news interspersed. Not the greatest thing to listen to, but if it kept their mind off of their rather depressing thoughts, they supposed it was alright.

By that point, traffic had begun creeping forward, and they continued moving with it, feeling very lucky that they would be able to merge down to lower and less crowded skyway levels soon. 

Their new apartment was near Central Gotham, an older building. It had been kept pretty up to date with the newest technologies as they were developed: voice-activated elevator systems, key card locks, and even additional levels as demand for apartments grew over the years, but despite the parking garage being fully automated, it was still in its original location beneath the apartment complex. 

It had its advantages, though. Getting to the parking spots meant driving on the old, ground level city streets, and while the maintenance on those roads was never fantastic, there was also hardly ever any traffic, which meant getting home a little bit faster. They hadn’t actually considered this until their first time making their way through the city to their apartment building, but they were grateful for it nonetheless.

They also found themself grateful that the elevators continued down through the levels of the parking garage so they didn’t have to carry their boxes up through the cold cement stairwell. The elevator may have been just as cold, but not carrying boxes up steps made it ten times better regardless.

The apartment was pretty high up, with a nice view of Gotham’s crisscrossing skyways from the small balcony off of the living room. They decided to leave the balcony door open for some “fresh” air while they began to unpack. Their moving company had dropped most of their stuff off a few days ago; they had brought the rest with them in their car. While it was nice not to have to worry about getting all of their stuff up from the parking garage to their apartment, it also meant that everything was a disorganized mess.

The first order of business was getting their computer desk set up. Luckily, their computer had been one of the things they’d elected to bring themself, so they wouldn’t need to hunt for which boxes the various parts were in. 

They were very ready to not have to type out their responses to the dozens of emails they'd been getting on their phone - and there had been dozens. After a rather embarrassing one-person theft of a multitude of dangerous chemicals, Wayne-Powers was in the midst of some rather frantic damage control, which had created an ever growing list of responsibilities for the position they hadn’t even started yet.

Sighing as they scrolled through the page worth of emails they’d received in the past day, they clicked off the monitor and decided that Wayne-Powers could wait for a few hours while they took their sweet time unpacking some more boxes. After all, the company couldn’t force them to respond when they weren’t even officially on payroll yet.

[chuckabeth]

I don’t know if I’ve ever met a man who has been taught this procedure specifically, because my own encounters (especially as a disabled woman) are very very different! The help ends up being something I can’t get away from, the help is done so poorly it doesn’t actually help, the help ends up harming more than helping, a combination of all of these, or the person offering help has so little idea of what to do that I don’t receive any help at all and I often feel obliged to make them feel better about themselves for their perceived failure.

This can happen for me with women, too, since my needs don’t really correlate with women-centric stuff? But men do generally feel more obligated to help, when I’m dealing with climbing stairs specifically. (One female friend I have recently bounced up the stairs, leaving me behind completely, and apologized with a laugh when she looked back at me going muuuch slower. I wasn’t offended, I don’t expect people to know or understand my disability when I’m not using my wheelchair.)

There’s this one male friend I have who actually is very tactful given the circumstances. He always offers his hand to me when we go up or down stairs together, and in a way that does actually give me some support, at least for my balance! I still think the offer of that low forearm is better, though, because that offers both strength and balance… and as for the gendered part, it can seem like? Too intimate? Almost? Or at least very old fashioned? I am privileged enough not to see an open hand as threatening, but it does feel like a gesture that I’d be more comfortable reserving to someone I’m dating, or BEST friends with. Anyway his hands are super baby soft and I love that for him, and he always gives me plenty of room to retract my hand when I want to, so the gentlemanly basics are there!

But since I’m already on a rant, let’s talk about wheelchair etiquette? I use a power chair for long days and distances, which freaks people out. I can see the panic in their eyes. They don’t know how to be with it, which makes sense! People who need power chairs are generally not out and about that much! But just so you know:

* If there’s a button to open the door, you don’t actually have to press it for me! I can do that all by myself! Yes indeed I actually can!! A little demeaning you don’t think I can? If you do, you are probably a man, and I’m guessing you’re trying to show off your chivalry. Or just pressing the button because now you have an excuse or whatever the heck is going on in that brain

* If there isn’t a button to open the door, I know how to manage? But! Yeah often some help would be really nice actually! It’s always nice when people ask if I need the help first, but like, in this case I probably do because the action is surprisingly complex with only one arm and no feet or body weight to rely on. Cases may vary! But you’ll be able to tell if it’s a challenge for me pretty quickly, so if you want to help don’t hesitate. If many yards away you can declare - “I can help!” or “Can I help?” or something like that. Probably better than just watching me struggle, lol, and it gives me the opportunity to tell you if I’ve got it or not. (Not all doors are equal.)

* If we’re entering a big building with multiple doors going into the same door well, but you’re entering through the door facing me OHMYGOSH please just go past me and use one of the other doors. There’s a button for the door. I’m pressing it. Don’t try to fight with it and open it/hold it open while it’s opening. Don’t try to stand to the side awkwardly either, partially blocking my room to go through. You can check to see if I’m struggling, right? This will be more apparent than you think! Also you can briefly ask! If I’m not, you are free to move on so I can go through!! Oh my gosh please do move on.

* Check for door buttons in general, actually. You can even check to see if they work just in case. They often need maintenance (especially around seasonal temperature changes) and no one will arrest you. If it doesn’t work and you have the time, let someone know who can do something about it because they likely have not checked and have no idea. If you work in a building with these door buttons maybe you could even think of it as part of your job to check if they’re working?? And if you work in like a waiting room or a library or a restaurant or literally anywhere where people sit, can you make sure there’s an empty place for someone who might have brought their own chair from home? And if chairs need to be moved around it will ALWAYS be easier for you to move them than for me, so please don’t hesitate to help with that preemptively offer to take over the task if you see me in the the middle of it. Thanks so much!!!

* Lastly, if we’re going through the same door in any circumstance, whether it’s from opposite sides, we’re navigating an elevator, or the ramp into a bus, we’ll almost definitely need to take turns. I’m used to being given right of way, which is very kind and thank you for your patience. In an elevator, maybe wait just a liiiittle longer to enter or at least be mindful of giving me space in there to do turns and situate (unless it’s so small I can’t do that lol.) And if I offer to let you go first, go ahead and go first! I know what I’m doing and I like to be kind. This will especially apply to bus entrances and ramps. We will both have to wait for the ramp, but I’m probably going to signal for you to go first, because it’s going to take waaay longer for me to board and get situated. Most of the time, the bus driver needs to get involved as well. So go get that bus seat while you can!

Oooof this was TOO LONG but… I hope it helps people? Most people I see just look lost and panicked when encountering me in the wild, and I’m growing to understand it. The likelihood is that literally no one taught you the etiquette, and etiquette is so so nice in making situations easier and more comfortable for everyone (while easing up my load of microaggressions for the day.)

Take this with a grain of salt, since I’m the only wheelchair user I regularly interact with and I’ve only been doing it for two years! And some people (like my grandma) will be kinda fickle and uncommunicative in whether or not they need/want help or not. I myself never expect help, so I can have a hard time asking for it. But if you offer to help and then abide by the reply you’re given, the whole situation is going to be way less scary than you think, I promise. If you do this and a disabled person still seems exasperated, it’s probably not you personally, it’s probably just this dang day they’ve been having, exhausted from navigation decisions and whatever the heck else comes with the job. As Chris Pine knows, it isn’t really about you. It’s just about being kind and respectful ^_^

Chris Evans helps Regina King up the stairs to the stage after her Oscars win