#mod kit tries to draw
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Things You Need To Know About Geek Vaper
The newest Geek vaper pod mod, the Aegis E100 Eteno Pod Mod Kit, will rank among the most excellent pod mod vaporizers available. Aegis is IP68-rated for durability and has a leakproof pod with maximum ventilation. It is the perfect device for portable sub-ohm vaping because it is both potent and small. The gadget is resistant to water, dust, stress, and leaks, making it a fantastic choice for vapers seeking a robust vape. It comes in two models with various power support options—one with an external 18650 battery and the other with a built-in 3000mAh battery.
The Details About Geek Vaper Kit
Both variants allow for extended vaping sessions and have a 100W output for direct-to-lung (DTL) vaping. The kit includes two Geekvape P Series coils and the Geekvape E100 pod. It also has an AS-Chip 3.0 processor and performs well. Try Eteno to have endless entertainment!
With its novel, top-to-bottom airflow design and high-quality, long-lasting Geekvape P Coil, this leakproof pod improves the vaping experience. You don't need to take the Geekvape E100 top-filling pod out of the device to add e-liquid.
On the top of the pod, there is an adjustable airflow that allows you to choose between a tighter or looser draw. The mesh design of the Geekvape P coils allows for quicker e-liquid heating and better flavor. Geek Vape advises using an e-liquid with a VG content of at least 70% for the best results.
The Version Second
The Aegis Hero Eteno E100 is smaller thanks to Geekvape's Tri-Proof Technology's second version. IP68-rated water and dust resistance and higher shock resistance provide improved protection in more challenging environments.
Intelligent Workplace Settings AS-Chip The 3.0 AS chipset is a powerful source of power for complex tasks. Automatically select the ideal output for the best flavor, and limit the ability to a maximum to avoid coil burnout. Additionally, you can choose from several modes to control how your E100 functions.
While Boost mode provides the most potent vape with each inhale, Smart mode will choose the best wattage for your chosen coil. For a more customized vape, use the variable wattage mode to select a wattage manually. Both Geekvape P Series coils that come with the kit will produce a lot of vapor. However, the 0.2 Ohm coil will do more.
E100i has a built-in 3000mAh battery, and an additional 18650 battery powers the Geekvape Aegis E100. Both devices have a steady output capacity of up to 100W. This extremely compatible pod may easily switch from pod to tank with a 510 magnetic adaptor. The E100 kit does not include the 510 adapters. However, you may purchase it separately.
What Vaping Style Do You Prefer?
Since there are so many various ways to vape, vaping is a vast industry that most novice vapers never even think to ask. To make the answer to this question simpler, it can be divided into two categories: mouth-to-lung vaping, which comes the closest to replicating the inhale of a cigarette, and direct lung vaping, which is a different kind of inhale. Direct lung vaping is typically used by people who have been mouth-to-lung vaping for some time and have reduced their nicotine levels.
Type of Device
It would help if you considered a few things before making that decision.
Pen-style devices typically have a tall, cylindrical shape, an internal battery, a single button on the side for turning the device on and vaporizing your e-juice, and a battery charging port. They typically have a tank on top or one directly integrated into the storm, also known as an AIO or all-in-one kit. Both types have a reasonably priced replaceable coil that is simple to replace when it breaks.
Box style: the box style comes in a few different iterations. Some transitional box-style kits have either internal or substitutable battery options. Finally, come with a screen and knobs to modify power settings to tailor your vape more to your personal preferences. The starter style is typically designed similarly to the pen style above but has a larger built-in battery, hence the more box-like shape.
Pod style: The pod-style devices are typically smaller and more portable than other designs. They also usually have smaller battery capacities and proprietary pods that sit on top of the battery rather than tanks. These pods can either be fully closed, fully open or replaceable closed pods. Fully closed pods cannot be refilled and must replace when the liquid inside them runs out.
Conclusion
After selecting your kit, the next step is to choose your e-liquid. There are thousands of flavors and varieties available, but most new vapers will need what's known as a 50/50 liquid. These liquids are made for mouth-to-lung devices and help to hit a good throat to simulate the inhale of a cigarette. The choice of flavor is personal, so you may experiment with other options before settling on one. However, you should carefully consider the nicotine concentration because depending on how much you smoke, you can need a higher or lower nicotine dosage.
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Kit: *at the terminal, pained by what they have to "do" for A.G.N.I.S... even after dealing with her own sister*
Lucille (sole): Hey... look at me... I can't say I know how you feel, but I can only imagine how hard it would be if our roles were reversed- if it were... if it were Nick. *looks at the old detective*
Nick: *gives a mild forlorn glance at the box then back at his friend before a small nod*
Lucille: *looks back at the scared kid in front of her*
Kit: ...Yes. I've seen the way you talk- like old friends. He's your "A.G.N.I.S"...
Nick: *deciding to add some levity to the conversation* Even down to finding me in an abandoned subway station...
Kit: *to Nick* And you would be okay with this...? Someone so close to you, giving up on you...
Nick: *facial expression softens as he looks at the girl* She wouldn't be giving up... Not if I'm requesting it- or in poor Agnes Holloway's case, pleading for it. *lowers his gaze so that they can only see his mouth from under the brim of his hat. Gravely* This is a mercy. A kindness. The poor woman has suffered enough... 200 plus years of this horrific agonizing existence. I can't imagine a worse fate.
Kit: I- I know, but I- *trembling, looking between the two old friends* Nick- Lucille- I can't...! It has to be done... to end her pain... but I can't do it...
Lucille: Would you... *swallows hard* like me to "send her off" instead?
Kit: Please... *falls to her knees and sits in front of the box, curling up into a ball* And let me listen to what she has to say.
Lucille: *already has the holotape primed* Of course, kiddo. *turns to the terminal and does what needs to be done*
After Agnes passes on and her last words are listened to...
Kit: *inconsolable*
Lucille: *kneels down and pulls Kit to her shoulder* I know the night just got darker... but it won't be that way forever... She isn't hurting anymore. She's... finally free...
#nick valentine#the machine and her#the machine and her spoilers#fallout 4#fo4#sole survivor#i have... thoughts about this mod#i had nick with me the entire time and there are eerie parallels to him and A.G.N.I.S#both were found in or around a subway#both were involuntarily uploaded into a body that isn't there own#nick was way more fortunate in that he doesn't remember the process#like nick it took several tries to get A.G.N.I.S to work. only it was way more inhumane than simply installing and deleting data#then there's how Lucille views Nick as her very VERY close friend/dad#so yeah. i was drawing a lot of parallels to A.G.N.I.S and Nick#oh yeah#and let's not forget both treat the newcomer (kit or sole) with considerable empathy and kindness#when everyone else is out for themselves and their own personal gain.#yes Lucille did just quote Nick. that one stuck with her.
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they!!
#disaster duo#too lazy to draw? take screenshots instead#i have a great need for a mod that gives cicero some freckles#i do have the creation kit and could try to make a mod myself but#last time i tried to do some funky ass shit with it it just kept crashing
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Mod Tiny & Mod Kit
(ffs pls ignore the awful pic quality)
#mod kit tries to draw#my hand gets shakey so tinys got affected by that lmao#asagao academy#yes i totally copied kakasu and hanas poses#no shame#self insert#kinda#i mean yes#but#idk#one day i will draw well#but today is not that day
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Restless Rewatch: The Untamed - Episode 02
Warning: Spoilers for all 50 episodes!
(Masterpost ) (Previous Episode) (Next Episode)
Donkey Riding
way ho and away we go, donkey riding donkey riding
way ho and away we go, riding on a donkey
Wei Wuxian and Apple are doing their best for the Ministry of Culture and Tourism.
Xiao Zhan had trouble riding the donkey sitting side-saddle, so the Department of Questionable Practical Effects made him a fake leg to wear while riding regular style.
Can you spot it? It’s very hard to spot. It is very convincing.
Simple Pleasures
Wei Wuxian takes his time wandering up the nearest mountain, and half of the cultivators in the land also wander up this mountain because...Night Hunting! The cultivators are hot and thirsty from walking because they forgot that they all know how to fly.
Wei Wuxian relaxes by a well and listens to people stanning him.
Also
I’m going to say it: Wei Wuxian never met a drinking vessel he couldn’t blow.
Everything is Beautiful at the Ballet
The actress who plays A-Yan is named Zhang Linran. She probably has studied dance since she was 4 and now she gets her big break which turns out to be feeding an apple to a donkey. So let’s pause for a second to look at how beautifully she moves.
Reunions are Awkward, Part 1
Wei Wuxian meets up with one of his family members and it goes super well.
I...like Jin Ling? He’s much less of a douchebag than his dad, his uncles Jin, Jiang, and Mo (the three stooges), and every damn one of his Jin cousins. He’s genuinely brave (his Dad’s primary good quality) and his hair is on fleek. He’s still a whiny diaper baby, but I like him.
(much more after the cut!)
Then Jiang Cheng shows up, looking fine as hell and radiating peak arrogant-prick energy.
When he discovers that ‘Mo Xuanyu” stuck a piece of paper to Jin Ling, he tells the child to literally murder him. Excellent uncleing! A+++++ would recommend.
“In fact, literally murder anyone who uses Yiling Laozu’s tools, like talismans, lure flags, or spirit compasses - basically murder everyone in the Lan Clan plus those other fanboys we saw coming up the hill. Then get out there and make some friends, goddamn it!”
These nets full of cultivators on this daytime night hunt are the only time we ever see anything in a net during a night hunt. In fact dudes constantly go night hunting and the only prey we ever see is rock lady, murder turtle, and a couple of rag mops in the lake.
You Are Not Qualified to Speak to Me
Also radiating arrogant-prick energy on this occasion is Lan Wangji. He has been using pettiness as a weapon since long before he met this Jiang Cheng turkey, and he *brings it* when Jiang Cheng tries to have a conversation with him.
Letting your eyes wander everywhere except to his punchable face while you ignore his passive-aggressive questions? Quality work.
Dropping a silence spell on his child and then letting your own child explain it to him? Golden.
Lan Wangji is never ever going to forgive Jiang Cheng for what he did on cliff day, and his silence here is as pointed as an ice pick. I suspect the last words Lan Wangji actually spoke to him were “Jiang Wanyin, stop it,” sixteen years ago.
Jiang Cheng is actually the bigger person in this particular interaction, visibly mastering his temper and telling Jin Ling to take his medicine.
Reflecting
Wei Wuxian hangs out by a beautiful river and hallucinates for a while. River Jiang Yanli is nurturing and River Jiang Cheng is pissed off, so there are no surprises there. River Jiang Cheng thinks that Wei Wuxian is a promise-breaking douchebag. He’s not exactly wrong.
Courtesy of convenient gossiping cultivators, Wei Wuxian discovers that the 16 year old arrogant kid from the Jin clan who his brother from the Jiang clan has custody of is actually and quite obviously Jin Rulan.
Well fuck I guess now I care about something, that’s inconvenient.
Needing to help parent the child of the sister who parented him is what draws Wei Wuxian fully into his new life.
As soon as he has this realization, Apple comes back from roaming around, and never gives him any trouble after this for the rest of the story. Which...probably doesn’t mean anything.
Wen Gravesite
Does Wen Ning hang out here because it’s where he and his (dead) people came from? Oh great, now I am sad.
Judging by all the leaves on this grave thingy I’m going to say that this grave tender dude is, ah, not very good at his job.
Get him, Jingyi!
I feel like maybe we all focus too much on how Lan Jingyi is so hilarious and sardonic and not enough on how he is a such a biscuit.
Soul Grass
As mentioned in the previous post, Chinese spiritual concepts don’t always translate well into English. Soul grass? Sure, why not.
This is where Wei Wuxian’s Sherlock Holmes brain starts to work, although he still doesn’t remember really basic stuff about Dafan Mountain. Dying and changing bodies is rough on the old neurochemistry. This creates more opportunities for flashbacks, however, and if there’s one thing The Untamed deffo needs more of, it’s kissing flashbacks.
Temple Statue
Presumably grave-tender dude is also in charge of clearing away spiderwebs at the temple, because it’s not getting done.
Jin Ling walks into the temple blaspheming at full volume.
Since this isn’t a Greek story, he isn’t immediately struck blind for this. Then when he wishes for the statue to come alive, it obligingly does. Everything’s coming up Rulan!
Wei Wuxian shows up to rescue all the kids by throwing talismans at the monster which does not tip anyone off to who he is.
Baby Cultivator Babysitting
Lan Wangji chills out in the cultivators’ pavilion with Jiang Cheng and their mutual hate boners.
Meanwhile, Wei Wuxian forgets all about his nephew and turns into cool professor guy, explaining the basics of soul-eating to the baby cultivators and gleefully encouraging their fear of Hanguang-Jun’s punishments.
Because the Lan babies are good filial children they are super respectful and engaged with this random adult who is lecturing them. They also - like their own Hanguang-Jun at their age - see and admire Wei Wuxian’s intellect. It’s easy to forget how extremely smart Wei Wuxian is, because of how extremely dumb Wei Wuxian is.
Lan Jingyi suddenly figures out Wei Wuxian is not crazy.
Bis. Kit.
Then Rock Lady shows up and Jin Ling sticks 6 arrows into her while Lans Jingyi and Sizhui stand around not bothering to draw their swords.
I see a lot of comments about the bad effects in the statue sequences but I think Rock Lady is all right. The figure animation is decent and the lighting is no worse on her than on everything else in the scene. Her hair is nice, for a rock person.
Admittedly I just finished watching Guardian which has CGI monsters so bad they may have injured my retinas and possibly also my DNA, so the bar, for me, is pretty low. Rock lady clears it with room to spare.
Note: Wei Wuxian’s flute playing does zippity towards controlling the statue. Not sure what his plan was here.
Wen Ning Kicks Ass
Now we get to meet Wen Ning, who appears to be a stone-cold badass. Later we will discover how hilariously inaccurate that assessment is.
