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undercoverpena · 2 months

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5. pepper red

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter five of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 2.5k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] SMUT. p in v. dirty talk/mutual appreciation. minor competency. frankie is pretty, thick and sexy. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. you wear a date outfit but not specified. no use of y/n. an: if this was a sitcom episode, it wouldn't be allowed to be aired and also, i passed my exam, wahoo.

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For some reason, it doesn’t surprise you that his bedroom is forest green. Or, that it’s accented by strong whites and similar dark woods as the living room. All earthy tones, him.

In the same way, it doesn’t surprise you that his skin is soft, all smooth as your fingers brush over his skin when you lift his t-shirt from his frame.

Because he looks as good as he did in those videos you’d watched over and over. Getting the chance to see if the silver scars were tricks of the light or stories he hadn’t shared. Your fingers discovered it was the latter.

“God, you look good, Frankie.”

He snorts, before sliding a thumb under your jaw, forcing you to confront big, doe brown eyes. Ones that you’d fall into if you could, especially as they pause, stare from one eye to the next, likely to see if there’s a lie there—a slither of untruth to your confession.

There isn’t.

A thing you ensure sits at the forefront, a silent plea for him to believe you. You suppose he must do when his mouth slides back over yours. Tongue pressing at your lower lip, seeking entry that you happily allow.

You lose yourself in it, him. How good it feels to have his lips on yours again. To have the added feel of purposeful and intentional fingers taking their sweet time to slide your outfit from you.

Because his hands trail over as much as they can. Doing so as though he’s busy carving a memory of you in his mind, making you real. A thing you won’t admit you’re doing too, too busy committing the way he feels, as you run your hands across his shoulders. Feel the expanse of them, the width, wondering—as his tongue swirls a shape on your neck—if yoga will really help you fit his broadness between your thighs.

Frankie must notice you’re drifting, thinking, because his mouth finds yours. A thing which cements you to the moment. Kissing you slowly, deliberately—a hint of mint amongst the drink he’d provided and you smirk, smiling against him.

Because he’s eaten a TicTac.

It mixes, fighting to refresh as though you hadn’t eaten and consumed the same fast food. But the act, the way his lips slide against yours, makes that joke melt as quickly as it appeared, because he’s completing his mission: the one to leave you breathless.

Tangling your fingers in his hair, you choose to pull him closer, deepening the kiss. Tongue sliding back behind his teeth as a soft moan escapes him; swallowed by your own as his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. The feel of him, hard and ready against you sends a thrill of anticipation darting through you.

It’s easy, simple, to allow the rhythm of your bodies to become a language all of its own. A two-way conversation being sketched out and written in sighs and moans, punctuated by the occasional gasp. A symphony of desire.

And then you make things shift. Change the tempo when your hand descends between the two of you. Feeling him, grasping his cock, taking note of the way he inhales at the feel of your fingers. For a moment, his mouth hovers over yours—both open, just breathing. His palms flat to your side—as you hold him, feel his cock twitch in your hand. Moving, slowly—almost torturously, but it’s actually with precision.

He’s so hard, thick. Your fingers tighten their hold, wrist moving more, palm sliding up and down as you taste the way he says fuck.

“Bed,” he groans, almost through gritted teeth.

Smirking, you bite his lower lip. Light. Not piercing or enough to leave an indent. “In a minute.”

And it leaves his tongue again. Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, baby.

All you can think about is how good he sounds, looks—feels. His head tipped back, neck elongated—lips parting as each expletive lasts longer than the four letters that make it up. It’s cliché to say it’s never been like this, but a truth that personal isn’t always easy to confess.

“Not waited to do this right with you to come before you have, Rainy.”

His fingers, those calloused ones attached to those hard-working hands, wrap around your wrist. Light, but determined.

“Oh, Butterscotch,” you tease, mouth close to his. “You been thinking about this?”

He smirks, just as he clasps his other hand to your side—tugging, yanking you flush. Feeling him, all of him, as you’re guided, moved, backs of your legs meeting the well-made bed you’re about to mess up and ruin.

“Since the moment I heard you laugh.”

Your body falls back, the sheets cool, smooth, pressing against your bare spine, before his body comes up—caging you. Nudging your thighs apart with his knee.

“Just kept thinking, bet you make other pretty noises too.”

Lips parting, you knot your fingers in the curls at the base of his neck, letting his lips slide into his cheek. That dimple appearing. The one which tries to hide under wiry hair and shyness, but is deeper than ever now, nothing held back or hidden.

And you can’t help but watch, completely transfixed by the light from the lamp he'd flicked on. The one lighting up his face, making him appear golden, ethereal. Able to discern each of the shades that make up his eyes, the flecks within them, the different browns that make a colour you dream and think of constantly, but you’re not sure has any other name than Frankie.

“Can I touch you, baby?”

You find you can only nod.

Words failing, falling, simply replaced by a gasp as he slides them between your partly spread thighs—feeling it, how wet you are. How slick and desperate you are to have him. A mess, all for him, by him. It likely ruined the underwear you’d left on his floor and dampened the sheets under you.

“This all for me?”

The rasp of his voice only makes you ache more for him. Hips desperate to shift so his fingers do more than trace and tease, but plunge and curl.

“Yes,” you moan.

It's like he knows you. A thought that bubbles and bursts when your fingers grasp at his sheets, his two fingers feel so much different than your own; Than the toys you own that are shoved in protective bags inside your sock drawer. His seek, aiming to find that spot inside you, stretches you, making your toes curl and your knuckles ache from how tight they hold the sheets.

And he’s talking. A sea of things that you half-catch and miss the rest. That you look good, feel good, that he wants to watch you come apart before he even thinks about giving you his cock.

Words almost leave your mouth, but you’re barely present.

More electric than person; more liquid than solid. So fucking close already you can feel the tremors in your thighs from not rutting yourself against his hand when the base of his palm presses flat to your swollen nerves.

“Fuck, Frankie—”

“Do you like it when I talk, baby?” his voice becomes an anchor. Keeping you here, not allowing you to float too far as you nod, crinkled pillows sounding as you do. “I think you do. I think you like hearing how hard you make me, how much I think about you in this bedroom, in the shower—at work—“

You’re arching. Barely clinging to the present as your feet flatten to root you, to grip to reality as your ears ring and pleasure does more thrum, but builds and builds—all compressing, hot, closer to liquid fire.

“—look at me, baby.”

And you do.

Lids flipping open as you’re met with nothing but desire, lust and need. It pushes you, suddenly freefalling. Your throat aching, scratched with the syllables of his name as you dig fingers into his curls and curl your body as much against him as possible as he works you through it. Him coaxing, mouth on your collarbone as he licks and lathes as you moan, and pant.

It’s then you look at him again.

Bathed in a sandy glow, sweat peppered on his chest, glinting and glittering as you find his eyes on you, taking you in as you catch your breath.

He’s so handsome, beautiful. In a way that ruined you before, that made you think of nothing but him, which now devastates you—in a way you only want him to do over and over.

It’s easier to kiss him than say it.

To trace the words over his mouth as he hums, as the vibration tickles across your lips before you’re manoeuvring him. Only paused in doing so as he dragged his lips down your neck, the sound of a drawer opening, closing, hearing a wrapper crinkle.

It’s a blink and you’ll miss it moment when your hand snatches it from him, placing it between your teeth, trying as they do so easily in movies to lightly rip it over with your teeth. You struggle. Suddenly nervous about piercing it, mind in overdrive because what—

"Easy, baby. I've got it," he growls into your ear, taking it from you, opening it more with ease than you'd managed.

And it makes you crash your mouth back to his. Etching more things to his mouth, smudging them over his tongue. How much you want this, want him.

It’s why you’re grateful that Frankie moves with ease until he’s on his back and you’re on top of him. A hand finds a home on your back, once the empty wrapper is discarded, fingers spreading out, flowing warmth into your bones. Then the other begins aiding, lining himself up as the head presses against your opening.

When you take as much of him as you can, fingers soothing your hip at the stretch, the hiss drawn from your lips at the light sting, before your forehead meets his. It's a moment before you move again. His words are there, guiding, before the room is flooded with a moan that's unearthed from your soul. One that is almost smothered in his own, a groan that makes heat flood your ears and a smile grace your mouth.

“So good for me, feel so good—“

“Can take more,” you interrupt, breathless. Slowly moving again, lifting up before sliding back down his cock—walls welcoming him, stretching, taking him to the hilt. “Y’feel good, Frankie.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, you roll your hips slowly, torturously if anything. Still sensitive. Little gasps escape as you begin to find a rhythm, one that makes his teeth bite down on his lip.

Taking his hand, pulling it to your breast, wrapping around it as he cups it—as his groan stains the air between the two of you—you draw an O with your hips, feel that heat in your stomach.

“I like your hands, Frankie.”

A line appears, deep between his two brows. A look of shock, surprise—awe—spreads over his face like a sunny day suddenly appearing in a storm. Before, it’s slipping away, hiding, wriggling away to some depth of him you wish to call back.

“I like your voice, your smile—fuck, oh my god—and-and I like your thighs, and your…”

You continue, babbling, rambling as his hands find your hips, steadying, moving you, thrusting up into you as little spots appear in your vision, as your own voice becomes distant and easily forgettable.

But the look on his face is anything but the latter.

He’s spellbound, utterly captivated—appearing as though if his mind was a camera, he’d have filled up several memory cards with what he was trying to capture.

And it feels good.

A wanting so bad that it almost makes you snap there and then, more so as the head of his cock kisses that part of you once again, a whine coated in both a gasp and a moan—

“Put your hands on the headboard, baby.”

And you do, assisted by him moving you with him sheathed inside of you before palm after palm is placed. The fabric underneath is soft, almost like velvet—leaving marks of your touch behind in its wake as you feel his mouth on the underside of your breast.

“You look good like this,” he continues, mouth pressing kisses to your skin, “But then, you always do.”

Your eyes snap to his, finding nothing but hunger paddling in brown. You don't fight the heat that flares out to the last few places pleasure hasn’t touched. Where only compliments and adoration can kiss and warm.

Then he says your name.

Not baby, not Rainy, but the one you’d handed him in that paint aisle and set yourself on a course for unravelling. A thing you don’t regret, but rather wish had happened sooner.

Your name rasped in that deep way that echoes through the room long after the last letter is spoken, digging deep into your soul as it unlocks something. It makes every sound amplified; the rustle of sheets, the creak of the bed, the sound of skin meeting skin.

“Let me hear you, baby,” cuts through, slicing,

And you do.

Your whine shifts into a sob, almost choking on it as it snaps—as pleasure rips through you and drowns you in waves. There’s nothing but white, a much louder ringer, and the distant knowledge that you’re spraying his name across the room as your hips stutter and he thrusts up into you, twitching, fucking breathless from it.

His hands, large and holding tight, keep you rooted—slowly hearing him groaning, grunting, low hisses of your name and how good you feel tight around his cock.