While all versions of Wen Ning are delightful, this version of Wen Ning is also...strangely attractive? He’s got a Patti-Smith-Horses-Era vibe here, instead of his more usual lost-baby-dork vibe. And his dreamy “I have nails in my head” expression is intriguing.
I mean, he’s not a total snack like zombie Song Lan or pre-zombie Song Lan or blind Song Lan or post-zombie Song Lan, but this look is a good one for Wen Ning, is what I’m saying.
Reunions are Awkward, Part 2
Lan Wangji, who has 99% already recognized Wei Wuxian because of the haunted sword and the fierce jawline and beautiful neck and tiny tiny waist, is summoned by his flute playing as inexorably as the Ghost General was.
Jiang Cheng also recognizes Wei Wuxian and goes into full beatdown mode, thwarted (silently) by Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian attempts to preserve his incognito by sassing Jiang Cheng in as sibling-like a manner as possible.
Hanguang-Jun’s Pro-Ghost Agenda Has Been Clear for Some Time
This Jiang/Lan fight is hilarious when you consider the implications.
Macroexpression vs. Microexpression
Mo Xuanyu brought Wei Wuxian back using sacrifice summons, a dark ritual invented by Wei Wuxian that he, most likely, did NOT show to Lan Wangji back in the day. So it’s a pretty safe bet that Lan Wangji doesn’t know that Wei Wuxian was gifted a body, rather than stealing one.
when your brother turns around, you must whip him
you will never live it down unless you whip him
When Jiang Cheng lets loose with Zidian, it’s not just because he’s angry. He’s using purple power to force Wei Wuxian’s ghost out of the body he’s apparently possessed. And Lan Wangji instantly STOPS him from doing that.
Clan Leader Jiang: this person has been possessed, against their will, by an evil ghost
Future Chief Cultivator Lan: Counterpoint: I am banging the ghost
Flashback Time
Welcome to your 30-episode flashback!
Once I used to join in
Every boy and girl was my friend
Now there's revolution, but they don't know
What they're fighting
Let us close our eyes
Outside their lives go on much faster
Oh, we won't give in
We'll keep living in the past
Road Tripping to Summer School
Gosh I’m looking forward to younger, kinder, more relatable Jiang Cheng.
...prick.
Incidentally, until now this episode didn’t know that Jiang Cheng has smile muscles, and neither did the person who glued his wig on for him.
I Like Rabbits
Here we have our first rabbit in a large collection of rabbit iconography that appears in The Untamed.
Instead of sending everyone to the Wikipedia page for Tu'er Shen I’m going to take this opportunity to rec the short film Kiss of the Rabbit God by Andrew Thomas Huang (tw: blood, tw:body-mod cutting) which you can read about and watch over at Nowness.com
Particularly if you are a queer person of Chinese heritage, check it out.
So. What the fuck are these? Are they food?
Are they made from wax? Or corn starch? or pig intestines?
Wei Wuxian runs off to get laid drunk and Jiang Cheng grumps about it. Jiang Yanli reminds him that being free is a Jiang Clan Rule, so really Wei Wuxian is following the rules by not following the rules. Does that mean he’s not free? My head hurts.
Jiang Cheng: yes but grump grump grump
Jiang Yanli: Nothing bad will ever happen because of A-Xian’s choices, trust me
Outro
Wei Wuxian faint tally: one Caught by: the cold hard ground
Soundtrack: 1. Donkey Riding by Great Big Sea 2. Living in the Past by Jethro Tull 3. Whip It by Devo
Fic prompt: Lan Wangji’s internal monologue while he sits in the pavilion with Jiang Cheng
If you write a fic from this prompt and want to share, please post a link in comments!
Bonus: Wang Zuocheng, macro-expression king
Episode 03 Restless Rewatch coming soon!
#the untamed#fytheuntamed#the untamed spoilers#the untamed gifs#the untamed stills#my gifs#my stills#restless rewatch#restless rewatch the untamed#canary3d-original#wei wuxian#jiang cheng#lan wangji#lan jingyi#c-drama#bl drama#the untamed memes
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✨PATTON HEADCANONS!!✨
🍪He has frog-like tendencies!
🍪For example, he really likes playing in water! He can never describe why, n says he “likes the way it splashes!”
🍪And speaking of frogs... he adores them!!
🍪Virgil got him a pet frog, which he named Frogger!! And he’s always following around Patton and Virgil!
🍪Ohmygod- the frog puns....
“Sorry, I completely frogot!”
“Do you frogive me?”
“I toad you all not to mess with Janus’s hat!!”
🍪Height difference. No I will not be taking criticism. He’s the second shortest side, right after Janus!
🍪He has a cute little garden in the creativity!! He plants all sorts of things, flowers (of all colors of the rainbow! And black ones for Virgil ofc!), vegetables (to make sure the other sides are healthy!) and tall fruit trees!
🍪He gives the flowers he grows to everyone as pretty gifts!!
🍪He loves seeing everyone smile and the sparkles in their eyes when they receive his flower crowns!
🍪When he’s not gardening, he’s making friendship bracelets!! He started out small, using cute carefully-thought-out charms, but slowly he became a bracelet-making-pro! N now each side has enough bracelets to cover their entire arm!
🍪Anddd he’s teaching the other sides how to make them too! (Virgil finds it a good way to relive stress!)
🍪He and Roman bond over scrapbooking and drawing!
🍪He and Virgil bond over taking care of Frogger!!
🍪He baked cookies (with Logan’s supervision) for Remus and Janus once!
🍪He’ll never forget how shocked and touched they were-
🍪Janus still talks about the cookies like a proud mom!!
🍪”Have you tried Patton's cookies?? No? Do you want to?”
🍪And god forbid you insult Patton in front of the sides in any way..
🍪Or else-
And that’s all my lovelies!! Hope you all have a great day!
- 💙 Mod Patton 💙
Hello~
This is our first original post on here, and the blog is still under construction, but mod Patton put a lot of work into this, and I think it turned out great!
I’m gonna add the taglist for my blog on here as well, but if anyone isn’t comfortable with being tagged on here, please let me know.
Let’s show mod Patton some appreciation!
-🔎Mod Shuichi🔎
@nyx-is-a-blanket-burrito
@cherri-xxx
@voidsayshi
@otsuchan09
@burnt-toast-life
@a-looser-draws
@togamisoneandonlysimp
@uwu-im-coming-for-you
@rainbowpitofdoom
@maddygail
@the-kings-jester
@kyouii-sushi
@yukothekiddo
@hufflepuffnico
@reacemightwrite
@captainstrawberrywings
@kitty8roses
@makotonaegikinnie
@blue-imagica
@dr-daydreams-reblogs
@ohyoumeanher
@princeasimdiya12
@barelyalive-heroesofolympus
@sunshineandshadowss
@cakepaint
@mygenderisidiot
@nagitos-hands-are-all-tied-up
@ask-wholesome-chiaki
@mystikaela
@lover-boy-in-red
@leetheseventh
@shamedesigner
@dostoe
@sheenzucchini
@wolfheart7snow
@ibukikinniebutatakastan3
@beefboyy
@kit-kit-kat
@softishian
@marvellxjoestar
@greenbling-kanna
@new-tella-us
@chrissenbun
#sanders sides#headcanons#sanders sides headcanon#thomas sanders#patton sanders#virgil sanders#logan sanders#roman sanders#janus sanders#remus sanders#sanders asides#patton#ts patton#patton headcanons#mod patton#tags#ts virgil#ts logan#ts remus#remy sanders#ts janus#ts roman#youtube#vine#rip vine#youtubers#thomas and friends#headcanons blog#ts headcanon#imagines
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Murderbot Reference: Character Descriptions Part 1
So, characters and things in Murderbot stories don’t get a lot of physical description, which is very cool, but out of curiosity I went through all 5 books and tried to note every time a character gets a description (body or clothing).
I also ended up making some non-visual notes, such as the names of Mensah’s marital partners and Amena’s age. Basically, the things I’d want to remember about a character if I was writing or drawing them. Therefore, beware of spoilers.
This got long so it’s under a cut, and I’ve split it into 3 posts. This post contains:
Mensah
Gurathin
Pin-Lee
Ratthi
Arada
Overse, Bharadwaj, Volescu
Wilken and Gerth
Miki & Human-Form Bots
Don Abene
Combat Bot
Amena
Thiago
Other posts: Part 2; Part 3
Mensah
· “She had dark brown skin and lighter brown hair cut very short and I’m guessing she wasn’t young or she wouldn’t be in charge.”
· Looks tired and sleep-deprived during pre-abduction interviews; more creases at corner of eyes after rescue
· Clothing: During rescue, wears a long caftan over pants (long enough to hold it up while running), “looked more rumpled and creased than they should, but not enough to draw attention.” One shoe falls off during run, she can toe out of the other one.
· Very good at controlling herself, can look physically relaxed during all this.
· Height: comes up to about MB’s shoulder. MB has to “look down” to meet her eyes directly.
· Feed interface is implanted as a fail-safe for emergencies, but is not augmented.
· One child “looked like a miniature version of Mensah;” family has 7 children total
· Two marital partners: Farai and Tano. Farai uses she/her and seems comfortable with Murderbot.
· Has at least one brother (who married Thiago), see next point
· Lives outside the capital city with two marital partners, plus her sister and brother and their three marital partners, “and a bunch of relatives and kids who Ratthi had lost count of”
· Is “second mother” in family
Gurathin
· Has “a small, quiet smile, and they all [PreservationAux survey members] seemed to like him.”
· Augmented human, specifically gives him some information storage (similar to MB), internal augment. Carries a specialized toolkit.
· Shorter than MB, who puts its arm on his shoulder to run after injury.
Pin-Lee
· During Exit Strategy when meeting MB, is wearing a jacket and carrying the key for Mensah’s implant.
· Wears feed interface in ear
· Take medication (unspecified, but had it with her during ES)
· Has past experience in habitat and shelter construction
Ratthi
· At end of ASR, is there to meet MB when it comes out of cubicle after Mensah purchases it. “He was wearing regular civilian station clothes, but with the soft gray jacket with the PreservationAux survey logo.”
· Shorter than MB, who puts its arm on his shoulder to run after injury.
· Carries a lucky spare interface
· Is a biologist
· No physical description (besides being shorter than MB), but according to Word of God on her Dreamwidth blog (no links or Tumblr will hide this post from the tags): “Ratthi is super hot. We're talking Sendhil Ramamurthy levels of hot.”
· The closest physical description in text we get is being used as a comparison: “Iris was small, shorter and slimmer than Ratthi, not much bigger than Amena.“
· Doesn’t seem to have a partner, but according to MB, has a lot of relationships with all genders of humans and augmented humans, and he and they all seemed very happy about it.
Arada
· “Arada has a lot of expressions, even for a human.”
· Short hair (singed in NE after whatever happened in the wormhole)
· Has light gold-brown skin “and you could really tell all the blood had drained out of her face” when frightened.
Overse, Bharadwaj & Volescu
· Overse uses she/her, Arada’s marital partner. Is certified as a field medic
· Bharadwaj uses she/her
· Volescu uses he/him; in a 4-way marriage
Wilken and Gerth
· Both she/her. Both augmented humans, carrying traveling packs and a couple cases MB recognizes as combat gear, including armor and weapons
· Have worked for GrayCris before, know enough about it to keep blackmail material on hand
· “From the shapes, the cases held weapons, ammo, and a couple of high-end sets of self-adjusting armor, the kind I’d only seen in the media.”
· Armor has energy weapons built into forearms. Faceplate and helmet. With no comm or feed, can hear but voices sound like they’re farther away. When armor powers down, automatically opens vents to allow air circulation so person doesn’t suffocate or get heat exhaustion.
Miki/Human-Form Bots
· No cloned human tissue, just a bare metal bot-body that can pick up heavy things (but not as good as specialized hauler or other cargo bot, according to MB). Big, globe-like eyes. Eyes are dark and opaque surface. Can extend a secondary clamp from chest and used to hold emergency kit while using its hand to treat MB.
· Cameras and sensory inputs are in head; its processor, memory and other things that make it Miki are in the chest/torso
· Strong enough to pin Wilken’s wrist to wall and stand firm while Wilken pushes.
· Human-form bots often used to portray “evil rogue SecUnits who menaced the main characters” in entertainment media, so humans who had never worked with SecUnits expected them to look like human-form bots, not SUs.
· Not popular in corporation territory (according to MB) because they’re more general-purpose and not as good at specific tasks as dedicated bots, and “with the feed available their data storage and processing ability isn’t that exciting.”
Don Abene
· Warm brown skin lined at the corners of mouth and eyes, long dark hair has strands of white. MB can’t guess age.
· Hair is loose after helmet taken off, long enough to need brushing away to check neck, and Wilken grabbed it.
· After helmet removed during fight, has a mark on neck where helmet rim pressed in.
Combat Bot (not Combat SecUnit)
· (Combat SecUnit note: they probably don’t look super different from regular SecUnits, at least if you’re not super close, because MB didn’t realize one SU in the Exit Strategy dock fight was a Combat SU until it was able to counter MB’s hacks; MB didn’t recognize it as a CSU on sight)
· Anyway: combat bots, separate things from CSUs
· Combat bots are close in shape to human-form bot, but 3 meters (~10 feet) tall, has multiple weapon ports in chest and back, four arms with multiple hand mods for cutting, slicing, delivering energy bursts, etc.
· Faster, stronger, and more heavily armed than a SecUnit, and a “not very endearing personality” according to MB.
· Camera and scanners in head, processing and memory in lower abdomen for protection
· Can deliver pulse through skin to cause SecUnit pain sensors to max out, and another pulse meant to fry SecUnit armor and explosive weapons.
· Grabbed SecUnit by head and shoulder with one hand; MB feels “shift in the metal that mean something sharp was about to come out of its hand.”
Amena
· Shorter than MB (“stares up” at it)
· Smaller than Iris [see part 2 for Iris] and Ratthi
· Has to tie hair up in order to put on EVAC suit
· Just under Preservation’s legal adult age
· Oldest of the family’s 7 children
Thiago
· Mensah’s brother-in-law, married to Mensah’s brother; Amena’s uncle
· Brown skin
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hand over wound (1/??)
half an excuse to play around with form, style, and the second person pov. this isn’t what I typically write, so I’m ahhhhh about it all around. alas, FHR lives rent free in my head right now. only read over it a few times for mistakes, so apologies for any typos.
pairing: ricardo ortega/f!sidestep, pre-heartbreak
rating: t
word count: 2175
warnings: mentions of blood, injury. typical canon content.
[read on AO3.]
--
You’re in an apartment that isn’t yours with a man you shouldn’t trust and a gut bleeding out over his nice, expensive bathroom, and that doesn’t sound like the start of a bad joke so much as the start of the end of your life.
(If you could call it a life, if you could call it anything more than all your stolen seconds ticking down to this moment. Torn stitches— fucking stupid, stupid mistake, this is how they’re going to get you—)
(He’ll take you to a hospital and they’ll look and they’ll know and he’ll know and and and)
Fuck.
Two choices:
One. You can suck it up, ask for a first aid kit—he’ll have one, twice as nice as the one you’ve got and he doesn’t even need it—all those Ranger benefits he keeps trying to entice you with, go team! Maybe even some halfway decent painkillers.
You lock yourself in the bathroom, stitch yourself up clean enough to get out of here without bleeding on his floor, too. You can meet his questions with a hard laugh and a fuck off I’m fine go finish making the food I’m starving.
(and why the fuck did you come here why did you let yourself get swayed by his fast grins and his bright eyes? He isn’t your friend, he isn’t, even if he thinks he is.)
Fuck.
Two. You make a run for it. More questions. Potential for passing out in a dark alley. Vulnerable and wounded until you can get back to your own shitty place and hope to god Ortega doesn’t think to follow you. Which he will, you know he will, and you’re fast but he’s always been faster, just as quick on the draw with a mind of static to take your edge.
You pull the tight undershirt up higher, flinching at the sight of your own skin, focus on the blood rolling sluggish and hot instead of the flinty orange patterns. The wound’s deep and fresh and curled like a crooked smile.
Black clothes help. Red splatters vibrantly on the white marble counter, onto the floor, sticks to the soles of your feet (bare, shoes kicked off at the door.) You’ll have to clean that up. How the hell will you do that? With his goddamn bleach white towels?
God— fucking— fuck.
Okay. You can do this. You just ask. Ask for the first aid kit. Slam the door in his face. Or run.
You want to run. Feel that rabbit-heart drive bursting up under the skin to book it and maybe that’s what you need to do. Yes. That’s what you need to do. Leave Ortega the mess—you’ve saved his ass enough times you won’t feel bad about it, or at least not so bad you’ll apologize for it later (you never apologize, even when you maybe should) and—
A knock, and you jump, gasp. “Still alive in there?” He asks, that same smile-lilt to his voice. He’s teasing you, a little, but there’s an edge of concern too.
(shitshitshitshitshitshitfuck)
“Just give me a second.” You bite out, trying to sound put upon rather than panicked.
Shirt tugged down—fuck, that hurts—and your teeth sink into soft cheeks, hard enough to sting.
A pause. You wait for the sound of footsteps to move away from the door. Silence, instead.
Exhale.
“—Hey, are you alright?”
Goddamnit.
“I’m fine,” you drop to your knees and your side screams and the blood gets stickier, you can feel the fabric dragging with every move. Throw open the cabinets. Maybe he was organized for once in his life and put the first aid kit in here (fat chance) and nothing, nothing, just bare bones cleaning supplies.
Frustration and pain build up, you slam the cabinet with a teeth-clenched groan and the knock comes again, more insistent this time, hard knuckles on hard wood— can’t you just fuck off can’t you leave me alone why did i come here—
“Noa. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. God, what do you want?” You snarl, voice raising to a pitch.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.” Your hand clutches at your side and comes away red, smeary. You have to do something, you have to move. Think. You can’t stay here.
He’s not going to let you go. You should’ve just run while you had the chance, now he’s just outside the door waiting, on alert, knows you better than anyone (which isn’t saying much but it’s saying enough) and knows enough to not let you just snarl your way out of this.
Shaky inhale. “Maybe.”
“Okay,” he breathes—relief? you don’t know and it chafes, what’s there to be relieved about?—gives a softer laugh, “no big deal. Just open the door.”
You don’t want to do that. You really, really don’t want to do that. He’s going to want to help, he’s going to want to see, the way you’ve helped him before.
(warm brown skin interrupted by mods and scar tissue and the expanse of his back, defined muscle rippling under your fingertips— stay still, you snap, smacking his shoulder, and he laughs— ouch, watch it, I’m wounded— and that’s your own fault you idiot, needle/thread, and you lay his stitches so much neater than your own.)
“I… can’t.”
“...You can’t?”
“No.”
“Is it that bad?” His voice takes on a new edge, sharper now, the kind of break down the door, get the job done edge that comes with being a Ranger, you suppose. Not quite hard, still light enough to pass for his brand of charm-sly soothing, but you know better than to fall for that.
“I’m fine. Can you just…” you push up onto your feet, choking down another groan, pain splitting through your side like a disc-saw, “can you just get the first aid kit?”
You think you hear a faint curse, and then: “yeah, be right back.”
In the space between, panic sets in.
Panic’s a cold emotion, and it’s a sick kind of luxury. You never got to panic before, riding it out out out all silent scream while everyone else’s thoughts and feelings stuck to your teeth, wormed down to the base of your spine. With Ortega you’re alone in your head and the only thing left to do is wait. Fists clench, ease the shaking.
A few minutes pass, tick-tick-tick, and he’s at the door again, knock softer this time, and please, please, please leave me alone you want to say but you don’t, you just press your palm (red-stark) to your side, and maybe— maybe if you slam it open, it’ll knock him back long enough to give you a head start. You just have to get out—
“Noa.” He knocks again, and you think you hear his breath hitch, maybe, and you want to know what he’s thinking, you want to know so badly but it’s just deafening silence outside the door.
“Yeah… yeah.”
One hand to your pulsing gut, one hand shaking, the knob unlocks with a soft click, and you’re stumbling back into the bathroom, and he’s there, filling the doorway, eyes soft-hard and brow furrowed. His eyes flick over the counter, the floor (blood splatters, streaks of it) and he lets out another quiet string of curses, “what the hell happened—?”
He’s moving forward, and you stumble back till your knees hit the toilet.
You both still. Freeze. He’s got you cornered, and he knows it, he must know it, fuckfuckfuck— breathe, you have to breathe.
“You didn’t tell me you were hurt.” He murmurs, softer than before, one hand curled around the green-white first aid kit. Bandages. Stitches. Alcohol.
Maybe you could grab it. Run? No, that’s stupid— he’ll just grab you, shove you back, ask for answers you can’t and won’t give.
Fuck.
Again, you say: “I’m fine,” and feel your lips curl back, a snarl fit for a dog in a ring.
“Yeah, you look it,” he shakes his head, tries to smile, like he isn’t surprised but he wishes it were different, and he’s not going to get mad at you, not yet, we all get hurt in this business but it still can’t be different, it can’t be, asshole, so stop asking, “c’mon, let’s… go in the living room, and I’ll—”
“No,” you snap hard, working around the toilet toward the counter. A little more room that way, and you won’t sit, even though you’re starting to feel it, the shakes and the dizziness. Drip, drip, drip, and your hand curls tighter over your stomach.
“No?” He blinks, more confused than offended.
(you have such a delicate touch, he scoffs as you wrap pristine white bandages over the stitched gash, rough but slow, and you roll your eyes don’t get fucking shanked next time then, and he gasps, mock-offense, brown eyes sparkling, searching your mask for expression he won’t find but you’re smiling, you’re smiling because he’s beautiful.)
“Just give it to me. I can deal with it myself.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s not as bad as it looks.” It is.
“Sure it isn’t.”
“It’s just a flesh wound, alright? Someone got a lucky scratch in that last fight. Didn’t think it’d open again. But it’s not that bad.”
“Well, I’m still not going to leave you here to stitch yourself up.”
Fucking— always so stubborn, why won’t he quit?
“Either give it or I leave. Take your pick.”
He stills, watching you, and you wonder how you look to him.
Like a scared animal? Wounded little monster he found and picked up for some fucking reason? What does he want with you? What is he thinking?
His eyes trail over you, clothes all black and layered, baggy enough to hide everything,
“You’re kidding.” He wants you to be kidding.
“Do I look like it?” You tilt your head back, challenging, stilling up—shoulders stiffen, legs numb, prepared to run or to fight. Like he’s not blocking the only exit, like he’s not the one person in the world you can’t outmaneuver—Sidestep brought down by a head full of silence and a pretty fucking face.
They would laugh at you. They will if this escalates, if he sees. He’s got all his good intentions, it’ll be the death of you. He’ll be the death of you.
“So what’s it gonna be?” It’s supposed to sound like a sneer-snarl but it comes out weak, the razor edge of fear sliding just under your tongue.
But he must miss it. Or chalk it up to something else. “You’re being ridiculous,” he shakes his head, “it’s really not an issue.”
Ortega, always believing the best of you. That you don’t want to inconvenience him.
He wants to stay.
(you’ve never had anyone who wants to stay before.)
“I just wanna do it myself, fucks sake.” You burst, cutting him off at the finish line, and now you’re up on your feet, reaching with your free hand for the kit, ripping it from his hand.
“Just...” what was the line? “Just go finish making the food, alright? I’m starving.” and he lets you take it, lets you slam it down on the counter. You drop your blood-wet palm and clench it, as if to say see I’m fine it’s not that bad and his eyes drift over you again, harder than before, and he’s annoyed, well that’s too bad.
“Can I at least…”
“No.”
Jaw clenches. Works. Ortega never knows when to not push, when to not be that wonder boy so full of heart, head first into the action, and you’re small potatoes so what the fuck is he doing here, really, with you? There’s a dozen other vigilantes in Los Diablos that would probably work with him, that would fall for his knockout smile twice as fast and twice as hard.
(oh, you’ve fallen alright, but he doesn’t need to know that.)
But he knows you. He does. More and less than he thinks he does. And he knows you’re not bluffing. You’ll leave.
Shoulders still raised, jaw still stubborn, he slowly nods and steps back. You feel relief unshutter in your chest. “Alright,” he sighs, slumps.
Does he want you to stay? Or does he just want to make sure you don’t pass out in some grimy back alley to get picked over?
It doesn’t really matter.
(why is he letting this go that easily?)
“If you say it’s not that bad, I’ll believe you,” he nods, and it feels like a lie, sticks around in your skin the way lying does when someone lies with their mouth but not with their thoughts. “Just let me know if I can do anything, alright?” Smile, again, he’s always smiling except when he isn’t, effortlessly charming.
“...Okay.” You mutter. There isn’t anything he can do, and you both know you won’t ask.
You stand off, not flinching and not moving as he steps back, hands twitching at his sides—to raise them in surrender or grab you, you don’t know, so as soon as he’s through the door you grab it, slam it closed, lock it fast.
Safe. Or as safe as you can be.
Fuck.
#ricardo ortega#fhr#mywriting#hand over wound*#also known as: I wrote this instead of an essay#did I proof read it? no.#*forgot the ao3 link mndfgnmf whoops
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Five Times, by DarkIsRising, pt 3(pt2)
parts 1&2 on ao3 (now with a shiny new title!)
part 3 (pt1) here
So this part is nsfw/explicit. Just FYI
Five Times Din and Luke Met (and one time they never parted)
The alley leads to a street and then they are passing through another alley.
When they finally emerge they are in a part of Mos Eisley that Luke has seldom been in. Here there is a thrum of danger in the air and a spill of blood in the sand.
Even at high noon there are drunks staggering about, the flash of blaster fire settling scores, and sex workers plying their wares from shaded alcoves.
Luke isn’t afraid to have been brought here, not when he is more than capable of defending himself, but he is surprised. They stop at a door and Luke can read from the sign posted on it in seven different languages that it’s the sort of place that rents by the hour. There is a Zabrak working the front desk behind a blaster-proof shield. His horned head doesn’t so much as raise from the holodrama he’s watching as he growls out: “Rates are on the wall.”
Oh, kark. This is really happening.
“I can— “ Luke starts, reaching toward his belt but is stopped by a gloved hand in his wrist.
“Save your money,” the Madalorian says, voice even as it ever is. If his feelings are rolling through him in a dizzying blob of want and nerves and shock and anticipation like Luke’s are he certainly doesn’t sound like it. “I’ll take care of it. I’m about to come into some credits soon.”
Luke’s laugh comes out airy, high, and maybe with a touch of hysteria. It only makes this whole situation more unbelievable—more ridiculous and mind blowing and exciting—that his own bounty is going to be paying for…. Well. Whatever it is that they are going to be doing here. Together.
The Mandalorian lays out a handful of coin with a clack and then also points to a barrier and a packet of lube in a display behind the desk, right next to the tiny sewing kits and the individually wrapped bacta plasters.
“Have fun,” the Zabark deadpans as he powers down the shield enough to pass over the stuff. His yellow eyes barely flicker to Luke before he’s drawn back to his holodrama. Still it’s enough for Luke’s cheeks to ignite in a blush that threatens to turn supernova.
But then there’s a gloved hand on his shoulder pushing him through the hall to a room that he opens with a swipe card and all the blood that had been warming his face spills into his belly.
“So, what should I call you?” Luke asks through a mouth gone dry at the sound of the door to their rented room whooshing shut.
“Mando works.”