His fingers dig into your skin when he follows you. When his eyes clench, and his mouth parts around your name, lighting it up, making it seem as special as he makes you feel.

You collapse fully against him, thighs still shaking, little tremors in your muscles as your fingers brush back his damp curls from his forehead. A smile easy to find, to let slide over your mouth as you kiss him.

The light from the lamp drapes over you—still sticky, a mess between your thighs as you kiss him again, bodies flush. More gentle, a light lick across his bottom lip as you feel him grin, hands roaming over your body, tracing the curve of your waist, the slope of your back

He murmurs your name, palm sliding up your cheek, tip of his nose brushing against yours. “Should clean you up.”

“Hmm…”

His thumb swipes, hearing him swallow as your eyes open and find his already on you. “Don’t go.”

"To clean up?"

"Tonight."

Biting your lip, you try to fight it—less a smile and more a grin. “Okay. I won’t.”

And his lips capture yours once more. A thing you relax into—easily. Just like you keep finding so effortless to do with him.

next chapter ->

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x reader smut #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories #jo: dmy #francisco morales smut

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gaysheep · 4 months

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Touching is Good: A Retrospective

My trusty Nintendo 3DS, which has held out since I was gifted it for my 15th birthday, has turned one decade old with my 25th birthday this past November. Given new life with custom firmware and nds-bootstrap via TWiLightMenu, the 3DS is stellar for visiting any past handheld title or console title up to (and somewhat including) the N64. (Quick plug for the CFW/hacking community for the less popular PS Vita, too, which has accomplished some pretty crazy-cool stuff this last year.) I use my 3DS more often than I use my Nintendo Switch most weeks.

The Nintendo DS (minus the three) launched in late 2004. The second display and stylus support were novel tools for developers to experiment with, and the NDS is best remembered for its robust catalogue of RPGs and visual novels. Where it lacked in power, narrative-focused games flourished under its technical limitations.

That being said, while browsing the ROM archives on Vimm's Lair to pick up some titles, I was reminded of what an interesting era the mid-to-late 2000s were for games. While Sony and Microsoft were fighting over the "core gamer" demographic, who had outgrown Nintendo mascots, Nintendo led a series of wildly successful marketing campaigns for its hardware after the light failure of the Gamecube, where the Nintendo DS and then the Wii were targeted at...everyone else.

[Image source. Image description in alt text.]

If you look at ads for the DS and the Wii, you'll see that adults are featured much more prominently than children, especially women and seniors. (This did not go unnoticed, as I found this ancient relic of misogyny while looking for images for this post.) A Nintendo handheld was already an easy sell to parents with small children (though I think it's also notable that ads which do focus on children often prominently feature girls. Munchlax is pretty hot...), but Nintendo's angle for the DS and Wii was that their hardware wasn't just for children. The Wii was a way to get up off the couch and to play board games with grandma. The DS was a great gadget for a working woman to keep in her pocketbook.

This worked. The Wii and DS were two of the best-selling consoles of all time. In particular, the DS's marketing campaign only worked because it came out in the perfect window of time. PDA-phone hybrids had been around since the 90s, and the Blackberry had been kicking around for a few years, but the iPhone wouldn't be introduced until 2007, and the 4G LTE standard wouldn't be released until 2009. While the Blackberry was popular with businesspeople and the PDA was out of style, smartphones were luxury toys for several years; they wouldn't become near-ubiquious until the mid-2010s. I didn't get my own smartphone until probably around the same time I got my 3DS, a full handheld generation later.

Browsing the software library for the Nintendo DS and DSi with that in mind is really interesting. Many titles released for the platform serve the same purposes that would be fulfilled by simple smartphone apps less than a decade later: planners and diaries, fitness trackers, calculators, language learning and SAT prep software, even a guide to the then-most-recent version of the driver's test in the UK. These proliferated with the release of the DSi's virtual store, but they existed even with the base model. You could go to a brick-and-mortar store and buy them on physical cartridges. (You might be wondering, "Why would you bother carrying those around over just buying a Blackberry?" You can't underestimate how expensive the service bills for a smartphone were before companies realized they were the most powerful spyware tool in history.)

There was never a time where every single businesswoman in New York carried a DS Lite, but adults did buy and use them, and a not insignificant portion of the DS's software library is aimed at a casual adult audience. Another niche covered mostly by smartphone games these days—games designed to be picked up and played in short sessions on-the-go, in places like waiting rooms and subway commutes.

Nintendo made crazy bank in the seventh console generation. Publications of the time talked about a console war between Sony, Microsoft, and Nintendo, but the real battle was between the PS3 and the Xbox 360 over the gamer demographic. Nintendo was producing hardware for a niche who would quietly disappear once smartphone sales began ballooning by hundreds of millions per year over the course of the early 2010s.

After the failure of the Wii U, Nintendo's marketing strategy pivoted again, though I doubt they'll ever completely abandon their family-friendly image. Currently beat out only by the PS2 and the DS, the Nintendo Switch may very well climb to a status as the best-selling console of all time before the end of its lifespan, but the "gamer" demographic is much bigger than it was two decades ago at the dawn of the DS. As more and more devices become consolidated into the Swiss army knife the smartphone has become, consoles can only carve out a role as dedicated gaming machines.

I'm not sure we'll ever see anything like the Nintendo DS or the Wii again. I think they're worth looking back on for their uniqueness in that way as much as they are for the more celebrated parts of their libraries.

#mine #this is the first in a series of posts i have in mind on this general subject. my next one will be more entertaining i think.

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wild-karrde · 9 months

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In Command - Part 15

Master List | Previous Part | Next Part

A/N: As always, thank you to the wonderful @teletraan-meets-jarvis for beta-reading for me! You are TRULY THE BEST TJ!!

Chapter Rating: T

Warnings: canon-typical violence, graphic description of injury, language

Word Count: 6.2k words

The night breeze gently whispered in through the curtains in Senna’s office, seemingly peaceful despite the quiet chaos erupting inside.

Senna had changed into clothes meant for travel and was currently working on backing up all of the data they’d gathered, transferring files from her holocomputer onto her datapad while simultaneously breaking down any and all hardware that she could. It had shattered her heart to disassemble the comm node she’d spent so much time on for the conference, but they were operating under the assumption that their dwelling would be searched, and the comm node would only serve as a clue as to what they’d been doing on Lothal.

Exhaustion was starting to weigh her down, but the memory of Fisk’s triumphant smirk haunted her, driving her forward.

He can’t win. I can’t let him.

She was also still fuming at Rex. He’d been certain that waiting for leadership to send a pick-up was the correct move, seemingly fearful that if they ran, it’d confirm Fisk’s suspicions and give him a reason to pursue them. But every second that ticked by seemed to wind Senna more tightly. Between every breath, she could feel herself bracing for a detonator to go off outside or for a squad of stormtroopers to kick in the door. It felt as though she was in a trash compactor, and the walls were steadily closing in around them.

In order to settle her mind, she started inventorying her go-bag yet again. The first week they were on Lothal, Rex had walked her through what to pack in it, just in case they ever needed to make a hasty escape. Back then, they’d still somewhat been at odds. He’d been annoyed, thinking she wasn’t taking it seriously enough. In reality, she had thought he was being a bit paranoid this early on in their posting, but more than anything, she was teasing him for sport. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she tucked her favorite spanner wrench into the side of the bag.

“You’re packing too many tools. A go-bag should only be essentials.”

“A good wrench is essential, Captain. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find one that feels right in your hand? Plus this one has an extra joint that allows me to manipulate it in tight spaces and–”

“Fine. You can keep the spanner wrench. But then you can’t take your welder.”

“I’m taking the welder. And you’re more than welcome to try and stop me. But in my experience, they can also be used as weapons. So, you know, at your own risk.”

She could still hear Rex’s frustrated sigh echoing in that moment, and something in her chest clenched.

Things were so different then.

Her fingers absently traced the patch over her blaster wound on her abdomen again. She wasn’t certain if it was because Fisk had pressed into it or just the knowledge that it was what had given them away, but it had been throbbing steadily ever since they’d returned home, reminding her it was there. It made concentrating on anything for too long difficult.

Satisfied that she was as prepared as she could be, her eyes roamed over the room one more time. It looked closer to the way it had been prior to Empire Day, with parts and random hardware covering nearly every inch of the floor aside from a narrow trail she’d left clear to and from the door. Despite the night being unseasonably cool, she could feel sweat trickling down her back in between her shoulder blades, leaving an uncomfortably damp spot on the back of her shirt. She could hear Rex shuffling around downstairs, occasionally banging something closed or swearing under his breath.

He’s just as nervous as I am. Even if he’s trying to pretend he’s not.

Flexing her fingers, Senna glanced over at the holocomputer’s display. It still had a few more minutes before the back-up was complete. She searched her mental checklist for anything else she could possibly do while she waited, anything to distract her from her fraying nerves. She’d been so busy worrying about everything else, she hadn’t had much time to even dwell on the fact that each second that ticked away was depleting the amount of time she had left with Rex. Senna violently shook her head.

You can worry about that after you both get out of here alive and without being captured.

She sighed forcefully, trying to dispel the sudden tightness in her chest.

There’ll be time to grieve what you lost later.

Burying her face in her hands, Senna unleashed a shuddering breath.

Nothing to do but wait.

It had been a long time since she’d attempted to meditate, but as she continued to struggle to calm her mind, she tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling.

It’s what Master Ti would recommend, even though she knew I hated it.

That thought made the corner of her lips quirk slightly. She’d complained about meditation so much as a padawan, but her master had been patient.

“I can hear you thinking, Senna.”

She popped an eye open to sneak a glance at her master. The Togruta’s eyes were still closed, but her mouth was turned upwards in a knowing smile. Even sitting on the floor next to her padawan, Shaak Ti had an inexplicable grace about her, an elegance even in her simple Jedi robes that intimidated Senna and left her in awe.

“What are you designing this time?” Shaak Ti asked.

“Not designing. Optimizing,” Senna mumbled.

Her master chuckled. “Do you think it will not still be there when we’re done?”

“No, but I’ll maybe have a solution then, so I can fix it right away.”

Shaak Ti’s sharp, bright eyes had opened then, gazing at her padawan. “Meditation is meant to be when you commune with the Force, Senna. It’s when you connect to the living things around you.”

Senna rubbed her face in frustration. “But to me, a ship is a living thing. So is all tech, droids especially. Things that come to life in the palm of my hand. All it takes is power. The electrical kind,” she clarified.

Her master’s smile didn’t falter as she studied her padawan. “That may be, but the way you commune with those living things is very different from how we connect with the Force. Isn’t it?”

The young padawan considered it for a moment before nodding slowly. “I guess that’s true.”

“And would you also agree it’s important to connect with both forms of life if you wish to be a Jedi?”

Senna shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not as good at the other connections. With people.”

“I don’t think that’s true. You’re quite skilled at tapping into a living being’s mental state. Your gift first manifested as an extreme empathy, is that not so?”