And Luke doesn’t know what he was expecting, exactly, but somehow he’s disappointed. But then the Mandalorian—Mando—brings his hands up and the breath dissolves in Luke’s lungs so fast it’s like he’s been spaced as the beskar on one of Mando’s forearms is stripped away by a capable hand. Once that’s done Mando works a black and tan glove off to reveal the pale skin of fingers that may very well have lived a lifetime hidden away behind leather.
Luke’s chin is caught between two fingers that are soft and human. His face is tilted up to meet his own reflection in the sharp lines of a silver helmet. A thumb strokes the dimple in his chin and he can’t see Mando’s eyes but he knows he’s being examined. Probably taking in the blue of Luke’s eyes because, really, that is the most remarkable thing about his face and so that’s usually where moments like this go.
“Pretty,” Mando finally says and it’s not quite a compliment, more like he’s stating a fact. The thumb moves up to rest against Luke’s bottom lip, which is as close to a kiss as they are likely to share, so Luke decides to make the most of it.
Opening his mouth, Luke takes Mando’s thumb into his mouth. He can taste traces of leather and the faintest tang of sweat when he swirls his tongue around the warm press of it. He can taste it even better when he sucks sharply, letting his cheeks hollow, and when Mando pulls his hand away he lets it go with a wet pop.
“Well, Mando,” Luke says with a brash smile, the one that can make even Han go pale over what fresh disaster Luke is about to get himself involved in. “How do you want to do this?”
“Take off your clothes. Get on the bed.”
There is absolutely no reason those dispassionate words, warped and clipped by a voice mod, should be as sexy as they are, and yet Luke is punched in the solar plexus by what they do to him. Mando turns away to slide the disruptor rifle he’s been wearing strapped to his back off his shoulder and leans it against the wall before removing the rest of his weaponry.
Maybe not all of his weaponry, since Luke has no idea how many the other man is wearing, but there is an arsenal accumulating steadily on the wobbly, three-legged side table. By comparison the single lightsaber that hangs from Luke’s belt is almost laughable, but he takes off his poncho and sets it carefully in the folds where Mando won't be able to see it on the off chance he is some kind of expert on the weapons of nearly-extinct sects of galactic protectors.
The rest of Luke’s clothes come off quickly, and it must say something about his eagerness that Luke is naked while Mando is still finding more weapons to remove. Sitting on the edge of the bed he waits, trying not to swing his legs impatiently.
“Here,” Mando says, tossing the foil-edged lube packet without so much as looking in his direction. Luke catches it easily. “Open yourself up.”
Mando turns back to his pile of weapons and Luke tries to wait him out, but the bounty hunter isn’t paying him any attention. Instead he fiddles with some armor and looks for all the world like there isn’t a naked man perched on a cheap motel mattress, waiting for him.
“Do you even want to do this?” Luke asks, curious.
“Why?” Mando counters. “Second thoughts?”
“No,” Luke says quickly. “Not at all, I’m just confused, I guess.”
The sigh that Mando gives is loud enough to be picked up by his helmet’s modulator, which tells Luke quite a bit about the severity of that particular emotion. “I just don’t usually do this sort of thing.”
“Oh,” Luke says. He gives himself a moment to take that in, to rearrange what he’d thought he’d known about the bounty hunter with the man that is actually in front of him, and winds up the other side of it with a smile. “Then, since it seems like I’m the one that’s done this the most between the two of us, let me tell you that instead of standing all the way across the room it’s way more fun if you actually get close to the guy you’re planning on fucking.”
At the word fucking Mando’s head snaps up.
Luke tears the lube packet open with his teeth and squeezes the slick out onto the fingers of his left hand as he leans back.
“Come here,” Luke says, propping a foot onto the bed, tilting his pelvis to make sure that Mando has a good view before he starts to push his fingers inside of himself. “I want you to see what’s going to be yours—and only yours—for the next hour.”
Mando keeps most of his armor on, but Luke doesn’t mind. It’s kind of hot, to be naked against all that beskar, even if it is easier to see the dents from repelled blaster fire and the places where russet paint has started flaking away when he’s got his legs thrown over Mando’s shoulders.
By the time Mando comes Luke is on his elbows and knees, still trembling through the aftershocks of his own orgasm. If the Mandalorian makes a sound, it’s too soft to filter through his helmet. He does go still, though, and Luke braces himself for Mando to withdraw but instead he stays where he is, their bodies joined even as his hardness starts to fade away.
The press of steel between Luke’s shoulder blades is so unexpected it makes him gasp. His skin prickles in goosebumps as the warmth of it is greeted by the chill of Mando’s helmet. There’s something vulnerable about Mando in that moment, and Luke can feel his heart flip over strangely. He’s got a hand pressed to Luke’s hip and Luke shifts, balancing carefully, until he can reach back with his own gloved hand to touch it.
“You okay?” Luke asks, softly, like he’s afraid of startling the guy away.
“Yeah,” comes the reply. “Just give me a minute.”
He feels a little ridiculous telling him “Take your time” in this position, but Luke does mean it and maybe Mando can hear some of that in his voice because he stays put.
It’s only when a staticky comm turns on and the growling, bored voice of the Zabrak at the front desk warns that they only have ten minutes left or else they’ll have to pay for another full hour whether they use it or not, that he pulls out.
“Thanks,” Mando says at last into the quiet once they’ve both pulled their things back on: Mando his weapons and Luke his clothes.
“No problem. You seem—” Sad, Luke thinks. Lonely, but they don’t know each other well enough for Luke to say either of those things. “Tired.”
“Yeah. I guess I am. Okay, Skywalker,” Mando says, drawing himself up and squaring off his shoulders. He unclips a pair of cuffs from where they are hanging off his newly buckled belt. “Your choice. I can bring you in warm or I can bring you in cold.”
Luke can’t help it. He laughs.
“I like that one,” he says as the durasteel closes tight around his wrists. “You should use it more often.”
Peli is probably going to kill him, for letting himself get picked up by a bounty hunter, again, and leaving his X-Wing in her hangar, again, but he can’t seem to worry about that right now.
Instead, Luke lets himself be led back to Mando’s ship. No one in Mos Eisley gives so much as a second glance to the Mandalorian bounty hunter and his bound quarry. Once inside the ship, Luke even steps into the carbonite chamber on his own with no pushing required.
It feels like the least he can do. The Mandalorian really does seem tired.
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john entwistle biography review
ok so first: I didnt really like the biography because I thought it would focus on totally different aspects. John was a musical virtuoso and that hardly ever gets mentioned in the book. But we get exact axccounts on how much money he spent on what day and in which pub he bought which champagne. like wow thanks. The other personal stuff is basic who knowledge you can read in any other Who biography. His autobiographical bits were joy and fun! Maybe the only reason to buy the book in my opinion. He writes totally different than the author...
ANYWAYS: here my fav facts from the book that you probably didnt know before
this is the face of a man who -when his father gave him driving lessons for his 21st birthday as a present- decided driving wasnt really his thing and he spent the money on clothes and parties instead. He never had a drivers license ever and also never desired to have one
the hospital he was born in, was bombarded and destructed one day after his birth
as a child he was really weak and thin and had basically every disease that existed
his family was poor af
his father left the family early and held contact with his son, but soon disappeared with a new family
his stepdad, Gordon, disliked John alot and would ignore him, hated everything John did or said and he let his bad moods out on Johns mother, which caused John to be very silent and observative around the house so that there wouldnt be any trouble
he did everything to please Queenie (his mom) so that there was no fighting, according to Alison
loved drawing and playing but usually alone since he had no friends apart from their dog
he heard a trumpet solo once from a trad jazz band when he was 6 or so and decided he wanted to learn the trumpet
my fav line of the book probably: “despite his own expectations, he passed the exams to go to grammar school” like same
at school he was bullied from the older boys but soon left alone by them because he would fight back with badass comments
he applied for the school band for the trumpet but the tallest guy in the year was chosen (he was the 2nd tallest) which made John mad, but he discovered the french horn
soon he found a friend, mickey brown, at last and he gave him the nickname “ent”
he was so terrible in P.E that he was dismissed with other pupils to play somehwere else, they were called “the hockey misfits” and guess who was among them: Pete Townshend.
yeah as you might know they became besties because they loved music and black humour.
he found himself a gf (alison) and Pete & a school gang (like 4 ppl) and his life seemed to finally get where it should.
his worst subjects were geography and german like wow (im a german geography student lmao)
once they played in a pub and johns stepdad was there and was super angry and gave john a list with his fav pubs and told him “these are the places I never want to hear your fucking music playing”.
after walking home pete decided to switch the guitar and john wanted to become a musician more than ever
Roger found him and John kind of convinced him (it took months apparently) to get Pete into the band and then it all started
he judged the beatles because John Lennons harmonica was “out of tune” in love me do, wow ok you nerd
john started smoking with 20 and was the last one to quit his job for the band and he was against drugs at first (bc he had a “civilized” job) but then decided to give a shit, dyed his hair black, bought cigarettes, smoked dope with pete and did speed too
he wanted to step out of himself and feel good about himself and he was always a fashionnerd so he started buying and trading and selling clothes (he once was dismissed from school bc he wore the school uniform incorrectly)
with 18 or so he was still living at home, had a toy soldier collection and a pet budgie
pete and his college friends made fun of john bc he wasnt a student and still lived at home, although john could have gone to college too and he wanted to, but his stepdad again said no and he had no choice.
he was very awkward and introverted but could open up with his music
he was really into pop art (esp pop art clothes)
was a pseudo mod bc he only liked the fancy clothes and motown music
with the who he found a purpose in his life and finally could be different than ordinary ppl
hated when people touched his hair, he literally hated it
would fuss much about his hair in general
once after a concert they were starving and the room service was alreday home so they had to look on used plates and food wagons and John found a shrimp and said: “who wants to dine with me tonight?” (idk that really made me laugh)
keith moon was john entwistles soulmate and they were the cutest, most iconic and funniest duo ever end of discussion
his amps would soon be called little manhatten bc he had so many bc he wanted to be loud
he actually went to sing at church once when he was like 24 and the band made fun of him then he stopped
in the late 60s he bought a house with alison in a normal neighbourhood and went walking the dogs on sundays and stuff
but he was a party animal and always the last to go
he was really sensitive and cried often according to Alison but only in front of certain people
he would totally step out of his way to please people
when they played at the monterey pop festival they didnt bring their own amps along and john was furious bc he said the american amps are shit and kit was like “no” and john didnt talk to him for the whole festival until their perfomance was over and they had sounded like shit to tell kit “I TOLD YOU SO” thats how extra he was
when he got money he would spend it bc he was so used to being poor that he thought it wouldnt last long and he had to enjoy it NOW
he was always calm and everyone respected him and kit told a story where he entered the room and roger was at keiths throat and and pete was screaming something and john was sitting in the corner cleaning his nails. thats who energy
liked to dance at parties
his fav drink was rémy cognac with 40% and he would drink like 1 bottle alone everyday in his later years...wow dude
he was also gentlemanTM and once paid taxis for girls from london to brighton after a party
once at a wedding the free drinks were out and John just gave the barkeeper his creditcard and said he will pay for all the drinks of the night for everyone (it wasnt his wedding)
Roger once said: “John made smartass comments that deserved a punch in the face” sounds like him yes
he didnt really care about money and always wanted to pay and never told anyone how much things had cost and brought gifts for everyone
soon that ended in a shopping addiction tho and he bought ridiculous things for ridiculous amounts of money
when the who was inactive he sank into depression :(
held the band together during who by numbers & who are you
wrote and played all the quadrophenia horn parts himself
never lost his passion for art and always drawed alot, said Alison
cried when Christopher was born aww
once he saw their manager in an art museum and how he wanted to buy a painting but couldnt afford it, so John bought it secretly and shipped it to said managers home as a gift
We all know John was a huge collector. His most treasured collection was .. wait for it: teapots.
he tried to save Keith from being arrested once and ended up being arrested too lol
wanted to write a scifi concept album but desorted the idea and gave some songs to the who (905) or Pete
was a good cook apparently
When he gave a hug HE was the one who decided when to let go sdfghjk
hated confrontation and would hire other people to tell someone bad news
he spent so much money on dumb shit like wtf
but didnt really care either
probably the master in picking up and seducing girls
he let his stepdad live in the quarwood mansion when he wasnt there but Gordon was still an asshole wtf
the contact to his real dad was really sporadic
when the who ended, it hit him really hard and he didnt know what to do besides partying and buying stuff/hording stuff
was very insecure and selfconscious in the 80s according to Maxene :(
he actually took pete breaking up the who really personal and was sad 24/7
was that kind of guy that said bad stuff about the who but when you said bad stuff he would try to kill you on spot
with cocaine he felt really confident and still like the 60s/70s rockstar he once was but he didnt understand that these times were over and he needed to move on
sometimes went into random pubs with friends and made jam sessions for the guests
he still was generous and loving until he died and tried to play with other bands but it was not the same
he really liked Kenney and hung out with him more than with his wife at some point lmao
was a total giver and people who worked at quarwood would steal money from him but when someone pointed that out he got angry with that person for even suggesting that
was a real softieee (and a huge nerd)
all his friends said that he was shy at first but once you got to know him he would come totally out of himself, was very funny, loved to tell stories, was very very loyal and would try evertyhing to make you laugh aww
all in all a glorious story with a sad ending and he did destroy himself completely, but lets remember that Pete Townshend described old John still as "wonderful, mature and elegant” so lets cling on to that :)
#the who#John Entwistle#band#literature#the ox#mine#pete and rog didnt participate in the bio maybe thats why its hit#*shit#not hit#also you can see: no info about his musical inspiration or werdegang#can not recommend#althought this post might look fun these are the filtered cool stories from like 330 pages#classic rock
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FIC & ART: Piece by Piece
Title: Piece by Piece
Pairing: Ginny/Luna
Author: @peace-wisepenguin
Rating: M
Warnings/Content Notes: Past sexual experiences mentioned with multiple partners(consensual). Sexuality confusion, homophobia (not between the main characters), bullying (not between the main characters). SEE FULL TAGSET ON AO3
Summary: Ginny and Luna meet at uni and become fast friends. Ginny crushes on Luna right away but Luna might be asexual.
or
Ginny loves Luna while they geek out and cosplay and learn how to love each other, platonically and romantically.
Word Count: 28329
Author’s Note: Well this is my second fest posting and I'm so nervous but I've had so much fun! This was a great learning experience and I want to thank Violet and Frnkly for being wonderful and considerate people during this whole process. Tea, Charlotte and Kit have all been very kind and understanding for me being so new to all of this and I am very thankful to them for all of their hard work. Last but very not least the amazing, the awe inspiring, the glorious Aamina, who is the most amazing Beta in the whole wide world!! Thank you. Thank You. You are a beatiful soul, please check her out! https://aamina-edits-things.tumblr.com/
Artist’s Medium/Notes:
@owlpostart
Medium: Acrylic paint, gouache, crayon, collage and photoshop.
Notes: Thank you to the mods for yet again running this wonderful fest. And to Peace_wisepenguin, it felt particularly serendipitous to pinch hit for your fic as the subject matter is something very close to my own heart, having come to terms with my own asexuality over the past couple of years. It's been a pleasure to work with you.
@32090810
Medium: digital
Notes: This was a fun composition to draw, hope you enjoy!
@everyoneinspaceisgay
Medium: traditional media (pencil)
Notes: This was my first fest doing art and my first Big Bang and I've had an incredible time. Working with the author has been really fun and I was also happy because Linny is a ship close to my heart. It was good to be able to use so much colour and I hope that the closeness and warmth I tried to convey comes through!
READ IT ON AO3
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hey mod, you said you were looking for a new hobby? here are some new things i’ve tried: coding (khanacademy is fantastic!), cooking (ive been following gordon ramsey’s masterclass), drawing, painting (bob ross all the way) and some creative writing! there are a lot of great places to learn new things like skillshare and masterclass and a couple others :) i totally recommend you give something new ago. i’ve just started making a personalised oc kit for a friend which is super fun! stay safe 💕
thank you so much for this great idea! i think ill give something like this a go!! 💖
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Hi, I'm an old Role Playing veteran. I've been trying really hard to get back into the semi literate rp world (do people still use these terms??) but all of my old rp sites and forums have been long shut down. Do you have any advice for me on where I can start my rp journey again?
Hello! I have no experience with forum rp, i only used to rp through private messages on DeviantArt, so if any followers here would like to chime in with more advice that would be superb! I have an rp aid tag that might help as well.
Anyway, tumblr is a pretty good site for rp if you ask me, because of the format. You’ve got your inbox people can send messages to and publish, and the nature of text-posts I’ve always found super helpful. I’m going to go into this assuming you’ve got no knowledge of tumblr rp so I hope this doesn’t come across as condescending or anything but I wanna be thorough!
Firstly! You’ll need info on your character (on tumblr, these are frequently called “muses”).
A muse can be a canon character from a piece of media, or an original character. This information is best held on some kind of about or bio page, however those who roleplay on mobile cannot edit their blog pages to my knowledge so many have been hosting their bios on google docs, and linking to them in their description! This is the most important thing, because if nobody knows anything about your character, it’ll be hard to rp.
Next, a rules page!
Many will not want to rp with anybody who don’t have one. A rules page includes basically a little bit about your boundaries. Whether or not you rp with ocs, whether or not you engage in sexual rp, if you like to ship your character, things you need tagged, ect. If you don’t know where to start, it might be a good idea to look at some other folks’! I found that very helpful in my start on tumblr.
Get some kind of promotional post, and utilize the tags!
Some people create pretty graphics, I’ve got templates for them in my resources tag. Other people tend to do something a bit more simple, just an icon of their character perhaps and a little short advertisement of their character in a text post. People can find you if you use the tags. Say, if you’re roleplaying as Naruto, you’re gonna wanna tag the post as: #naruto rp, #manga rp,#anime rp, ect. For something like an oc you might want to tag it as: #oc rp, #fandomless rp, and any genres you might want to rp in such as #horror rp, #crime rp, #historical rp
Lastly, reach out!
Sometimes the tags, especially original character ones, can be super flooded to the point where you might get lost in a sea of posts. Following people in my opinion is a good way to get noticed, because often they’ll check your blog out and maybe follow back. Some people are particular with who they interact with and there are some community specific terms I’ll link below but it never hurts to reach out and ask people if they’d like to roleplay.
Community terms: (some may be missing but i tried my best)
rpc: roleplay community
muse: a roleplay character. Can be an original character, or a character from an existing work. Sometimes real people as well such as youtubers but this is frowned upon generally.
mun or mod: the person who writes the character
ic: in-character
ooc: out of character. Can also be used to say a particular portrayal is poorly written, or not true to canon. (ie: this ___ blog is so ooc)
fc: face-claim, some blogs may used icons of actors or models in place of drawings for their characters appearance. FCs may also be from comics, manga, or cartoons.
mun fc: icons on ooc posts from the mun, different than the blog’s character.
private: (usually) will only roleplay with people who they follow, and also follow back
selective: this person may be choosy with who they chose to write with
semi-selective: this person is more open about who they write with, but will still deny some blogs
nonselective: this person will most likely right with just about anyone
musings: reblogged posts that often are something their character might say or think
thread: whatever particular rp scene that is being written. Usually takes place in the form of a text post.
meme/starters: something to be sent into the inbox for rp. Can be ooc or ic depending.
multiverse: multiple “verses” or timelies. Used for AU’s or for separating multiple ships.
multiship: this blog ships with multiple characters, each existing within separate timelines so that the character is not dating 10 different other characters at the same time.
multimuse: this blog has more than one character.
f2f: face-to-face, the characters are interacting in person
blog or online: a more meta (i guess?) style of rp where the characters are interacting on their tumblr blogs or otherwise online
one-liner: usually just dialogue in a response
para: a single paragraph in a response
multi-para: multiple paragraphs in a single response
novella: very long thread responses
group: a roleplay group! I don’t actually know how these work but that’s what this is.
indie: independent rp, not affiliated with a particular group.
fandomless: usually for an OC, this is an original character not created to exist within a pre-existing piece of media. tldr; not a fan oc/fan chara
self insert: an oc that exists to be the mun within the rp space.
Other helpful stuff:
new x-kit: very very helpful and a must-have as this will allow you to tag asks on desktop, check mutuals right on your dash, and most importantly trim posts so they’re not super long.
sessionbox: if you have more than one character you rp, and have a separate blog for each of them, this extension allows you to be logged into multiple accounts in different tabs
fancy text generator: lets you get text 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕜𝕤 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘, just by pasting in the plain text!
BeFunky: collage maker for moodboards and such
I hope this helps, if you have any more questions feel free to send another ask!
#admin#answers#not a meme#rp aid#i hope this doesn't come across as talking down or anything ;o;#i just want to make sure i'm not leaving anything out!#comfy coco
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Strive Pt. 22
{PART 1} {PART 2} {PART 3} {PART 4} {PART 5} {PART 6} {PART 7} {PART 8} {PART 9} {PART 10} {PART 11} {PART 12} {PART 13} {PART 14} {PART 15} {PART 16} {PART 17} {PART 18} {PART 19} {PART 20} {PART 21}
Pair: Tomarry
Rating: M-E(depends)
Tags: Mild Language, Homosexuality, Sexism, Obsessed Tom, Time-Travel/Dimension-Travel, Teacher/Student, Eventual Romance, Teacher-Harry, Grey!Harry, MoD(sort of), Death!being,
"You know, I don't want to try to control the way you do things in your life, but if you go and get a Mastery in Magical Smithing, it'll look very good on any resume you decide to build in the future."
Tom's tea cup paused against his lips as he considered Harry's words. Applying for a Mastery was a free process. And he was very young. People his age didn't often get Masteries. Especially ones centered around dying arts that were rarely mentioned anymore since it usually took extra effort to find information about them and he had the benefit of Salazar's knowledge on his side.
"Technically, you could apply for a Mastery in many subjects. Magical Smithing, Runes, Arithmancy, Legilimency, Occlumency, Defence, Transfiguration, Charms, and Potions. And for a few of those, you were self-taught. Such notes would go over well with most people and even if you end up in another profession, your status as a Master would have you called upon often by others. Few people in our community are Masters in Legilimency or Occlumency for example and you could be called in to help the Unspeakables should they have need of your… abilities."
Suddenly the idea had become very appealing. "Having multiple Masteries would make me come across as more capable, yes?" Trustworthy. Hard-working. Dedicated. If someone was to see that he'd achieved Masteries in many subjects, they'd be impressed and more willing to put their faith in him. They'd most likely take him more seriously then, and consider everything he had to say as something valuable.
If he ever personally got into politics, that could greatly help with his ideas in moving forward. And it would draw his acquaintances even closer to him because it was in a Slytherin's nature to want to be near greatness.
"You're already Apprenticed to a Defence Master who will be going for a Runes Mastery soon. With a proper attitude, good support base, and necessary skills, you could probably obtain all those Masteries before you're thirty," Harry told him confidently.
It would be around twelve years until then, but at the same time that was such a short span of time for wizards. Nine Masteries in twelve years sounded impossible to the ear, but Tom did like challenges and he always came out on top eventually.
And he liked the benefits. If Tom was one of the very few Masters of a certain Art in Britain alone, he would be asked for assistance. Could probably charge outlandish prices simply because someone's desperation didn't let them think clearly. He very much liked the idea of it.
Also proving himself better than others by holding multiple Masteries at once sounded appealing. Tom was a narcissist first and foremost.
~.O.~
"We're going to explore my memories of the duels," said Harry as he held up a kit full of several vials of different colours, all bearing a different label on them. "Unaltered as promised. Choose which you wish to start with."
Tom squinted at the man's atrocious writing and plucked Duel 5 from the case.
According to Potter, they were borrowing the Headmaster's Pensieve for this lesson. He'd never seen one in person before, and committed the ornate markings in the bowl to memory. They looked like Runes, but unfamiliar ones, so mostly likely those from another culture.
"Pour the memory into the basin and dip your head inside."
The memory was silver as it poured out, but turned black the moment it hit the liquid within the Pensieve. Tom took a deep breath and followed Harry's order.
The Dueling Championship had been held in a massive outdoor stadium as large as Hogwarts' Quidditch Pitch. And the space where the duels took place was just like his and Harry's Room of Requirement training had been. Every element available to make things interesting.
The stands were filled with people holding up flags from different countries and cheering on their favourite competitors.
Said competitors were standing on the sidelines looking agitated as they had to wait for their turns.
A horn blew and a portly witch in bright yellow and black striped robes took center-field, her wand activating the Sonorous Charm. "We are ready to begin the Fifth Round! The first competitors up are Harry Potter of Great Britain and John Crawford of the United States!"
The cheers erupted from the stands.
Tom backed up until he was certain he was out of the way of the entire duel as the announcer shot off red sparks with her wand.
The four duels Harry had been through before this one were enough to make his opponent skeptical of him. He didn't rush in with his wand waving and spells flying. Instead, the blond man across the field stood perfectly still and waited, his blue eyes trained only on Harry in a manner that Tom did not appreciate.
Harry mimicked his opponent, stance casual and face passive. The two let the minutes pass them by, the silence rendering the crowd into a mass of confusion.
Eventually, it seemed that Crawford had lost whatever patience he'd been trying to show off, and whipped his wand out in an upward arc. A streak of flames followed the movement like a whip, and when the wand lashed out again, the whip snapped toward Harry's position.
Of course Harry quickly proved why the majority of Slytherin was looking to him to defeat Grindelwald. Instead of pulling up a barrier of any sort to protect himself, Harry quite literally took two steps to his right, allowing the fire whip to pass his left shoulder without a backwards glance. He didn't even blink.
The whip retracted and then lashed out once again, and once again, Harry manoeuvered himself around it, avoiding what would no doubt be a painful feeling if he had been unfortunate enough to get wrapped up in it.
There wasn't even a magical application to this, it was simply Harry being observant enough to predict where the whip would go specifically and simply moving to a position away from the targeted area.
Crawford didn't seem to appreciate Harry's treatment of his skills. Perhaps to a fool it looked as if Harry was mocking him, but if Harry was honestly good enough to avoid damage without having to use magic, then why tire himself out of he didn't have to? It would be pointless otherwise.
Common sense should be a thing utilised by everyone in Tom's opinion. It could honestly save one's life one day.
"Fight back, damn you!" Crawford eventually yelled.
Harry cocked an arched, perfectly plucked brow, and flicked his Holly wand once. Nothing seemed to happen and Crawford cackled. "Not so talented, are you? That's why you keep running away!"
And then Crawford's entire body jerked out of nowhere, and his hands rushed to his face to rub at his nose. He seemed to forget that he was holding a literal whip of fire and with his wand suddenly in his face again, the whip snapped back the way it came and Crawford got a face full of burns as punishment for his boasting.
The stadium erupted in applause and cheering, the astounded faces hanging out so openly. It was because Harry wasn't very intimidating in figure and didn't look like someone capable of much beyond looking pretty. But he'd proved their assumptions wrong so effortlessly!
Harry had won using only a tickling charm. Honestly, Tom shouldn't be surprised by his strange approach to magic.
~.O.~
"What did you observe?" Harry asked pensively the moment he was freed from the memory.
Tom shook himself in order to center his thoughts and stop the mild vertigo he was feeling. "He was very cocksure, but mostly in an attempt to hide that he was actually unnerved by you. You got that far so you had to be a threat in some way and when you didn't use magic to fight back and just kept avoiding his attacks, he became even more frustrated and attempted to goad you into fighting."