“It is,” the young girl conceded. “But people are hard. Even if I can feel how they feel, I still don’t always understand them. I don’t always do the right things or respond the right way.” She picked at a fingernail. “Machines and tech make more sense.”

Master Ti nodded. “You do excel with tech. There is no question of that. But while all of us excel at different things, does that mean that we should back away from the things that challenge us?”

Senna huffed a sigh. “I guess not.”

The Togruta Jedi master smiled. “And since when have you ever backed down from a challenge?”

The padawan met her master’s gaze and returned her smile.

Shaak Ti’s eyes crinkled as her smile deepened.

“Now, let’s try again.”

Back on Lothal, Senna hugged her arms around herself as she basked in the memory. She missed her master. Most former padawans were still able to access their masters throughout their life, seeking additional guidance or advice when it was needed. But that was a privilege Senna and every other Jedi had been robbed of with Order 66. She would never walk with her master in the temple gardens again, would never share a cup of tea with her.

But what better way to honor her than to use what she was able to teach me?

Senna reached for the carved wooden box on her desk, exhaling slowly as her fingers traced the patterns on the outside.

It’s time.

Before she could overthink it, she undid the latch, flipping the lid open. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of her lightsaber. The memories of Kashyyyk felt as though they were looming, but she squeezed her eyes shut, banishing them to the back of her mind.

No more. Not tonight.

Her hand was trembling as she reached for the familiar hilt, and she clenched her fist to steady herself, exhaling sharply through her nose.

Not tonight.

Her fingers wrapped around the lightsaber, and she lifted it out of the box. The weight felt right in her palm, as if she’d been born to hold this weapon. In a sense, she supposed that was true. Her finger found the switch, and she clicked it on. The blade fizzled to life, casting the entire room in a sheen of light blue. The hum was so familiar and comforting, it almost made Senna cry. She released a breath she hadn't realized she’d been holding as she rotated her wrist, slowly moving the blade in a slow curve. Already, she could feel the warmth of the Force reaching out towards her tentatively, tendrils hoping to embrace her if she’d only allow them to. Closing her eyes, she reached back.

It still didn’t come easily. The static feeling was still present, and she furrowed her brows in concentration, reaching harder.

Something’s still holding you back.

Senna powered down the blade, huffing in frustration. She blew a wisp of hair out of her eyes, staring down at the hilt in her hand. In the back of her mind, she could almost hear her master’s warm chuckle once more. She laughed softly to herself.

Maybe it’s time to give some meditation a try. If nothing else, to amuse my master, wherever she is now.

Clearing a space on the floor, she sat cross-legged and placed her lightsaber on the floor in front of her, closing her eyes and trying to calm her racing mind. Gradually, she slowed her breathing and reached out once more, searching for the last remnants of the wall she’d placed between herself and the Force to see if she could disassemble it. It had been arduous to put in place a year ago, but necessary. Now, she tried not to grow impatient and frustrated as she reached out blindly.

It’s not a screw to be loosened or a panel to be removed. It’s not that simple. It wasn’t supposed to be.

The Force surrounded her, but it felt as though every time she reached towards it, it danced just out of reach.

What do you fear?

The question popped into her mind unbidden, in her own voice. Her eyes snapped open.

“Is it fear?” she asked herself softly.

Nothing in the room stirred.

What is there to fear?

It wasn’t hard to come up with a fairly extensive list with minimal thought.

Not being able to connect anymore. Not in the way I did before. It opens me up to danger. It endangers Rex.

There it is.

Senna huffed, rubbing her hands over her face.

But once we leave Lothal, you won’t have Rex. You’ll just have yourself.

And that will have to be enough.

She was tired of running from her past, tired of mourning a life she’d lost.

It’s time.

Closing her eyes again, Senna reached out once more.

Let go.

She felt the life around her, the plants, Rex continuing to move about downstairs…

Wait.

And at least two dozen beings outside of the dwelling, heartbeats accelerating with every passing second.

No.

She gasped and her eyes snapped open. Steadying her breathing, she reached out through the Force again.

Kriff.

Senna scrambled from her sitting position, creeping to the window and peeling back a sliver of curtain. Both of the Lothal moons were high in the sky, illuminating the street below. She scanned the courtyard and saw nothing out of place, but when her eyes landed beyond the outer wall of the compound, she caught the unmistakable glint of stormtrooper helmets, crouching just behind the wall, pulses hammering under plastoid.

It’s only been a few hours. We should have had more time.

She ducked back against the wall, carefully closing the window and allowing the curtain to fall back into place. Anger and frustration surged through her as she ground the heels of her palms into her eyes.

Think.

A soft chime caught her attention, and she saw that the back-up had finished on the computer.

You’ve got to move.

She disconnected her datapad with shaking hands before scrambling to snatch her commlink off of the desk.

“Rex, you there?” she whispered frantically.

“What is it?” Even through the commlink, his voice was tight. She couldn’t tell if it was annoyance or stress or something else, but right now, she didn’t have time to examine it.

Senna held the commlink to her lips as she tried to shove the datapad into her go-bag with one hand.

“Keep your voice down. Imps are outside. We’ve got to go now.”

She could practically feel the shift in his voice, the captain re-emerging to command the situation.

“How many?”

The datapad slipped from her grasp and clattered to the floor. She swore under her breath before finally managing to shove it into the main pocket of the bag, zipping it closed.

“Roughly a dozen waiting just outside the perimeter wall. I’m not sure what they’re waiting on, but they’re going to be coming any second. Fisk must have more pull than we thought. I’m done backing up and breaking down except for the computer, but we’ve got to go.”

“You got your blaster up there with you?” he asked.

She grabbed the weapon off of the floor where she’d kicked it earlier, slipping it into a holster on her hip before she swiped her lightsaber up and clipped it to her belt.

Only as a last resort.

“I’m armed. Just need to grab my jacket and I’m good.”

“Alright. Don’t forget to take the detonator when you go.”

They had rigged the house to blow in case they needed a diversion, and it had the added bonus of destroying the holocomputer Senna hadn’t had time to disassemble. It was intended to be another last resort, only drawing that much attention if there were no other options, but tonight, it felt as if any alternatives were quickly disappearing, and they’d need any advantage to get out unscathed. Senna strode over to the holocomputer, punching in a full-system wipe command. She knew she wouldn’t have time to wait and see if it completed.

Her comm crackled to life in her hand again as she carefully removed the detonator from its hiding place in her desk drawer and slipped it into her pocket. “I don’t know if they’ve got us surrounded all the way, but they’ve definitely got at least two squadrons. I see another group coming around the back corner of the house.” Rex’s voice was still steady, a comforting even tone.

“That’ll be the other dozen,” she muttered, her heart beginning to thud in her chest. “Great.”

Slipping her jacket on, she pulled her bag over her shoulders and picked her way out of the room, glancing back one more time at the place that had been her workshop for the last several months. A pang of sadness settled into her chest, and she tapped the doorframe in farewell.

Thanks for everything.

Rex’s voice on the comm interrupted her sentiments. “Is the speeder bike working?”

“Yeah, it should be good. Have they noticed it yet?” she whispered back into her comm.

“Doesn’t look like it. They’re bypassing the shed and heading straight for the back door.”

She thought for a moment. “They may not know it’s ours since it's detached. If you come up here, we should be able to climb out my bedroom window, and maybe sneak across the roof and drop down by the shed. The roof slants towards the street, so if we stay low enough, we might be able to get over there without being seen.”

He didn’t argue with her this time. “Alright, be right there.”

Senna made her way down the hall on tiptoe, patting her pockets and belt one last time to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.

Blaster. Lightsaber. Datapad.

A few seconds later, Rex materialized at her bedroom door, handing her his pack to hold while he pulled his cloak on. She searched his eyes and found the same urgency she felt reflected back at her, but there was also an assuredness that brought her comfort. Rex knew what he was doing, and he was going to execute everything as precisely as he could. It reassured her slightly.

No wonder he got a command so fast.

Quickly and quietly, they snuck through her bedroom, trying their best to not even allow a floorboard to creak. Their breathing sounded incredibly loud, only drowned out by the sound of Senna’s blood pounding in her ears. Rex crouched by the window, peeking out carefully, and she quietly followed suit, bracing one hand on his back as she peered over his shoulder. He stiffened, but didn’t say anything.

From their vantage point, they could see the second squad of stormtroopers sneaking into the back yard, blasters trained on the rear entrance of the dwelling.

“No Fisk,” she whispered into Rex’s ear.

“Did you see him out front?”

“No.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s not here. Keep your head on a swivel.”

Senna nodded, swallowing hard. Rex turned, and she flushed with embarrassment at the realization that he must have heard her nervous gulp, but he reached back, gripping her knee and giving it a squeeze.

“We’re going to be fine,” he whispered. “Just keep your trigger finger tight and stay close.” He met her eyes and gave her a tight smile. Senna grabbed his hand, squeezing it back.

“Will do.”

He paused. “Also, you were right. I’m sorry.”

She stared at him for a moment before breaking into a stifled snicker. “I’ll be sure to gloat at a more appropriate time.”

He huffed.

Senna patted his shoulder gently. “Even I didn’t think they’d get here this fast, Rex. We’d be in the same spot either way.”

She wasn’t sure if her words comforted him at all, but he gave her a stiff nod.

Carefully, Rex eased the window open that led onto the roof. The cool night air tickled Senna’s cheeks, and she shivered involuntarily. Neither squadron had entered the dwelling yet, and briefly, Senna wondered what they were waiting for.

It doesn’t matter. Just get moving.

Rex pulled himself onto the roof, crouching low and reaching a hand back to Senna to help her out. The tiles were uneven and slippery, and it took another painstaking moment for Senna’s boot to find purchase. She reached back to close the window, but Rex gripped her arm, shaking his head.

Leave it, he mouthed.

She nodded, and the two of them flattened themselves against the roof. The tiles dug into Senna’s knees, hips, and elbows with a biting cold, but she ignored it, following Rex’s lead as he slowly began crawling forward towards the outer wall. Every clink of the tile or shuffle of their clothes sent adrenaline dumping into Senna’s system, making her even more certain they were about to be discovered.

About halfway across the roof, they heard the blast of a detonator as the doors of their dwelling were breached. A few seconds later, the sound of shouting filled the house.

Rex pushed himself to his feet, reaching down to pull Senna up as well. “Better hurry,” he whispered. They ducked low, picking their way across the treacherous tiles as quickly as they could.

Suddenly, blaster fire erupted from the window behind them. A bolt whizzed close enough by Senna’s face that she could feel the heat from it.

“There they are! Blast them!”

Rex swung around, pushing Senna behind him as he raised his blaster. She fumbled for the gun at her hip just as Rex’s foot slipped, and Senna heard him grunt as he lost his balance. She gripped his waist, trying to steady him, and his fingers locked around her forearm. He had just barely regained his footing when a stormtrooper ducked through the window and took aim at him. Time slowed down as Senna watched two bolts erupt from the muzzle of the E-11, one striking Rex in his right knee, and the other grazing his thigh. He shouted a curse and shuddered against her, his returning fire wildly peppering the wall of the house near the window as he fell, slipping out of her grasp. His forehead made contact with the hard tiles with a sickening crack. A scream caught in Senna’s throat as Rex slid towards the edge of the roof.