It was a pathetic attempt. Crawford was not so good with words as to manipulate anyone into anything. He would be a poor public speaker.
"He also knew how to use a whip," Tom added. "Very well. The flickings of his wrist spoke of experience." Tom was very well aware of how a whip was used. It took a lot of time to acclimate oneself to the proper motions if one wanted the best results.
"Correct. Anything else?"
He had to think for a moment. "He was impatient but also lacked common sense. He should have tried something else when you dodged the whip for the third time. Simply relying on the same technique for several minutes was foolish of him, and it rendered his arm tired after a certain amount of time elapsed. His form became sloppy and slow and even more predictable than before."
"Exactly. In essence, nothing particularly impressive. What would you have done differently?"
Against Harry? Tom already knew Harry. He'd been dueling Harry for weeks. Compared to Crawford, Tom already had a bit over him in terms of 'knowing his enemy'. He could formulate better ideas easily, though whether they'd actually work against Harry was an entirely different thing altogether.
Still…
"I would have learned a better version of the spell. A single whip is relatively easy to dodge because it is thin and can only go in one direction, but a cat o' nine tails is not. You aren't fast enough to dodge nine individual strips of flame no matter how talented you are."
Harry nodded, seemingly envisioning the very scenario and twirling his wand experimentally. "And if that failed?"
"Probably something involving animals. I've very good at controlling animals and most people are very hesitant to harm an animal, especially if they think it looks cute." He could capitalise off their hesitancy and then take them down.
"Interesting."
~.O.~
Dinner with the Malfoy family. It hadn't been since Yule that Tom had visited the Malfoys and he honestly found himself bored of them. Though it was incredibly useful that they felt indebted to him(and that was only because of Harry) he just didn't find them as interesting as he had before.
It was so strange how his way of thinking had changed so much.
During dinner, Tom had been asked a simple question. "How have things been for you, Tom?"
And he had to think about it for a moment.
"Considerably well if I ignore Dumbledore stalking my every movement," he'd answered. "I am Apprenticed to Harry Potter now."
Abraxas beamed, looking as if he had a million questions that he was only barely keeping himself from asking. His father however, merely looked politely interested.
"Our son told us you seemed less enthused the last time you met up for lunch," Lord Malfoy said calmly, not even looking up from his plate. "Are you well?"
An interesting place to insert this information. "I am am merely conflicted after I learned some sensitive information about the Slytherin family."
All three Malfoy's stiffened and turned to look at him with full interest.
"Oh?" Lady Malfoy asked.
"Indeed. Professor Potter is actually also related to the Gaunts and he is also a Parselmouth. As such he has managed to acquire many tomes about both the Slytherins and the Gaunts and has allowed me to study them. They are in Parselscript however, so it took time. I have learned that the enmity between Salazar and Godric had nothing to do with Mundanes, and everything to do with Godric's wife's younger sister starting a fight with Salazar's son over his pet snake."
"Mundanes?" Abraxas repeated with obvious confusion.
"Their older term for Muggles," Tom clarified. "Salazar sent his son away because Godric overreacted and when he found out he was in the wrong, he refused to take anything he'd done and said back, which lead to Salazar leaving as well after a time because he was too frustrated with Godric's childish behaviour."
"Ho-how did the story change then?" asked Abraxas, looking a good mix between horrified and baffled. "How could a fight over a snake escalate into him being pure evil?"
"It seems we've allowed the other Houses to dictate our Founder to us," said Tom plainly. "The whole story about the his monster is a lie. The Basilisk exists but not to cleanse the school of Muggleborns. All the Founders had a 'monster' that served to protect the school. Godric had a dragon that fell in battle, Helga had a Phoenix that still lingers around the property when it wants to be seen, Rowena had a Sphinx that was sold off centuries ago, and Salazar had a Basilisk that fell alongside Godric's dragon. So Salazar bred another to protect the children and left it there for any of his blood to make use of should the school need its greatest defence again."
The looks of shock and minor outrage on their faces was somewhat amusing and also sad at the same time. This went against everything they had ever learned about their House Founder after all.
"Essentially, we've been lead astray by the very people who hate us for the House we're Sorted into." If Tom was going to change something, he'd at least make certain proper blame was placed.
~.O.~
A knock on door of his rooms made Tom frown. No one ever visited him because there was no one around that would need or want to. And it was always him going to see Harry.
When he opened the door, he was greeted by the sight of one Ella Potter smiling up at him with mischief all over her face. "Hello, Tom. Care to come on a walk with this old woman?"
And the first thing out of his mouth was an offended, "You are not old. Dumbledore is old. Ancient even." He added last bit just to be petty.
Ella snorted behind her hand in a very unladylike fashion and nodded. "Such a charmer, Tom. He's only seven years older than me."
Briefly he had to wonder what happened because she looked so young and Dumbledore didn't.
Tom held his hand out and his cloak laid itself over his arm a second later. He didn't know why Elle was there at all but he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to speak with her if she really wanted to talk to him. He actually liked her company.
"Is there something wrong?" he asked as he stepped into the third floor corridor swinging his cloak over his shoulders.
"Not really. I'm merely going to have lunch with Harry and I thought you'd like to join us. You're always so alone down here. It's not healthy, you know."
"I'm not alone. I spend a lot of time with Harry," he defended since it was the literal truth. He spent so much time with Harry and still managed to not be bored of seeing his beautiful face.
She sent him an unimpressed look, left brow angled down to give the look more character. "All this time with him and you still haven't made a move. You need help."
Oh Merlin! He was getting courtship assistance from Harry's aunt. He didn't know if he should be embarrassed that his interest was so obvious to her, or grateful that she was in full support of it and wanted to see it blossom into something more.
Ella linked arms with him and gave his shoulder a fond by pitying pat. "It's really not that difficult. Harry is a bit dense but once things are more clear he will be more than receptive."
The entire afternoon was filled with Ella making certain to drag complements out of the both of them for each other. She also managed to get Tom to blush, which was a feat no other but Harry had managed. It was obvious she'd been a Slytherin. She was devious and single-minded in her purpose and didn't bat a single lash at her nephew's mortified sputtering.
And yet it was all worth it in the end just to see Harry so carefree and happy. While he hadn't been sad or dispassionate while teaching, he held a personal belief on how teachers should act when around their students. So the familiarity and fun behaviour he had shown all afternoon, was something new.
Tom felt privileged that he even got to witness it. Seeing sides of Harry Potter that others didn't get to, made him float.
Literally.
Sometimes he got so excited about Harry that he'd lose his connection to the Earth for a few seconds. It was embarrassing. Thankfully no one had noticed it yet.
~.O.~
"The school year is starting next week," remarked Harry that evening at dinner. They'd had a long day of training in dueling and this was the time they could indulge. Harry was eying up the platter of treacle tart the House Elves had brought for after supper.
"It'll be interesting to see the Great hall from a different angle." They took their meals together for the most part. Or Tom went to the kitchens personally in an effort to avoid Dumbledore. He hadn't stepped foot in the Great hall once that summer, and it had been marvelous!
Harry snorted. "You'll realise just how big it is then. It can almost feel overwhelming at times. So many students. So many faces. You can't even see them all perfectly near the double doors at the far end."
To Tom it sounded spectacular. Of course it could just be his happiness over getting to be in Hogwarts still. Not having to leave his true home behind could be blinding him.
"Have you already worked out your schedules?" Harry asked him, setting his plate aside and pulled the entire platter of treacle tart closer. As they were for him to begin with, Tom wasn't offended by the the gluttonous reaction.
They'd already discussed it. Tom would be taking over the classes for the first through third years. Harry had deemed him prepared enough to handle that much work, and had already bestowed much wisdom on how to handle assignments and such. And he had Harry's own example to base his own teaching style off of. Despite him originally being incensed in regards to it, Harry's method truly worked. He raised the grade average of the entire school simply because his class touched upon applications from nearly every other class in the school and his Dueling Club had been a great help.
With Tom taking on some classes, Harry's schedule would be freed up so he could dedicate the proper time to his Deputy duties. And there were so many to see to! Every day he had something to do, even in the summer!
"I have everything set up," he told the man confidently. "Though I wouldn't mind if you'd like to look over what I've come up with."
Harry's smile could make him believe in angels, it was just that fetching. That innocent. How had he existed this long and manage to be so untarnished?
"You've come a long way, Tom. I'm proud of your progress."
Tom was not blushing he was simply a little overheated still from the intense workout Harry had put him through. His clothes were hot and there was even still sweat on his brow!
There was sweat on Harry too. It made his hair shine and his skin glisten just a bit in the candlelight. And Tom's mouth felt dry suddenly.
"Are you okay, Tom?"
"Fine! Just fine."
He was not fine.
A/N: This chapter was finished months ago, for the most part. It was long enough and everything, but I chose to hold off on posting because it didn't feel right to me. Last night I got a review and decided to re-read the whole fic, plus this chap to see what was missing. I found it too. It was just detail. Some of the writing was just bland. I fixed it while I added 1,000 words!
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Carve a heart
What a wonderful @sterekweek-2018 we had! Much thanks to the mods for organising all of it again! Today’s fic might well be my favourite out of all the ones I’ve written for this week, and it doubles as a fill for both yesterday’s Witch Hunt prompt and today’s Halloween prompt. Dedicated to @ohfuckthisshit, without whom this fic would not exist (because I couldn’t think of a single thing to write). I hope you enjoy the following 4k of Harry Potter AU with secret admirers and Halloween shenanigans! See you all again next year hopefully!
It starts the very first night back at Hogwarts, though Stiles only realises that in hindsight.
There’s a box of chocolates on his bed - just a small one, two chocolate frogs, Dumbledore and Agrippa, nothing new sadly, one cauldron cake, two peppermint toads and three iced mice. There’s no note and honestly, Stiles doesn’t really spend a lot of time thinking about how it could have ended up in his bed - perhaps it’s a welcoming gift from the house elves? - before he dives right in.
Who cares where the chocolates come from, when they are this good!
~*~
Sixth year is both easier and harder than the years before. There’s no OWLs, so that makes it more relaxed. But on the other hand all the teachers apparently had been going easy on them the past five years and classes had suddenly become much harder. Stiles had to spend far too much time in the library studying now. Why did his best friend have to be an overzealous Ravenclaw?
“Stop daydreaming, Stiles,” Lydia hissed, as if she’d sensed him thinking about her. “You’ve got to write three feet about Amortentia and then there’s the essay for Transfiguration afterwards.”
With a sigh, Stiles looks down at his parchment which is three sentences long so far, not three feet. And one of the sentences is unreadable even because a big drop of ink had smudged it all while he’d been daydreaming.
“Why can’t wizards use ballpoint pens like normal people?” he whines and Lydia replies without looking up from her Arithmancy essay:
“Because they are a society that holds onto reactionary practices in the name of tradition and purity. Now stop talking and get working, you’ve got to ace the NEWTs.”
“Those are almost two years off! And what’s it to you if I ace them anyways? It’s not as if you are in any danger of failing them,” Stiles complains and Lydia shoots back:
“Because your failure or success reflects on me. I’m going to ace them anyway and you will too.”
That’s definitely more threat than promise and Stiles looks around him, seeking help. But the only other person in the library is the Hufflepuff Seventh Year Head Boy, Derek Hale, who seems to be too engrossed in his book to listen to them. So with a forlorn sigh Stiles accepts his fate and focuses back on the properties of Amortentia.
The next day a brand new no-spill, endless ink quill lies on his usual place in the library.
~*~
Stiles honestly makes an effort to find the owner of the quill, but it appears to belong to no one. Well, Isaac makes an attempt to claim ownership, but it is so obviously fake that Stiles laughs in his face. Stiles even asks Derek because he usually sits near him and Lydia in the library, so it’s possible he might have seen something. But Derek denies any knowledge, so that’s a dead end, too. The only thing that confuses Stiles is how Derek’s ears turn red when Stiles asks him whether he knows anything about the quill - almost as if he has something to hide, though what that might be, Stiles can’t begin to guess.
The quill is too useful (and expensive) to not use, though, so Stiles decides to use it from now on - if the real owner does appear eventually, it won’t matter, after all it’s spelled with an endless supply of ink anyways. And either way, it’s the exact same blue as Stiles’ broom, old but trusty Roscoe, so really it was clearly meant to be.
Roscoe is probably the oldest broom in the whole school, older even than the school brooms the first years learn to fly on. Those get switched out every five to ten years, whereas Roscoe used to belong to Stiles’ mum and is older than Stiles. But a good broom isn’t just the spells originally put on it, but the trust and belief of its rider, the magic that infuses the wood and straw. Stiles and his dad are living in a muggle neighbourhood, so flying Roscoe was out of the question, but before coming to Hogwarts where he could finally actually fly it, he used to get it out each week and clean and polish it, cutting off crooked ends, oiling the handle and re-adjusting the footrests. And when he finally got to fly it, the first flying lesson in Hogwarts, Roscoe jumped into his hand before he could even think “up”, nevermind say it.
Stiles tried out for the Quidditch team first thing second year, and each year since actually, but he never got in. Sometimes he wished it worked more like muggle sports, where you have substitutes, so that he’d at least be able to make it second line, if first was that out of reach, but sadly, the wizarding world only ever had one set of players for one team, so no Quidditch for Stiles. That didn’t mean he stopped flying, oh no! Poor Roscoe had been collecting dust for too long already. Each Sunday morning, he got up early and took to the skies. The nice thing was that he had the pitch for himself usually, as no one else wanted to get up early on a Sunday. The quidditch teams usually trained on Saturdays and few others flew just for the sake of flying.
But half way through September, there’s someone else already on the pitch when he arrives. Derek Hale is making lazy circles around the hoops and when Stiles hesitates, not sure if it’s okay to join him or not, Derek swoops down and actually offers to leave if Stiles wants the pitch to himself!