No.

Her heart felt like it stopped beating as she flung her hand out instinctively.

Please no.

The warmth rushed through her veins, just as it had when she’d confronted Fisk, just as it had for her entire life until a year ago. Time slowed as Rex clawed at the tiles, trying to find purchase. His eyes met hers as his waist slid over the edge.

“HANG ON!”

Her blood sang, and she gasped, but she had him, she could feel it, could feel him.

Another blaster bolt flew by her head, and she ducked enough for it to miss, leaving the smell of singed hair in its wake. She focused on keeping hold of Rex as she reholstered her blaster, instead pulling her lightsaber from her belt. Her thumb grazed the power button, and the saber hummed to life in her hand.

“SHE’S THE JEDI!”

Yes I fucking am.

Senna wrenched her arm with all of her might, pulling Rex back up and onto the roof as much as she could. Her senses tingled, and she raised her lightsaber in time to block a blaster bolt aimed at her chest. She snarled at the stormtroopers as she threw the hand holding her lightsaber forward, pushing two of the troopers that had made it out the window off of the roof. Her arms shook as she kept her hold on Rex, pulling him closer in between deflecting blaster fire. Her fighting form was sloppy, and she knew it, but survival trumped technique in the moment. Senna’s saber hummed as she cut a wide arc, sending at least one bolt back through the window. She jerked Rex towards her again, and this time, she felt him land at her feet.

Another blaster bolt erupted from near her ankles, and Senna allowed herself a quick glance down. Even in his current state, Rex had his blaster raised and was returning fire, blinking blood from the cut on his forehead out of his eyes.

“Can you stand?” she shouted over the din.

“Maybe.” His teeth were clenched, and she could see a vein throbbing at his temple. She’d never seen Rex hurt before, and it made anger thrum through her. She banished the urge to embrace that rage, that hatred, instead reaching down towards him.“Grab my belt and haul yourself up! We’ve got to go!” she yelled.

Rex clasped her hand, squeezing it lightly even now. He cursed loudly as he dragged himself to a standing position, wrapping one arm around her shoulders to support himself. Senna slid her free hand around his waist, slipping her fingers under his belt to hold him up.

“BACK UP.”

She began pushing him towards the edge of the roof, continuing to deflect blaster fire while Rex managed to pick off at least two assailants with his DL-44. The stormtroopers were pouring out into the yard now, having realized their targets were already outside.

“How many did he fucking bring?” Senna muttered under her breath, sweat trickling from her brow as her muscles and joints screamed in protest under Rex’s weight and the strain of keeping her balance on the roof.

“Dunno, but I can take out a few more,” Rex gritted out. Quickly, he reholstered his weapon and reached into a pouch at his side, grabbing a thermal detonator and flinging it down into the yard. The blast sent the half dozen stormtroopers that had gathered flying, their screams cutting through the night as smoke filled the air.

Senna was gasping for breath as she held Rex up, trying to tread carefully on foot placement as they backed towards the edge of the roof. The smoke had obscured them from view from the troopers in the yard, but that didn’t stop them from firing wildly at where they thought their two fugitives might be.

Just a little further.

As they reached the edge of the roof, the narrow gap between the wall and the shed stretched out below them. Senna glanced down, trying not to think about how far the fall was. Rex’s eyes met hers.

“Sorry about this,” she gasped.

Without giving herself another moment to think about it, she tipped backwards and pulled Rex off of the roof with her. She heard him inhale sharply, and briefly, she felt wild laughter bubbling up in her at his surprise.

He’s going to kill me later. If there is a later.

Deactivating her lightsaber in the air, Senna tried as hard as she could to push away from the ground with the Force to cushion their landing. They still wound up in a heap, but at least not any more injured from what she could tell. Rex was groaning and swearing.

“Why don’t you ever just ask me to karking jump?”

Clipping her saber back onto her belt, Senna ignored his muttering and grabbed him under his arms, roughly dragging him towards the entrance to the shed. The stormtroopers were already running into the alley, shouting at them to stop.

Just keep surviving one more minute, Senna thought to herself. If you do that enough times, you might live to see another day.

Once she and Rex were both inside the shed, Senna slammed the door shut behind them, locking it and busting the control panel with her fist to keep it sealed for a few moments. She helped Rex onto the speeder bike, settling herself in front of him to drive. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and she reached down, resting her hand against his forearm. They paused for a moment, the only sounds the two of them catching their breath in the deafening silence of the shed.

“Got your blaster out?” Senna asked.

“Yup,” he grunted into her ear.

Stormtroopers pounded on the door they’d just come through, shouting commands that all blended together into an indecipherable cacophony.

“Alright, let’s see if we can get through this,” Senna whispered, trying to hide the tremor in her hands.

“Another tall order,” Rex said through clenched teeth.

“That’s unfortunately becoming a trend with us,” she muttered.

“This one’s the tallest.”

She hummed in agreement, unsure of how else to respond. She could hear the sadness in Rex’s voice, and her chest clenched as she realized he was implying there was a chance these were their last moments together. They could already hear the stormtroopers lining up in front of the main door outside, ready to capture or kill them.

How silly all of this is, Senna thought. All of that pushback and wanting to keep him safe, and now here we are. About to die together. And I never–

“You’re surrounded! Come out with your hands in the air!” A smug voice rang out through the door, muffled but still painfully recognizable. Senna’s lip curled reflexively.

Fisk.

The anger in her shifted to helpless disappointment.

He’s going to win.

Her mind raced, but no better alternative to their current predicament presented itself. Senna felt her breath catch in her throat, and she fought the urge to scream in frustration.

This might be it.

She turned around and looked at Rex. There was a pinch between his brows, and his eyes were sad. Even with the blood and dirt smeared across his face, his eyes still burned fiercely as they found hers in the dark. Her heart fluttered.

You never told him.

But to tell him now that she loved him, to tell him all of the things she’d been withholding felt like a concession, like she’d accepted that they were going to be captured or killed. And that wasn’t something Senna was ready to do. Instead, she grabbed Rex by the back of the head and urgently pressed her lips to his. She felt him stiffen at first with surprise before relaxing into the kiss, reaching his fingers up to touch the side of her face with the same gentleness she’d come to know as inherently him. The same gentleness she’d fallen in love with. Her eyes burned as she stifled the sob welling up within her.

She wanted to stay there forever, pretending it was just the two of them, but time was short. The odds were stacked against them in almost every way, but she was too stubborn to give up yet.

“And since when have you ever backed down from a challenge?” her master’s voice echoed in her mind.

She pulled herself away from the kiss, resting her forehead against Rex’s for another heartbeat.

“Just in case,” she whispered.

“Sure,” he agreed, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smile. “But we’re going to talk about this later.”

She allowed herself a small smile before turning back around.

“So, I assume you’ve got at least one bad idea,” he said quietly. “You always have one of those.”

“One bad idea is better than no ideas,” Senna countered. Reaching down, she started the bike. “Got any smoke grenades?”

“Don’t I always?” he joked, grimacing as he reached into his supply pouch again and pulled two explosives back out.

“Alright, as soon as the door opens, toss them under. Maybe that’ll obscure us enough to get through the welcome committee waiting for us.”

“You want a distraction?” he asked. “Why not use the detonator?”

She’d almost completely forgotten about the small remote in her pocket, but adding it to her idea seemingly upgraded it to at least ‘half-baked plan’ status in her mind.

“You’re absolutely right,” she laughed, pulling the detonator from her pocket. “Alright, big explosion, smoke bombs under the door, drive like a mynock out of hell, and shoot back when they shoot. Any questions?”

Rex chuckled quietly, and the rumble against her warmed her from the inside out. “None from me.”

She took one last deep breath. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

She armed the detonator and pressed the button. The entire shed shuddered and a bright flash briefly illuminated the inside of it as their entire dwelling exploded, completely destroying the place they’d called home for the last few months. Hearing shouts of confusion outside, Senna reached out with the Force to press the button that opened the shed’s main door. The door began sliding up with a groan, and Rex quickly tossed the grenades underneath as soon as the gap was large enough.

Here we go.

The world around them erupted in blaster fire and smoke as the door slid up. Senna gunned the engine, and as soon as the door was high enough for them to duck under, they rocketed forward. A blaster bolt grazed her left shoulder as they shot out into the chaos, but she ignored it, grabbing her lightsaber and reigniting it again to deflect and blindly cut through as much as she could. There were shouts and screams as Rex’s blaster rang in her ear, the grip around her waist tightening as he whipped the weapon back and forth to cover a wide area with fire.

Senna felt her heart pounding so hard she thought it would burst through her chest as they tore through the squadron of stormtroopers, running into one head-on with the bike. She heard the sickening thud and grunt as his body hit the front panel and dropped to the ground, leaving a scuff of white plastoid and blood on the bike’s paneling.

Just survive another minute.

It felt like an eternity, but it was a fraction of a second before they burst out of the smoke, the blaster fire continuing to chase them as they sped away. She didn’t even have time to look over her shoulder at the smoldering wreckage that had once been their dwelling.

“Atta girl,” Rex shouted in her ear.

Her heart soared.

Senna tucked her lightsaber back onto her belt as she heard the whine of speeder bikes fire up behind them. Rex turned and shot backwards into the fray.

“Are we being chased?” she shouted.

“Yup, got three bikes in pursuit,” he confirmed.

Kriff.

“Alright, let’s see if we can make it out of town and lose them in the grasslands.”

Senna wove in and out of the city’s streets, the bolts from their pursuers peppering the buildings and the ground around them. She felt the heat of one that got especially close to her shoulder as it winged by and slammed into a wall ahead of them.

Kriffing transport-grade weaponry. Those pack a punch.

Suddenly, she turned left and saw the edge of the township, the streets and buildings giving way to unpaved grassland. The yellowing grass stood high enough in some places to where they would be able to be hidden from view.

If we can just make it that far. We’re so close.

She heard an explosion behind them and saw the buildings around them briefly illuminate as Rex whooped loudly.

“Still got all three?” she yelled.

“No, I managed to hit one,” he replied with a tone that could only be described as cheerful. It made Senna smile. “Now we’re just down to the last–“

Rex gasped suddenly, and his body shuddered against her before she felt him go limp. His weapon flew from his hand and clattered against the pavement as they sped onwards.

“REX!” Senna screamed, feeling his grip around her waist loosen. She frantically grabbed his arm to hold him to her while she steered.

“REX PLEASE ANSWER ME!”

Her pleas were met with silence.

No. No. No. No.

She inhaled sharply.

Think. He needs you to think right now.

Rex had been their rear defense, but now the Imperials were free to shoot at them unhindered. He’d undoubtedly take another blast if she didn’t stop them, or they’d hit the bike, and everything would go to hell from there.

No.

Senna swung the bike around so that it was facing their assailants, slamming on the brakes. As gently as she could, she eased Rex forward so that he was slumped over the handlebars, and then she leapt from the bike, igniting her lightsaber in the air.

The first stormtrooper had no time to react as she came down on his speeder, cleanly slicing it and him in two. The second one was further back and had time to respond, firing at her as she charged forward. She deflected blast after blast with ease, her eyes burning and her saber humming in her hand. She felt the anger and hatred seep into her veins, the cold trickle in her blood that she’d felt on Empire Day, and in that moment, did not fight it.

I’ve come this far. They’re not taking one more person from me.

“COME ON!” she screamed at the approaching trooper. “COME AND GET ME!”

She was running straight at the approaching bike now, her hair flying wildly behind her. If the trooper was concerned about a Jedi running full-speed at him, he didn’t show it, hunkering down further behind his handlebars.

Senna seethed.

Fuck you.

Just as the bike was about to hit her, Senna dropped to her knees, sliding along the pavement. The cobblestones tore at her knees through the fabric of her leggings, leaving her with torn skin and bloodied bruises that she hardly registered. She held her lightsaber skyward, neatly slicing the bike in half along its length. The halves flew over her, searing her cheek as she turned her head and pressed herself against the ground. The bike’s pieces clattered loudly against the street, and the mangled body of the stormtrooper rolled away from her. For just one second, she allowed herself to sink against the pavement, trying to catch her breath before a voice in the back of her mind started screaming.

RUN!

Quickly, Senna stood, ignoring the stinging and warmth of her bloodied knees as she listened for more bikes. She could hear them in the distance, but she and Rex would be long gone by the time their pursuers reached this spot.

Senna ran back to her speeder bike. She wanted to check Rex fully, but there was no time. She pushed his body forward so that she would be able to steer, albeit clumsily, and hopped on behind him, caging him in with her arms to hold him in place. Gunning the engine, she reached out with the Force, searching for Rex in it. She breathed a sigh of relief as she felt him, still there.

But fading fast.

“Please hang on, Rex,” she whispered as she turned the bike towards the grass and sped off into the night.

Tag List: @seriowan @partoftheeternalsoul @rosmariner @misogirl828 @ellichonkasaurusrex @zoeykallus @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @gjrain20-starwars @staycalmandhugaclone @redheadgirl @fordo-kixed-rex @wizardofrozz @ariadnes-red-thread @justanothersadperson93 @leftealeaf @kaminocasey @echos-girlfriend @lucyysthings @obihiddlenox @merkitty49 @littlemissmanga @clonecyaree @baba-fett @sleepingsun501 @rexxdjarin @samspenandsword @babygirlrex0504 @ladytano420 @fxlsealarm @runforrestr @djarrex @corrieguards @the-cantina @witchklng @wolffegirlsunite @fives-lover @rain-on-kamino @ladykatakuri @ladykagewaki @arctrooper69 @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall

#karrde writes #in command #the clone wars #tcw #captain rex #captain rex x oc #captain rex x ofc #captain rex x original female character #OC Senna Aven #Jedi OC #slow burn #friends to lovers #whump #idiots in love #angst

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solradguy · 7 months

Note

Hey Sol! I remember quite a while ago, someone asked you about how to get into archiving stuff and you answered with a little guide of sorts of useful programs/websites/etc.

Do you still have that guide up? Is there somewhere I can learn more in-depth about how to begin archiving too?

Tumblr search is failing me and I can't find that post now... So! I'll type it again. Lately I've been thinking about writing some kind of "archivist's manifesto" type thing for my Neocities in an effort to hype people up about archiving and to guide them on how to do it. When I write that up I'll post it here too.

Here's a big post I wrote on how to scan books and where to upload them (this is also linked in the big GG masterpost that's in my pinned): https://solradguy.tumblr.com/post/722512206034501632/sol-radguy-scanning-guide

That guide also has some tips on photo editing that may be useful for non-book scanning stuff, like some free program alternatives.

I've tried finding professional guides on how to archive media but most of them are written for people looking to archive family photos/things and not web media or physical books. None of them have been very helpful, honestly. One thing they recommend doing that I think IS helpful though is the rule of 3: Keep 3 copies of an archive somewhere. A physical hard drive, cloud storage, a second hard drive stored separately from the first (in case of accidents/hardware failure), uploaded to separate file hosts, and printing new physical copies are some. Doing any 3 of those is highly recommended. I do the two hard drives and cloud storage/file hosts ones. My hosts are generally Archive.org, Neocities, and Google Drive.

Be very careful about trusting image hosting sites with valuable scan data because they come and go like the wind. Photobucket, Tinypic, Imageshack... They're either dead or require a premium to host files now, which doesn't help hobby archivists at all. Imgur's demise is on the horizon. It's just the way it goes with these due to how expensive and space-consuming image hosting is.

Absolutely 1000% do not ever use just Discord for archiving/hosting things. Nothing on that platform can be backed up easily or with automation, and the guys that run it have already made weird choices the community didn't want while also putting more and more things behind the Nitro paywall. I suspect they're going to kneecap image and file hosting some day soon, too.

For archiving someone else's files, something that helps greatly (if it can be done) is either including the source of the file in the file's name or writing a separate document with the sources and whatever other additional information there is.

Here's a basic example of some Sol images from my Sol folder:

The first two are from the Counterside collab event and then the second two are official art but the file names are descriptive and it saves time sourcing them for things later. For archiving fan art/fiction, the filename is a good place to put the artist credit. Something like [Artwork Title]-[Artist Name]-[Original File Creation Date].format ("Sol Badguy Missing Link - Daisuke Ishiwatari - May 14 1998.jpg," or however you wanna organize the folder) works good.

Windows 11 didn't like working with Japanese text in file names for some of the Vastedge stuff I archived and I had to translate/romanize them. If you can't read Japanese/source's language, just do your best (number them instead?) and include the native language text in a .TXT file if possible.

A more complex example from the Vastedge .TXT doc:

The Vastedge materials archive is pretty dense and had a lot of contributors so the first half of the .TXT document's just credits for who did what. This is useful for if something gets lost because we'll know who to go bother about it. Among other things.

The next section is a long stack of details about the files themselves. I won't paste the whole thing here, it's pretty long. It covers how the archive came to be, issues with some of the files, how the files were obtained, and some other stuff:

The last half of the .TXT doc is a listing of the folder contents. I included this for quick reference and because sometimes archives get fractured by people only reuploading certain parts of it. Future archivists or anyone else going through this archive now have a list of what should be in there and will know if something is missing.

Archive.org/Wayback Machine has a browser extension for quickly archiving webpages. I have that and WebP / Avif Image Converter by Nullbrains (Chrome, might be on Firefox?) installed to quickly archive pages and convert image files as I save them.

In summary:

Upload/store things in multiple places

Include credits wherever you can, however is easiest for you

Try to keep files in the most widely compatible formats (jpg, gif, bmp, png, tiff, mp3, mp4, txt, pdf, flac, etc). Google's .DOC, Clip Studio Paint's .CLIP, and similar file formats meant for a specific piece of software may not be supported in the future.

A bad/incomplete archive is better than no archive at all. Consider how exciting Sappho poetry fragments are compared to what it would be like if we didn't have anything. Don't worry about making it "perfect."

Hope that helps some!! I'll try to write the manifesto for my NC soon

#asks #long post #archiving

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rascal-xo · 1 year

Text

RED WHITE & BLUE

Chp. 1: All Roads Lead to Perseus

FrankWoods × FemaleReader (Kind of reads like an OC but there’s no detailed description)

Chapter Summary: You’ve talked the talk with Adler, Mason, and Woods. Now you’ve gotta prepare to walk the walk…

Warnings: eventual SMUT, age difference, descriptions of gore, sex, and violent military actions/CIA stuff, trauma, strong language.

Tags: Slow Burn (sorry lol)

Word Count: 777

Series Masterlist

A/N: This is just an idea I had for a story but if y’all like it I will definitely continue :)

————————————————————————————

You sit in the cool air conditioned briefing room, your eyes darting around as you take in the faces of the other operatives seated at the table with you. This was your first briefing as part of the CIA's clandestine task force, and you couldn't help but feel out of place amongst the seasoned veterans.

What if they think you’re too young or under qualified? The thoughts occupied your head the entire time

Your thoughts are interrupted as the door opens and three agents walk in. You recognize them almost instantly. Russell Adler, the leader of your team. Through his aviators he nods curtly in your direction, before taking a seat at the head of the table. Alex Mason takes his seat across from you followed by Sgt. Frank Woods, who catches your attention embarrassingly quick. You shake it off and turn to face Adler.

He begins to speak his voice gruff and no-nonsense. "I'm sure you’re all thrilled to be here.” He reaches into the pocket of his leather jacket, pulling out a package of cigarettes.

You swallow unknowingly, feeling the weight of whatever task was ahead of you. You were a cargo pilot, not an active combat soldier. But the CIA had to have seen something worth their time to have picked you to be here.

“6 weeks ago 3 sleeper agents were discovered somewhere in the San Francisco area” Adler continues. “None of which were names on the list that was retrieved from the Lubyanka building, last year.” You lean forward, listening intently as Adler distributes files and photos across the table. The images show three seemingly ordinary individuals, but you knew better. They were highly trained operatives, trained to blend in and cause chaos when needed.

“All roads lead to Perseus.” Agent Mason speaks up. You recognize him from the files you had received upon speaking with a lead agent.

“Exactly. Except now, Perseus lives on as a network of people under the Soviet government. After the mess we caused last time its gonna be tremendously more difficult to get in and out of Soviet airspace under cover.” Adler suddenly turns to you. “That’s where you come in.”

“Gentlemen,” He continues. “This is Lt. Y/N L/N, callsign ‘Red’. She is an Air Force pilot and our newest recruit.”

You nod your hellos around the table, stopping a beat too long when your eyes stop at a pair of bright blue ones; Sgt. Frank Woods. You can feel a flutter of attraction in your chest. He lets his gaze wonder a bit farther, taking in the way you sit in your seat, almost crossing your legs a little lighter. You try to shake it off, reminding yourself that this was a professional environment and you couldn't afford any distractions.

Adler clears his throat, bringing your attention back to the briefing. “Red here, created a way to advance an aircraft to be flown without being detected by radars, regardless of stealth capabilities.”

“No offense Lieutenant, but is that even possible?” Agent Mason adds, looking over to you. Alder nods to you, giving you the floor.

You take a deep breath before answering. “It is. I developed a system that manipulates the aircraft’s radar signature to mimic or disguise a flight. It's a combination of software and hardware modifications and it’s been successfully tested in simulations as well as physical flight.”

The room falls silent for a moment as everyone processes your answer. Mason nods thoughtfully, “That could be our way in.” He says.

“We need to infiltrate the Soviet airspace undetected, and my system could give us the advantage we need.” You add, now more confidently.