“Or we could play one on one a little, if you want to,” he adds after a moment’s hesitation. “I have both a quaffle and a practice snitch, so we could do either of those.”
“One on one with the quaffle sounds fun,” Stiles says, not quite sure that this is actually happening. Derek Hale wants to play Quidditch with him?! But who is Stiles to look a gift horse in the mouth—he already knows that this gift horse has bunny teeth and that they are adorable.
Playing with Derek is actually far more fun than just flying around alone, Stiles finds. Derek is competitive, but not annoyingly so, just enough to make beating him a real challenge. Stiles is quicker, despite his older broom, but Derek has the bulk and reach on him, and the sheer power to put behind his movements. When he puts his all into throwing the Quaffle, Stiles quickly learns to duck rather than throw himself in its path. They are pretty evenly matched, all in all, and to Stiles’ surprise, but delight, Derek suggests meeting again at the same time next week for another game. And Stiles agrees, and finds himself already looking forward to it.
Poor Roscoe suffered a few new scratches and crooked or broken straws, but it’s nothing that a little tender loving care cannot take care of. And that evening, Stiles finds a brand new broom servicing kit at the foot of his bed, filled to the brim with highest quality polishes and oils and everything else a broom might need.
Once again, there is no note.
~*~
The broomkit is where Stiles starts getting suspicious. The quill could be explained away, and yes, even the chocolates, though no one else got any. But a broom servicing kit? Just for him?
“Perhaps someone is pranking me,” he tells Lydia, who smoothly transfigures his eyebrows into feathers.
“Well done, Miss Martin, five points to Ravenclaw,” Professor McGonagall praises as she walks by and Stiles tries to glare at Lydia, though that’s hard to do with his brand new feathers fluttering with every twitch of a muscle.
“Are you even listening to me? Someone left me broom servicing kit! On my bed!”
“You needed one, didn’t you?” Lydia asks, impassive to his plight.
“Well yes, but that’s not the point!” Stiles exclaims and Professor McGonagall interjects:
“Focus, Mr Stilinski! Your transfiguration needs to be smooth in both directions by the end of the lesson or you’ll get an additional three feet of parchment!”
Stiles’ first three attempts at the transfiguration fail to do anything, until Lydia calmly corrects his grip on his wand and gets her eyebrows singed off in thanks on the next attempt.
“Seriously Stiles, McGonagall is right, you need to focus! If my eyebrows are not in perfect condition by the end of the lesson, three additional feet of parchment are going to be the least of your problems!” she chides and then offers:
“None of this sounds malicious in any way - perhaps someone is simply trying to court you?”
“Court me? Who would want to court me?” Stiles yelps and his spell misfires, transfiguring Lydia’s lashes instead of eyebrows into feathers. At least it works this time. Lydia blinks—very slowly, probably because of the sudden weight of the feathers—and then glares at him.
“I really wouldn’t know; I’m more tempted to kill you at the moment myself! We haven’t got enough data to draw any conclusions on that. So perhaps you could just stop messing around and fix this!”
“Sorry, I really didn’t mean to,” Stiles apologises and concentrates hard to transfigure her lashes back to normal. Thankfully it works and McGonagall who has silently appeared next to him actually claps.
“Very well done, Mr Stilinski. That was a very precise transfiguration, ten points to Slytherin. But if next time you could stick to the task given and not complicate matters for both yourself and Miss Martin, I’d be much obliged. Both of you may get started on your essays now, if you please.”
When she has moved onto the next student, Stiles insistently asks Lydia:
“Do you really think someone could be courting me?”
“The facts all point towards it,” she replies and then adds, grabbing his hand and squeezing it: “You are a catch, Stiles, okay? Don’t forget that, and whoever is courting you better shouldn’t either, if they don’t want to deal with me.”
Stiles smiles and squeezes her hand gently back. It’s moments like this one that remind him why Lydia is his best friend, even across House borders.
~*~
As if his secret admirer had only waited for Stiles to get a clue, the gifts start coming more rapidly now. They range from small, like a pouch of cough drops and a vial of pepperup potion when he’s feeling a little under the weather, to a new cloak when his old one suffers a tragic accident in Potions. Some gifts arrive via owl in the Great Hall, but most simply appear on his bed. Not a single one includes a note or any hint at who might have sent it.
Thus, Stiles embarks on a veritable witch hunt—or wizard hunt, who knows what his secret admirer identifies as. The owls are always school owls, freely available to whoever does the trek up to the Owlery, so that’s a dead end. The gifts aren’t giving him much either, other than that his secret admirer either knows Stiles very well, or is keeping a close eye on him, and that money is not an issue for them. Stiles’ last hope is his bed. Or rather, the fact that gifts keep getting left on his bed. It’s not as if just anyone can walk into the Slytherin quarters and up into the Sixth Year Boys Dormitory, repeatedly at that, without anyone noticing.
The only people besides Stiles himself that regularly enter this room are his roommates and thus, armed with the power of logic, Stiles confronts them, demanding to know whether one of them is his secret admirer.
“Why would I court you when I have Erica?” Boyd asks in return and Isaac actually replies with: “Ew, no!”
“Well, thanks for that, guys,” Stiles retorts, feeling more than a little disgruntled. Not that he was particularly enthusiastic about either of them courting him, but really, they didn’t have to be so vehement in their denials. They are not super close, but Stiles would have said they are friends, though Isaac’s “ew no” is making him rethink that. Way to be rude, Lahey.
Those three, Isaac, Boyd, and his girlfriend Erica, a fellow Slytherin, too, at least don’t begrudge him his sorting into Slytherin like most of the house still seems to do. Even after five years, Stiles is still the odd one out in Slytherin, ambitious yes, cunning, definitely, resourceful, without a doubt; he could even be pretty ruthless if the situation called for it. But what too many of his housemates still couldn’t overlook was that he was “just” a half-blood. And one that had grown up more muggle than wizard, even, because of the early death of his mom. His dad did his best, but having no magic himself and none of mom’s family around, Stiles’ life before Hogwarts hadn’t involved much magic, even though he had been aware of its existence.
Sometimes it felt as though everyone else was right and the Sorting Hat had been wrong. When Stiles had let slip something along those lines one Sunday during their now routine one on one Quidditch match after the Seventh Year Slytherins had ganged up on him again the night before, he’d been surprised to hear that he wasn’t alone in that feeling. Apparently Derek’s sorting into Hufflepuff had caused a minor earthquake, too.
“Everyone from my family has been a Gryffindor,” he had explained, “going generations back. When I was sorted into Hufflepuff, some of them could not believe it and took pains to inform me of that, too. So from home, it was all ‘you should have been in Gryffindor’ while at school everyone had apparently agreed that I should have been in Slytherin instead. Their reasoning was based on my facial expressions of all things, which is even stupider than a family tradition.”
“You do have a pretty bad case of resting bitch face,” Stiles had mused and had then had to get every last morsel of speed out of Roscoe to escape from Derek’s tickling figures. It had made him feel better, though, to know he wasn’t the only one whose sorting was controversial. It was also nice to be able to add another point to the list of things he and Derek had in common. It was getting rather long.
~*~
The notes start appearing one week before Halloween. One each morning, via owl to the Great Hall, and written with a bespelled quill, so the handwriting doesn’t give anything away.
On the 25th, the note says:
“I’ve been trying to gather enough courage to talk to you for a while now, and this year is my last chance. I hope you’ve been enjoying my gifts.”
“It’s probably a Seventh Year,” Lydia says when Stiles shows her the note later and keeps talking across Stiles’ spluttering denials, because what Seventh Year would notice him? And then not dare to talk to him.
“The last chance is the important clue here—we are here for another year after this one, so if it was anyone from our year or below, this wouldn’t be their last chance. That only fits a Seventh Year. Now stop cutting your beetles and start crushing them or your potion is going to explode later.”
On the 26th, the note says:
“I admire your intelligence and your thirst for knowledge. It amazes me how you can make even the most random subjects sound fascinating and how you are interested in a wide range of topics, striving to deepen your understanding of them. I wouldn’t know boredom for the rest of my life as long as I could always talk to you.”
Stiles doesn’t show that one to Lydia. Instead he keeps it close and furtively rereads it several times during the day, his heart fluttering each time. There’s someone out there who doesn’t find his ramblings annoying, but interesting? Who likes how he can become obsessed with particular topics and has to find out everything about them as quickly as possible? It almost sounds too good to be true.
The note on the 27th arrives just as the other two have, via owl during breakfast, but this time Stiles is anticipating it, impatiently waiting for it, really. This one is shorter, but it still makes Stiles’ heart beat faster when he reads it:
“I admire your loyalty. Friends and family are of utmost importance and so few people realise that. I’m glad you do and hope to earn your loyalty one day, just as you’ve already earned mine.”
The note on the 28th says:
“If I could draw, I’d draw your eyes, for they have bewitched me. But as I can’t, I’m only left with my words, which are inadequate in comparison. Your eyes are the colour of whiskey, of amber, of molten gold, a gleaming fire and a deep pool that I long to drown in. I hope they won’t shutter in disappointment when they fall upon me.”
Stiles spends an embarrassing amount of time in the bathroom that day, staring at his own reflection, trying to see what his secret admirer sees in him, in his eyes. But all he sees is brown and a question: Who is writing to him?
The note on the 29th makes him blush and hide it away immediately, safely stowing it away until he can reread it in the privacy of his bed:
“I dream of your lips. I dream of their touch, their taste, your touch and your taste, your warmth and your bite. My dreams are sweeter than reality, for in them I hold you and touch you and you hold me and touch me in return. I long for your touch, your lips on mine, your body against mine, kiss chased by kiss, touch chasing touch. Would you also dream of me, I wonder?”
The handwriting on the note on the 30th is shaky, for once not smoothed out by a quill’s magic:
“I’m scared shitless, if you want to know the truth. I’m scared you’ll laugh in my face, or politely turn me down. It’s why I kept quiet for so long—it’s easier to dream when it’s just a dream. Reality threatens to turn the dream into a nightmare and I’m scared that instead of loving me, you’ll hate me.”
The note on the 31st, Halloween, is the shortest of them all:
“Meet me in the kitchens after classes?”
Stiles is a nervous mess for the rest of the day, which is a shame because he loves Halloween, and what’s better than Halloween in a castle with actual witches and wizards and ghosts? He’s sure his site is going to bruise because Lydia has elbowed him so often to draw his attention back to the here and now. Thankfully none of his teachers notice his distraction or he might have ended up getting detention and having to stand up his secret admirer.
It’s the thought that dominates his mind the whole day: Today he’ll get to meet his secret admirer. It makes the note he got yesterday suddenly so much more relatable, because as excited as Stiles is at that prospect, he’s also scared shitless. What if it was all big prank after all? What if he’ll come into the kitchen and it’s a bunch of Seventh Year Slytherins who’ll laugh at him and his romantic naivety? Or what if he does actually have a secret admirer, but it’s someone he can’t stand?
And what if it’s someone he likes? Somehow that’s the scariest option of them all.
The day both creeps and speeds by, every second lasting hours and every hour over in seconds and before Stiles knows it, he’s standing in front of the painting that hides the entrance to the kitchens and is trying to get his breathing under control. He didn’t know if this was a date, so he didn’t dress up, but he also didn’t know if it wasn’t a date, so he at least cleaned up after classes were over, wanting to look if not his best, then at least good. He’d probably have to settle for acceptable, but his secret admirer surely knew what they were getting themselves into.
Finally Stiles plucks up his courage and tickles the pear in the portrait.
The kitchens are as warm and friendly as ever, busy with the dinner preparations, but the house elves welcoming and excited to greet a guest nevertheless. This time he doesn’t get directed towards a table, though, but to a small door near the end of the kitchen that he’s never before noticed. When he steps through, he finds himself in another kitchen, much smaller, more like one you’d find in a regular household. It is filled with candles and magical Halloween decorations - bats flying just under the ceiling, dramatic cobwebs hanging over the cabinets, and pumpkins of all shapes, colours, and sizes everywhere.
And in the middle of the room stands Derek Hale, slightly pale but for his red ears. He is cautiously smiling at Stiles, as if he’s unsure of Stiles’ reaction still.
“Hello,” he says and Stiles answers dumbly: “Hi,” overwhelmed by the situation still.
“I know Halloween is your favourite holiday and as we can’t go trick and treating here, I thought we might carve some pumpkins together and just, talk?” Derek continues and Stiles blinks as he’s trying to process all of this.
“You are my secret admirer?” he asks finally and Derek actually blushes and ducks his head.
“Yes, I am. Sorry, I probably should have said that first thing. I hope you are not disappointed now.”
“Dude, no!” Stiles exclaims and immediately wants to kick himself, because really, ‘Dude’? “I’m not disappointed, seriously, so not disappointed, I’m just trying to wrap my head around this still. You are actually interested in me? Like, for real?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to say with the gifts and notes,” Derek replies and Stiles nods, mentally going back through all the gifts. So many of them make sense now that he knows they came from Derek, like the quill right at the beginning, or the broom servicing kit after their first game together. There’s just one question left:
“But how did you get them into my room? Do you know our password?”
Derek shakes his head.
“I asked Boyd and Isaac to help me. They would leave them on your bed for me.”
“That dick!” Stiles exclaims and quickly adds in explanation: “Isaac said ‘Ew, no’ when I asked him if he had anything to do with it, the dick.”
“Where you hoping he was giving you gifts?” Derek asks, his face suddenly blank, and Stiles vehemently shakes his head.
“God no, we’re friends, but no, really no.” He hesitates a moment but then decides it’s time for him to be brave, not just Derek, and says quietly: “I wasn’t hoping it was you either, but only because I didn’t dare to. I didn’t want to be disappointed if it was anyone but you. I’m very, very happy that it was you after all now, though.”