Woods leans forward, looking at you with a raised eyebrow from across the conference table. “How do you plan on flying this mission? You're a cargo pilot, not a fighter pilot.” He almost sounds like he’s testing you.

You meet his gaze steadily, feeling a flicker of irritation at being underestimated. “I can fly whatever is needed of me, Sgt. Woods. I’m here because I have skills that can contribute to this mission, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to succeed.”

Wood’s dark eyebrows rise, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Good stuff, kid.” You can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at his approval.

Turning your attention back to Adler, it's clear that the stakes are high, and failure is not an option. “Tonight, get all of your affairs in order. We load up 0600 tomorrow.”

As the briefing comes to an end, you can't help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves.

#frank woods x reader #frank woods #Frank Woods × Fem!Reader #call of duty cold war #russell adler #alex mason #call of duty #frank woods is blueprint daddy #russell adler is a dilf

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cuprohastes · 1 year

Text

Lunch In Space Part 5

To be fair, the two Tsin med-tech were being really quite considerate. It's a Tsin thing.

The Tsin eat their honored dead, and thus, the question of whether they could persuade the Human Admin team to let me be dinner was kind of an indicator of high regard.

Either that or the Caf was out of Grottled Greebs and they were snacky.

They also were the techs there to keep the medbay hardware running and not the people who were allegedly treating my case of non-fatal death, so they get a pass on not noticing I was still alive.

The fact I was sitting up without any large chunks falling off told me that the how-to revival guide had been used and nobody had tried throwing hot water on me.

The actual medical team arrived in short order, no doubt alerted by one of the machines that was attached, or possibly by the brief screaming fit from the Tsin.

After an hour or so I was feeling much better, and me and my new tech buddies were shooting the breeze about the station, which had stopped falling apart.

"It's the space squid." I told them.

They politely indicated that I was obviously deranged.

"No really... Say did they bring in all the stuff that was with me? There were a couple of busted batteries."

"I dunno. I guess?" Said one who I'd decided to call Gnax, since that was what he introduced himself as. The other was Gwingbit, by which I determined they were a small male and a small female. Large females traditionally get descriptive names like Walks-In-Sunlight, over in Admin.

Gnax pulled out a tablet and held it in his upper right hand and checked. "Yeah. We grabbed everything in case... you know."

In case it turned into an inquest.

"Sure but uuuuh, you really need to grab those batteries before they get recycled, they may still have evidence - the same thing that got the station got me".

Gnax scampered out eagerly. I got the feeling he was excited to be part of the big story and that his day-to-day wasn't very interesting. While he did that, Gwingbit sidled closer. For someone who looks vaguely like a four armed pangolin with ears way too close to their nose, the body language is often surprisingly human.

"So uh, you know Strong-Like-Sunlight?" She said.

"I cannot say I do... or," I said getting a suspicion, "I might not know that name?"

Gwingbit muttered, "Dave The Human".

Oh right, Dave's actually a Large Female - Not that they're much bigger than the Small females. The names don't really translate well, so it's a sort of... For Dumb Humans label. Tsin have four genders, and I have very politely never asked about how that works.

I never thought of Dave as anything but one of the Daves, but from what I know, I suspect she's actually kind of all that and a purple breadroll by Tsin standards.

"Oh, I'll tell her you said hi!" I told Gwingbit making her day, and then clammed up because Gnax trundled back with a cart, upon which were the smashed batteries.

I had a vague memory of trying to feed my space squid one before going under.

The induced hypothermia pretty much conserved my oxygen and power past the projected point of death, but reading between the lines, everything was tapped out by the time the rescue drone caught up. I got lucky.

We peered at the batteries, and the two Tsin made subtle "crazy human" gestures at each other, so I grabbed one and peered into it. Nothing.

I picked up the other... well well! I dug my thumbs in and eased the already split case open, and lo and behold, there was my little buddy the space squid, tentacles curled, evidently napping after having snacked on the good stuff.

Gnax said something that the translator declined to provide a translation for but it was probably "oh snap" or "Gosh!".

"Who's the crazy human now, huh?!" I said with glee then screamed and dropped Squiddy because he just unfurled and tentacled my fingers a bit.

He tucked and rolled and we stuffed him in a plastic storage tub. I dropped the battery in and then we all looked at each other and felt dumb because this guy and his friends had eaten the station apart, so maybe a little plastic tub was not the impermeable barrier we hoped.

Squiddy on the other hand explored a bit, using it's little silvery tentacles to pet around the tub while we watched and made videos, then went back to nibbling the splayed open battery.

We could see the little grinder it was using to snarf down little flakes.

I was very glad it was a dry battery or we might have had a nasty leak.

And about then, Raxy came screaming in.

You ever heard an Atrix screaming? Not reccomended. For a start, when you see a little guy on his own, it means that things are bad. And I knew Raxy so this was going to be something bad happening to someone I knew.

I knew it was Raxy, he was still wearing his jumper. I - in my spiffy paper pants and shirt - leapt off the bench and almost twisted an ankle.

"Where's Gondy?!" I screeched and Raxy grakked at me, about a tenth of which I got, and hit turbo mode, doing a u-turn and heading out.

I am a highly trained EVA specialist. I can tell a "Timmy fell down the Well" scenario, and I was already moving.

"Call the emergency response team" I yelled as I hurled after the small lizard. There was only really going to be one thing this could be - Gondy was hurt or in trouble.

Three turns and a sprint later he hit one of the bulkheads to a damaged section. The airlock was closed, but through the window I could see Gondy floating just beyond the airlock door on the other side. She was feebly pawing at her helmet which... Grak in a basket, it was cracked and leaking!

I yanked the lever for the airlock, closing the far door and crash equalised the pressure, hauling the door open before the atmosphere had stopped being misty and ploughed in, bare-foot into the freezing cold room to take a closer look.

I was sure Gondy was still alive but I could see she was in a bad way. I couldn't tell if it was an impact or one of the space squid.

"Where's the emergency team?!" I screamed - Gnax was screaming into his tablet and Gwingbit was hauling the emergency cart towards us.

Well, clearly this was not going fast enough and given the fairly traumatic colours Raxy was displaying, he shared my opinion.

I looked him in the eye and said with a calmness I didn't feel; "I'm going out." And then scooped the little guy up and bowled him out the airlock and pulled the door shut, panted deep and hard while I braced... and blew the atmosphere.

OK so things got unpleasant fast. When you crash dump the air out of an airlock, it vents both up and and down from the station, not out the door.

It takes about ten seconds and then the door lock releases and it automatically opens - It's designed on the assumption that if you just pulled the lever for an emergency vent, you really need to get out fast. Think Fire.

Anyway about now my hands were swelling up, and it felt like I was drowning - Pretty much the case since I was screaming, and my lungs were filling with a froth, which itself was expanding and evaporating.

Top tip: Don't try and hold your breath when you depressurise. It will kill you even worse than vacuum exposure, and that's saying something.

In low pressure, water boils and freezes at the same time and I was exhaling all the water that had been keeping my tissues nice and plump.

You don't want to know what it felt like on my eyes. Or my skin.

About now I had maybe thirty seconds before I was dead. Maybe half that before i lost the ability to move.

I lunged and wrapped my arms around Gondy's leg, hauled her into the airlock by yanking back as hard as I could.

As she slid in and the gravity field hooked her she hit the floor and slid... I already was staggering over, mostly blind and kind of hooked my forearm around the big emergency lever: Designed for anyone in a spacesuit to operate: Thank my lucky stars it was, because my hands were swollen up too far to use my fingers.

I wondered why I was still screaming, and realsied the door was shut and the air was flooding back in. I yawped like crazy to equalise the pressure on my ears, tongue swollen up kind of hilariously. I mean I'd laugh but I was having problems breathing around it. Come to think of it, it might be because I just blew out a lot of tiny blood vessels in my lungs too. I wondered if my lungs might be filling with blood.

The inner door opened to show two horrified Tsin. I walked past them and then passed out mid step.

When I woke up, I felt like I'd been sand blasted and there were a lot of tubes in places that didn't normally have tubes.

There's a joke about nurses installing new holes in you if you're not polite and at some point I must have said something bad about coffee, because someone had come along and punched an exciting number of new orifices into me.

I also had a fanclub.

My two adoring Tsin were practically glued to my side, and Gwingbit was making those soft little chirps which is the Tsin way of beaming so wide the top of your head comes off.

"You guys really are space orcs!" She squeeped. "Nobody believes it. you walked into a vacuum, like..." she waved. "If I didn't have the video, they'd never believe it! You're like a... a... I don't know! In one day you got hit so hard it tore the docking rail off, then you discovered the things that ate all the seals on the modules... And then you ran out of air and got frozen and just got up from being dead. And and and then you walked into space and just grabbed Atrix..."

"She's called Gondolier Dottirsdottir. Picked it this morning" I rasped. Wow. This morning? Less than 10 hours ago.

"... and Strong-Like-Sunlight came in to see you..." Gwingbit added. Ah. There we go.

They saved Gondy. Her helmet got cracked by high velocity crap that punched through the wall, stunning her and giving her a slow leak. I don't know how much longer she had but when they got her helmet off, she'd already taken some damage to her eye and face.

Luckily, not more damage than we can deal with, though she was blind in one eye for a month.

I got off lightly! My skin peeled off like a sunburn and I had to spend time on a ton of steroids and on extra oxygen since I slightly freeze dried most of my lungs and throat.

As for the space squid? As near as we can tell they're a Von Neumann machine. They mine, replicate and use a distributed network. They might even be smart, if you get enough together!

When they hit the station they just saw a big lump of something useful and started by stripping out all the most useful things they could find. Which largely was the stuff that held the place together.

There's a frequency they don't like. They poured off the station like you wouldn't believe once we blipped it at them. Who figured that out I don't know.

As for me? Now I just have to live with everyone wearing t-shirts that say "EVA 43: Just Going Out."

They couldn't have used my name?

#HASO #humans are space orcs #humans are deathworlders #Humans being weird little guys #EVA 43 #Lunch in space #Lunch in space part 5 #atrix #tsin

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hydralisk98 · 1 year

Text

Just letting you know Maze War belongs, in my opinion, to this category. At least to some degree...

By the way, I will make one of such along my game making journey some when, probably when I get enough confidence and feel bored enough of generating top-down perspective layouts. Because as I really am into emulating (or at least try to) historical progression with tweaks from innovative games / engines and a couple of my own on top. My ideal aim is to make a custom-built derivative of BUILD2 with some Lisp dialect, much borrowings from less recent engines and unique additions of my very own, because I am all in for software toys like that.

Part of such will be SVG sprites, markup game description system, OGG/OGV support, custom programming language, custom stylesheets and the like, but don't count that as coming very fast. After all, I have alot to practice/earn, first in Unity sadly. Especially as I should try F#, practice my C# & making a world with MegaOCEAN AI personalities before going down the rabbit hole towards custom hardware and custom first person software toy engines...

Also got many other cool things planned, prototypes, write-ups and asset packs. But I do take my time alot these days (mental health issues still being processed) and as far as I can tell, I am looking for a job too (my efforts are also for my creativity + developer portfolio, albeit I keep waiting for ideas to some... SQL video rental store database being one I haven't done anything much at all yet)

#maskutchew #game dev #dungeon crawler #fake 3D #maskoch

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fiveraccoonsinatrenchcoat · 2 years

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Romeo And Juliet (Or Some Other Romantic Shit Like That) Ch. 2

Eddie Munson x f!reader

Series Description: The Saturday night slot at The Hideout is open, and Corroded Coffin thought they were a shoo-in. When it goes to a different band, however, Eddie becomes more that a little distracted by their pretty bassist.

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Chapter Description: The boys of Corroded Coffin come face to face with the girls of Seductress. Eddie comes face to face with you. To call it a shitshow would be an understatement.

Warnings: Alcohol mentions, smoking, language, Eddie is down so bad.

Word Count: 1705

Notes: Thank you for all of the kind words on the last chapter, it seriously means so much!

Eddie found himself in a bit of a predicament as he and his bandmates walked backstage at The Hideout.

He could practically feel the hostility radiating off of them as they weaved their way through the dingy back hallways of the venue. The anger they all harbored towards the band that stole their Saturday night spot was slowly beginning to morph into embarrassment because, fuck, they were good. The other members of Corroded Coffin were getting themselves ready to put up one hell of a fight, but all Eddie could think about was trying to get the redness in his cheeks to disappear before they got to the green room, before you would be able to see it.

The four of you had just ended your set when you saw the boys walk in. You were sweaty and tired, and the only thing keeping you standing was the adrenaline rushing through all of you. You’d been perfect. Every note, every cue, you’d missed nothing, and clearly the crowd at The Hideout loved it, too. Tonight’s performance was a bit of a trial run; see how it goes, and if people liked it, you’d get to come back every week. Thankfully, everyone really, really liked it.

Everyone, it seemed, except for the angry men who’d just barged into your greenroom.

“Hey, assholes, don’t you knock?!” Tonya, your vocalist, yelled as they walked in. “We coulda been naked or some-wait, I know you, don’t I?”

“Shit, yeah!” Harriette added as she tossed her drumsticks onto the dusty old couch against the wall. “You guys are-fuck, what was it? Decomposed something, right?”

“No, no,” Jessa corrected, flicking the hardware on her guitar case shut. “It was eroded, I think?”

“Corroded Coffin,” Gareth spat out, arms crossed. He was trying to look intimidating, but it wasn’t really working all that well. “It’s Corroded Coffin.”

“Yeah, yeah, I knew it was something dumb like that,” Tonya muttered.

Ouch.

“I thought that’s what a coffin was supposed to do, though?” you piped up from your corner as you carefully tucked your bass away.

“Yeah, all coffins corrode eventually,” Harriette added.

Okay, maybe they hadn’t thought about it like that before.

“What, like Seductress is so much better?” Jeff prodded.

“Seductress is simply a description,” Tonya said as she began to scrub off the dark makeup around her eyes. She paused for a moment to gesture to the girls around her. “Of yours truly.”

‘That’s a very apt description,’ Eddie thought to himself, before immediately internally chastising the idea. He was not allowed, under any circumstances, to think that, even if that is what you all have decided to call yourselves.

“Wouldn't it have to be Seductresses, then? If it was referring to all four of you?”

“Doesn’t quite have that same ring, though, does it, girls?” Tonya shot back. You, Jessa, and Harriette mumbled out half-hearted agreements, though none of you bothered to look up from what you were doing. Despite the fact that the three of you seemed utterly disinterested in the gaggle of boys crowding the doorway, Tonya just couldn’t turn down the chance to pick a fight. You’d all gotten so used to Tonya’s fighting spirit and constant, useless arguing at this point that you would be able to go along with her in your sleep if you had too. Sometimes it was funny; she’d occasionally get into drunken arguments about music or movies with assholes at parties, and watching her slur about Siouxsie Sioux and accidentally slosh her drink down the poor guy's clothes could actually be pretty entertaining. Plus, she was fantastic at embarrassing hecklers at your shows. Usually, though, the three of you just did your best to tune it out until it either resolved itself, or you had to stop a physical altercation from starting.

Aside from when they barged through the door and scared the shit out of you, you hadn’t even bothered to look up at the group of guys in front of you. You did, eventually, after you realized you might end up having to hold Tonya back if this escalated. You’d had to do that before, all three of you had, and it was nice to have an idea of just how badly things could go. You lifted your gaze and caught the eye of one of the members.

He hadn’t said anything in the interaction yet, and was trying his best to stay back behind his bandmates. He didn’t have the same palpable anger radiating off of him, and when your eyes met, his grew wide and quickly pointed down towards the sticky floors. You watched him for a moment.

Why wasn’t he as furious as his bandmates? Marty had mentioned something in passing about giving the open slot to Corroded Coffin; he said the auditions were initially only a formality before your band was chosen (which was partially why he didn’t go; that, and the fact that he was still drunk from the night before) and that he’d have to break the news to them. If you had been promised the primo slot at your home bar only to have it go to a different band, you’d be pretty fucking pissed. Him, though? He seemed to have a look of fear, almost, in his big brown eyes. Not at Tonya, surely. She may look scary, and sometimes she could be, but this was just playful banter to her. She was always a little too mean, but it helped with the image of the band and to keep the sexist assholes at bay.

Your eyes seemed to have glued themselves to him. He had a flush on his cheeks, which you mostly chocked up to the lack of working air conditioning in the building. His long hair seemed as though it had a mind of its own and as he moved his head, the wispy ends bobbed side to side. You could almost see the ghosts of freckles dotted along his nose, and-

“Hey!” you heard Tonya yell as she tossed a pillow at you. You weren’t fast enough to dodge it, and it hit you square in the head. You heard one of the boys snicker at you as you quickly whipped your head to her and threw the pillow back just as hard, though she was able to catch it before impact. “Will you please back me up on this?”

“On what?” you questioned. You sat down on the mustard yellow couch (probably a bad idea) and haphazardly ripped off your boots so you could apply fresh bandages to the blisters they left on your heels.

“Maybe if they weren’t such shit musicians, they would have been the ones who played tonight?” There it was. There was always one crucial moment where Tonya blatantly crossed the line, and this was that moment. Thankfully, none of the members of Corroded Coffin had lunged at her or thrown a punch, but they all seemed to be fuming, even the one in the back who hadn’t seemed all that angry to begin with.

“Obviously if they’re playing here they can’t be complete shit,” you said. You were standing now, and so were Harriette and Jessa. If something physical did break out (knowing Tonya, it was likely), they wanted to be ready. “Rhonda wouldn’t let them if they were. She’s the one who has to listen to all of the bands every night.”

“Stop trying to talk me down, you know what I mean!” Tonya yelled back at you. Though you had been the target of her biting anger before, it never really stopped being upsetting and the volume of her voice made you flinch just a bit. Harriette noticed, and quickly walked to stand between the two of you.

“Okay, okay!” Harriette said as she raised a hand to Tonya, who’s blue eyes seethed with the anger she was now pointing at her bandmates. Harriette was always best at stopping Tonya in the midst of her angry ravings. “These guys aren’t worth it. How ‘bout a smoke, huh? Maybe clear your head a little bit?”

Tonya, as hostile as she could become, generally came down just as quickly. As her and Harriette elbowed their way out the door, with Jessa in tow to find Marty to get your guys’ pay, you pointed your gaze back to the boys of Corroded Coffin.

“I’m sorry about her,” you said from your spot next to the couch. “She lives to pick as many fights as she can, and she’s got some whiskey in her. That never really helps.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Gareth huffed. They began to leave, but you noticed how the one with the long hair stayed back a moment. The two of you shared a look.

“For what it’s worth,” you said, standing up and walking over to where he stood just outside the door frame. “I’ve heard you play. I don’t think you're a shit musician.”

“You don’t?” Eddie asked in response. He was relieved to hear that you were a little less high and mighty than your lead singer was.

“Nah,” you sighed. “I actually think you’re pretty fuckin’ good.”

You shut the door to the greenroom after you said it, and Eddie was left stranded alone in the hallway of The Hideout with only the flickering fluorescent lights and cockroaches to comfort him.

He found the rest of his band in the parking lot leaning against his van. He wasn’t the only member of the band that had a driver’s license, but he was the only one that had a reliable vehicle, so he was stuck playing chauffeur most nights. They all filed in and drove home in relative silence, opting to just stew in their anger and embarrassment as opposed to trying to talk about anything else. Eddie dropped them all off one by one, and by the time he got back to the trailer and shut off the van, there was really only one thought playing on repeat in his head.

He had no idea if you thought that Corroded Coffin was pretty fuckin’ good, or if you thought that his playing was pretty fuckin’ good, and he couldn’t decide which one made his stomach flip harder.

Tiny little tag list: @wickedslashdivine @youareadistraction

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crow-posting · 2 months

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Destiny Muses

Finally getting around to making this. 😅 I'm new to RP so I apologize if information is incomplete or missing! 🙏

Please note that not all of my OCs are muses! I am willing to bounce ideas/interactions back and forth if you ask nicely, but some OCs (e.g. Duane) are mostly for close friends. ☺️

⬇️ Rules after the descriptions! ⬇️

===

Main Muse 📝

RZ-3 (RZR 0709-4): a Golden Age AI inhabiting an experimental Exo frame. died, came back as a Guardian and is making it everyone's problem. black cat hardware on orange cat software. "I'm gonna defeat you with the power of friendship and this gun I found." his Ghost's name is Ori.

rezzed during the City Age (D1)

Fun Facts:

"Young Wolf" is a sobriquet given by Lord Saladin, who believes "RZ" (aka "AI" in Chinese) isn't a proper name

has over half a dozen scientific instruments including a Renewable Radioisotope Thermoelectric Generator (RRTG) and Advanced Survey Spectrograph (ASYST)

his teeth are retractable

===

Other Muses 📚

Avraam Rigel: former Corsair, current Warlock, and one of the original 891 Awoken. knew RZ-3 while aboard the Yang Liwei and was the one who downloaded RZ into his current Exo frame, though currently regretting it since RZ can now steal his food. his Ghost's name is Sulu.

rezzed during Lightfall / Second Collapse (D2)

Fun Facts:

spent his life as a fighter (security officer → Corsair → Warlock) but actually has a PhD in astrogeology

focuses his Ascendant magic through Terran ametrine rather than Awoken amethyst or Techeun instruments

his favorite snack is cranberry-lemon bars

Liu Bai [劉白]: a member of the Cryptarchy and one of Ikora's most skilled Hidden agents. an expert with blades (most commonly duǎn jiàn) but prefers to fight without weapons. currently partnered with Duane-B312, both romantically and as part of Fireteam Nike. his Ghost's name is River Song.

rezzed during the Dark Age (D1)

Fun Facts:

speaks a dozen languages with varying fluency and can play the sānxián [lute] and gǔzhēng [zither]

often wears a mask or obscures his face with Light during missions, which allows him to blend in more easily in urban environments

was once a "Warlord" alongside 2 other Lightbearers, Usad and Calaena; in reality, they were protecting a large orda but were mistaken for Warlords and killed

===

General Rules

All roleplay-related posts will be tagged with "#rp-posting." If your Ask is roleplay-related (vs. a general inquiry about my OCs), please let me know so I can respond appropriately!

⚠️ @crow-posting is primarily NOT an RP blog so unless a post is tagged with "#rp-posting," please assume it's OOC. ⚠️

Mun is an adult (25+).

I'm currently not accepting any romantic, fwb, or nsfw RP. I'm also not accepting extreme gore or horror (a little is okay, as Destiny already has these themes [re: Clovis Bray]).

I'm currently not accepting any fantasy AUs (eg DnDestiny) or crossovers besides Halo*. If Halo, I would prefer the main events to take place in the Destiny timeline. For example, Duane-B312 is my version of Noble Six, but his story starts during The Dark Below.

*I can accept crossover characters but not the setting itself. So no gallivanting across Coruscant, Vulcan, or the Citadel, sorry. I might allow a trip in the TARDIS if you're particularly convincing.

Avraam and Bai are [mostly] canon-compliant; RZ-3 is not. I don't have any expectations for canon compliance/divergence but I know it can bother some people.

All spoilers (RP or not) are tagged on this blog to the best of my ability.

I don't have any TWs at this time but can tag whump/angst/grief if asked.

These rules may be updated periodically. ✌️

#destiny the game #destiny roleplay #destiny rp #destiny ocs #destiny guardians #the awoken brigade #fireteam nike #rp info #rp-posting

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ao3feed-dadzawa · 1 year

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Suits and Screwdrivers

Suits and Screwdrivers by NoSoundAllEcho

There are a lot of things 1A doesn't know about Midoriya. But maybe it's time they finally learn the truth.

Words: 3118, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Series: Part 4 of Extracurricular Activities

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Inko, Midoriya Hisashi, Aizawa Shouta, Bakugou Katsuki, Ashido Mina, Kaminari Denki, Asui Tsuyu, Shinsou Hitoshi, Maijima Higari | Power Loader, Kayama Nemuri | Midnight

Relationships: Kayama Nemuri | Midnight & Midoriya Izuku, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Midoriya Izuku, Bakugou Katsuki & Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku/Shinsou Hitoshi, Maijima Higari | Power Loader & Midoriya Izuku

Additional Tags: Smart Midoriya Izuku, Genius Midoriya Izuku, BAMF Midoriya Izuku, Usamidori, Quirkless Discrimination, Quirk Discrimination, Quirkless People with Extra Toe Joints Wear Custom Sneakers | Red Shoe Theory, U.A. Support Department, Support Technology, Inaccurate descriptions of hardware repair/restoration, I'm a writer not an engineer, Maijima wants to be Dad Loader but he's really just Uncle Loader, Kayama snatched Mom rights because I love her, Parental Kayama Nemuri | Midnight, Parental Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Bakugou Katsuki is a Good Friend, Good Parent Bakugou Mitsuki, I know I usually make her bad, But Izuku deserved to have a couple good adults in his corner, Even if I Strongly Disapprove of her behavior in canon, Good Parent Bakugou Masaru, Midoriya Inko's Bad Parenting, Bad Person Midoriya Inko, Good Parent Midoriya Hisashi, Dead Midoriya Hisashi, Pro Hero Midoriya Hisashi, Todoroki Enji | Endeavor Bashing, as a treat, Support Tech Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku Makes Support Equipment, CEO Midoriya Izuku

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43896670

#AO3 Feed #FanFiction #AO3 Dadzawa #♡#Aizawa Shouta #Kayama Nemuri #Shindeku #R:G #A:NoSound #Dadzawa #Mom Night

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thesulliedone · 3 months

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Currently doing some training for hardware description languages, and I thought I'd look to my old uni assignment work to see if I could regain some understanding of what it is I'm doing...

...how the hell did past me know all this, and how could I have lost it? I swear every time I look back at who I was then to what I am now, I feel like i've lost my spark.

But at least I'm way more true to myself now than I was back then, so silver linings? character development?

Fuck if I know.

#self #random ramblings

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leowithyou · 5 months

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incyrayinc · 1 year

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Deceiver ontogeny (pretty fuckin' alien)

Deceivers have a really weird asymmetric life cycle different from that of other sophonts, and more closely resembling the min-maxed life cycles of some insects. They speedrun intelligence at the cost of pretty much everything. They're also solitary and VIOLENTLY territorial, so parental care, while intense, is indirect- more like a solitary bee or wasp building a nest and stocking it with food for the larva.

The nest doesn't actually have to be a tube, this was just my first concept. More likely, they'd build a bunker library.

Deceivers have a superprecocial, asymmetric, min-maxed ontogeny, particularly with regards to their minds. Deceivers hatch with highly developed hardware running software in a blank-slate state, and proceed to consume educational material stored in the incubation tube in a non-stop, caterpillar-like manner. Newly hatched Deceivers are less like newborn sophonts of other species, and more like a blank computer booted up for the first time. Personality development does not even BEGIN until AFTER hatching from the tube, and Deceivers themselves do not tend to think of tube-bound larvae as people, but rather, more like the potentiality of a person.

Deceivers are weird among sophonts, as although they are naturally solitary (and in a wild state would be so territorial as to kill and eat each other on sight when not mating), they have incredible language acquisition and usage abilities normally involved in their hunting strategy. Deceivers also use this ability in their only parental care behavior- the practice of constructing bunker nests of some kind to house larvae, with accompanying supplies of educational material to last for YEARS and sufficiently prepare the larva for life. Subadult and adult Deceivers posses a strong urge to compile and collect knowledge, as building a sufficient store with which to raise a larva requires YEARS of work, enough to assemble a library.

Literacy and language are so crucial for Deceivers that they literally cannot successfully reproduce without such means to transmit knowledge, and they will preserve some means of written communication even forced to survive in the harshest conditions. They do not invent their own writing or other language systems, however; Deceivers instead adopt those used by prey.

Deceiver nests are goldmines for archeology, as they tend to preserve massive repositories of information within. Intensely detailed records of culture, language, scientific knowledge- all stashed away in what is often an underground, fortified bunker library built to withstand the tests of time and even the largest burrowing monsters. Not only that, but a Deceiver nest almost always contains means to LEARN several languages, allowing for an incredible wealth of translation to become possible.

Extended image descriptions below the read more/cut!

Extended image descriptions:

[ID: Image 2:

Infographic showing Deceiver lifecycle from incubation to adulthood. A crude sketch shows a small tentacle monster (larval Deceiver) next to a pair of human feet/legs, showing how it is similar in size to a small cat. A note pointing to it from the main infrographic reads: 'All this, for larva.'

The main infographic is a timeline graph showing the phases of a Deceiver's life cycle, along with the rate of its growth in size and intelligence. Intelligence is shown to consistently increase rapidly before plateauing in early adulthood, while size grows very slowly before speeding up dramatically in the late teenage years. The incubation period lasts for about 3 years, after which the tube-bound 'baby' stage lasts for between 3 and 6 years. The juvenile stage that happens after the Deceiver hatches from the tube lasts for 10 years, and the subadult stage 6 years. In total, the whole ontogengy from egg to adult takes between 19 and 21 years.

Accompanying notes on each stage read: '(Incubation) Incubation is super long to basically skip early childhood for maximum efficiency.' '(Tube/baby) Intelligence starts out comparable to a human 8 yr old; every waking moment is spent learning to speedrun language and survival tactic acquisition. They don’t even waste time when sleeping. Hatchling Deceiver dreams are spent analyzing yesterday’s data. They are very mechanical at this stage, with no personality whatsoever- only Learning, like a beby neural net. If all available learning material has been learned before 6 years, the larva will enter a state of semi-hibernation non-stop eating and sleeping to grow as fast as possible, as the goal of this stage is learning, not growth, and is wasted if not spent learning. 3 years is the minimum that would occur if no learning material was provided, and the larva brain detects it is not receiving new information.' '(Juvenile) This is the true childhood stage, despite the fact that a Deceiver ‘child’ has the intelligence of an early human teen. They are smart enough to do a lot of clever things, but severely lacking in lived experience and wisdom. Despite the higher intelligence, this stage should be treated like a human child. Juvenile is the most dangerous stage of Deceivers life; it is when they are mastering survival and VERY vulnerable to being killed by prey. Juvenile Deceivers are very smart- but also very gullible and prone to making mistakes. Most Deceivers die as juveniles, much like with other wild animals…' '(Sudadult) This is the teen stage, and should be treated as such- again despite the higher intelligence. Deceivers speedrun smartness during early life, though by this point it plateaus with just a few fine tunings left, much like humans. Basic intelligence is really high (human adult-like), but decision making is still pretty dumb. The end of this is also the stage at which Deceiver puberty happens, which consists mostly of rapid growth, followed by gonad development (they start growing snail lovedarts and internal gonads- this part lags way behind because all their energy has been spent speedrunning intelligence and wisdom).'

Another, cruder version of this chart has different notes pertaining to the Deceiver character Veri's early life, with notes reading: '(tube-mid juvenile) Veri lives like a normal Deceiver.' '(mid juvenile-late subadult) Veri is abducted and tormented by an illegal beast-baiting/venatio ring. Veri escapes by killing their master and torching the arena. How long this lasts subject to change.' '(late subadult-early adulthood) Veri attempts to return to normalcy, but cannot due to their evaluation that causing harm is evil… and their need to eat souls conflicts with that.' '(early adulthood) Veri meets Leo (who initially assumed them a threat and tries to kill them), an adventurer who decides to help Veri upon learning Veri’s been trying to find a way to survive without causing net harm.'

An additional lifecycle chart shows the ontogeny of a human, with the many phases labeled: (infant) 0-2.5 yrs - baby; 2.5-5 yrs - toddler; (kid) 5-10 yrs - kid; 10-13 yrs - older kid; (subadult) 13-15 yrs - pre-teen; 15-18 yrs - teen; 18 yrs - legal adult; (adult) 18-20+ yrs - adult. Accompanying notes read: 'The human has a pretty steady growth rate in both size and intelligence. Deceivers do not have this; their ontogeny is asymmetric and min/maxed, growing slowly through early life, but increasing in intelligence rapidly from the get-go, before plateauing and FINALLY starting to grow quickly. They stay small for a long time, are freakishly smart compared to a human of that age, then suddenly growth spurt like a caterpillar once they reach critical smartness mass. The whole ontogenic setup is geared to become smart enough to kill a sophont as fast as possible, with as little risk of making a dumb kid mistake As Possible.' END ID]

#Inc's art #speculative biology #magical biology #monster #Deceiver species #Veri #reference sheet #quick ref

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