Derek ducks his head, but Stiles can still see the smile that’s stretching his lips and impulsively reaches out to grab his hand. After a moment of surprised stillness, Derek intertwines their fingers and squeezes gently. Stiles squeezes back, suddenly very giddy, and says:
“Now, you promised me pumpkin carving. I demand the biggest pumpkin—I’m going to make a dragon!”
“You can have all the pumpkins you want,” Derek promises and Stiles has to dart forward and press a kiss to his lips. It’s just a peck and it’s only just Halloween, but with the sense of how Derek’s smile tastes and feels burned into his brain, Stiles feels as though Christmas has come early.
Perhaps a dragon won’t be the first thing he carves after all.
A heart seems much more appropriate.
You can find the rest of my Sterekweek fics here!
#Sterekweek2018#sterekwitchhunt#sterekhalloween4#Sterek#teen wolf#my Sterek fic#my fic#my Sterekweek fic#this week wasn't great for my sleeping schedule#it is now 3am#but I did write almost 13k over the last seven days so that's definitely an achievement#happy reading!
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Lies and deceit.
Following up the story, Sidestep grows closer to Elyise, and the dynamic of his conflict with Steel unfolds, as usual between them.
LIES AND DECEIT
"HOLD ON!" Steel orders
You take hold as the boat evades the incoming fire barrage, one sharp turn after another. Elyise's barrier stops most of the bullets, but some come through, digging holes in the boat's surface. She doesn't really need to hold since her powers should protect her from the sharp turns.
You try to keep your head low.
Ortega's modded hand digs into the boat hull as he takes hold. He holds your arm with his other hand.
The gesture either makes you think he is being protective, or he thinks you are the fool that's going to fall overboard.
"STEEL! WHEN YOU TURN, AIM FOR THEM AT TOP SPEED!" Elyise asks
"WHAT? THEY'LL JUST SHOOT US DOWN!"
"TRUST ME!" she screams to be heard over the enemy fire.
*Help me with this* are the words she sends into your mind. You nod.
Steel gives another turn, this turn aiming for the large cargo ship, bullets coming left and right.
"WHATEVER IT IS YOU ARE PLANING, DO IT N...."
You lose track of what Steel is saying. You are with Elyise. Helping her focus. Steading her hand so to speak. Her powers are much greater than she able to manifest. But with your help, she can really exploit them.
You expand her focus. Give her training wheels so she can go on to do great things... great things... she is destined for great things... The alien thought sticks in your mind. Perhaps it's one of hers? Wouldn't surprise you. She's not like you. She has a really bright future as a hero in Los Diablos once she masters all of her abilities.
The boat jumps in the air at top speed, floating over the ocean thanks to Elyise's Psychokinesis... The mercenaries look bewildered and try to dodge... Too slow. It lands on top of their machineguns, crushing several of them.
You are flung forward by the impact's strength, falling over the ship's deck in a roll, as you were trained to do.
Ortega also manages the roll. You know about his parkour past.. Steel is not so lucky and slams into it with force. Still, his armor should do the trick and keep him safe.
Elyise... you don't see her...
Oh. She's slowly gliding down. Of course. Sometimes you forget she can do that.
"KILL THEM!" a mercenary yells. They pick up their weapons.
You and Ortega look at each other and charge onto them. You've done this a million times.
Ortega runs straight at their leader, all their shots missing since you're projecting an illusion of him having jumped to fall above them.
He doesn't even ask you to do it by now. You just do.
One of them draws an electric baton and comes for you, but you take his arm and fling him overboard.
Steel has recovered and charges sending several of them to the floor. Their leader soon joins them, beaten by Ortega.
A pile of beaten humans, lying on top of each other. They wrest themselves free, knocking each other.
The group runs towards the lower decks... but is stopped when a massive figure emerges from the hatch. It simply swats them like flies on it’s way. Obviosuly it doesn’t consider them useful anymore.
His metal suit is enormous. He must be about 2 and a half meters tall... and his arms ... One ends in a mechanical claw. The other is a straight-up cylinder.
Military grade armor. Fuck. The dark frame of the armor's head becomes transparent, revealing the man inside.
You sense recognition from whomever’s inside. Steel is startled...
"Ahhh... If it isn't Hood's little pair of hostage boys and friends? Coming to ruin my party? If I had known, I would have been out there to receive you from the start!" The metallic voice echoes through the ship.
"JUPITER!?!" Ortega asks bewildered.
"What are you doing here?" Steel stood in a cautious stance.
"What does it look I'm doing! Ha! I'm going to spank both of your asses like I used to do every week back in the day. And there will be no Hood saving you morons! I can tell you how this is going to end... " the arms begin pointing at Ortega and Steel "It ends the way it ALWAYS does! With me getting paid!"
"ORTEGA! MOVE!" You scream. He tries to. But it's too late.
The metallic claw on his right arm starts spinning... and then emits a bolt of pure thunderbolt at Ortega, sending him flying through the duck up in smoke.
Steel charges at the armor.
"DODGE STEEL!"
Steel is faster and quickly jumps to the side as Jupiter's left cylinder points at him. As the device activates, it extends at full speed, destroying the deck where Steel stood a moment ago.
A giant pneumatic hammer used as a weapon on a suit. Now that's a new one. Sometimes it’s the simplest technology that’s the most terrifying.
Steel closes in and holds the suit's arms upwards, pushing him, trying to throw him overboard.
Jupiter headbutts him, sending him down. As he lies down, he points the cylinder directly at Steel's head.
"Now die ranger!" He speaks in a cold murderous tone. You can sense the fear in STeel's mind.
You invade Jupiter's mind as swiftly as you're able. Sending a whirlwind of random colors to block his sight and lose his balance. It works, he stumbles and the cylinder moves slightly down and left of its target.
"What... the.. fuck!" The cylinder activates and Steel screams in pain.
The armor around his arm is almost destroyed, taking the hit. Well, at least it wasn't his head.
Jupiter regains his balance and turns on you and Elyse.
"YOU! YOU FUCKING KID! IM GOING TO KILL YOU FOR THIS!" He does despise younger heroes. You keep the colors blocking his eyes, but he isn't a fool.. he's managing to see trough.
"When I tell you... help me again," Elyise asks.
You nod lightly, focusing on Jupiter. The claw on his right arm begins spinning... charging with power for another bolt. It looks for you... trying to find you as you try to keep it from targeting you.
"NOW!"
You let go and lend her your focus.
She lifts the boat again... and sends it flying at Jupiter's suit.
The lighting bolt hits a wooden box by your side, making it explode as his aim is thrown off by the impact. Jupiter's suit is knocked to the side, as he tries to regain his balance and hold his ground against the boat pushing him.
"I AM STRONGER! I AM... JUPITER! I WILL CRUSH YOU ALL!"
He begins regaining ground... Not even Elise's full power unlocked with your help is enough against his armor suit.
"Who's were you saying going to get spanked today again?" Ortega asks. He reaches the boat and begins it onto Jupiter.
"As Hood used to say..." Steel speaks, taking pushing against the boat with his functional arm "The Rangers always get their man!"
"Yeah, even if he has to be drowned first!" Ortega adds finally.
Jupiter struggles, but all the added strength pushes his suit backward, towards the edge of the ship.
"Not this ranger shit again... You can’t... you... you aren’t stronger than.. me...” his voice sounding more desperate by the second “Hey... Hey kids! Wait... we can... HNHg... discuss it!"
"Do you hear something Charge?" Steel asks, his face red with effort.
"Nope. I only hear the sea. Do you hear anything Sidestep?" Ortega asks while pushing as hard as he can.
"Nothing at all Marshall," you say with a grin while aiding Elyise’s psychokinesis.
"WAIT! I Yield! I'll tell you everything! I can’t go underwater in this suit! I’ll drown!" Jupiter pleads as his feet touch the edge of the ship.
"Well.. in that case," Steel started.
And then Jupiter’s claw lowers again, taking aim at Ortega.
"It's a trap!" Elyise screams as she is the first one to notice. "THROW HIM DOWN BEFORE HE SHOOTS THAT THING AGAIN!"
"WHAT? No! No! Wait! This is a misundersta..." he screams desperately as the boat pushes him and his suit over the railing, and into the sea.
You approach Ortega and Charge, watching ...
The suit sinks hard like a rock, going straight for the bottom.
"You think he can survive in there?" Ortega asks Steel.
"He's got even more mods than I even without the suit. No way he can float. IT's over"
You feel a little bit conflicted by this. "Can we do anything?"
"No," Steel says in the end. "We don't have a way to pull him up. It's the end of Jupiter."
"He tortured so many people..." Ortega speaks with pure resentment. "I'm not going to cry Sidestep. And neither should you"
And then he stumbles to the left and lands on his butt.
"Fuck! Ricardo, are you ok?" you approach him. He got hit with a lightning bolt after all.
"My batteries took most of it" he smiles lightly. "It can't be so bad!"
"You idiot, of course, it can be bad," you say checking the mods.
"What about you Steel?" you force yourself to ask while trying to evaluate the damage. He's an ally too.
"I think my armor's toast around ... and the arm hurts like hell... but it's not broken as far as I can tell," he says flexing with a pained expression.
"Alright... Let me take care of it" you say, volunteering to get the first aid kit from the ship. You're trained as a field doctor among other things. It took Ortega and Steel a few injuries to realize you have more experience than some hospital surgeons.
And of course, you refused to answer why. Not their fucking business.
You volunteer to get both a toolbox and first aid kit from the ship to repair the damage. That bastard Jupiter did a mess on Ortega's mods. A few bad moves and his legs could disconnect completely.
Not a hard fix, but it takes a while to reinforce it aboard a ship. Some dermal cream for the burns is all you can do about that, but it doesn't seem like it will leave a mark. You’not sure why is he under so much pain... you check his wounds twice ...
It takes you a few moments to realize he’s just exaggerating his pain.
You just see it in his eyes. He wants to draw you in. He’s going to kiss you once more if you play his game.
You quickly turn. Steel is in need of just as much help.
The armored around his arm is destroyed and really causing him severe pain. No way to fix it, all you can do is disarm it and free his arm, leaving it bare.
"Sorry... I don't have replacement parts"
"It's alright," steel says, flexing his arm. "At least it's stopped hurting so much."
"Thanks" He adds after a few awkward seconds. He always thanks you for helping them. Doesn't stop him from wanting to get rid of you. It's the passive aggressiveness you don't stand.
---------on the lower deck. -------------
"Gulf war Tech. Must be stolen" Steel says after hacking onto the onboard computer. " They were smuggling about a hundred boxes worth of it... enough to start a little war. I guess the mercenaries didn’t want to pay for the delivery.”
Large boxes as far as you can see in the storage compartment.
"Well... better count them," you say. And you begin doing exactly that, while Steel goes over the details.
Elyise is helping Ortega. That's why you chose to start counting yourself. He’s still there pretending to be seriously hurt. Trying to drag you into talking alone again. He pulled the same trick at the party. When he told you he needed to go to the bathroom.
And you can't have that. Because if you do, he'll invite you out again, and you know you are going to say yes because you're a sucker for him. And that will end up with him finding out. You need some way out... He will try again later, and with the boat in this condition, you’ll have to wait for a rescue team. You’ll be together for hours.
It takes a while to count each box. You make it take a while. You don't actually make mistakes when counting stuff. It's another difference between you and humans. You could count about a thousand identical stones without counting any of them twice or making a mistake.
Your body is purposely built for information gathering, and it’s a skill you’ve also been trained in.
"95... 96... 97" You end. "Steel... there's three missing boxes. They must have taken something from here." you add pointing at some oil marks, left by a wheeled metal cart.
"That's no good. It doesn't seem like they could open them if they needed to carry them out"
"How do you know?" Ortega asks.
"These are old" Steel explains. "You need the old war Theater of operations codes to open one of these. Only someone in a unit with authorization from back then could have them."
"Oh. MAkes sense " Elyise adds looking at the boxes.
"You two, head upstairs.” He looks at you and Elyise “My unit was assigned there back then... I'll see what's inside."
"Why do we have to go upstairs?" You ask
"Because you are not rangers" He simply adds, as if that was the end of discussion.
Ortega stands by you. "Hey... let's go upstairs, let steel do his thing. we can chat and..."
No. Definitely no. That is NOT happening. And Steel just gave you the way out.
"Oh, so we're good enough to save your ass from Jupiter, but we're not good enough to see some rusted old weapons?" you start. You know what he said makes perfect sense. You're not authorized to see the weapons. You would do the same thing. But as usual, he is giving you the perfect excuse.
"It's not my fault you won't follow proper procedure and join us instead of following Charge around like a lost puppy!"
You force yourself not to smile. You come up with a comeback. He answers, adequately insulting. You respond in kind. Ortega steps in trying to calm you both down. Steel just throws in the big ammo, actually calling you names. Now that's a record. You raise his bet. Both of you look at Ortega. He's the Marshall after all.
He sides with Steel. He has to. You're not authorized to see stolen war gulf-war era weapons.
You yell at Ortega for siding with him.
Its true Steel is right, but he could just skip procedure this time if he wanted.
It's all it would take to throw off your little scheme. He could do it if he truly cared so much.
Instead, he tries to justify Steel's words. To make you see reason.
“Don’t be like that! You're acting like a five-year-old!”
“I’m not a fucking kid Ricardo! I’ll go upstairs, I guess I should have learned my place is always at the back row with you guys.” You snap at him and storm off. They have made exceptions for some famous vigilantes and heroes. But not for you. It irritated you. But certainly suits you now.
Elyise follows you speechless.
You've taken part in this dance so many times now. Most of the time, Steel wins.
But sometimes, you just want him to think he won.
Mission accomplished. Now you have the perfect excuse not to talk to Ortega for a long while.
That AND, he is the one who will feel guilty about sending you off.
You do feel bad about the whole thing. But you would feel worse if the farm captured you again. And maybe killed him while doing it. He is nothing to them.
Lives are interchangeable. Expensive Experimental Regenes that have been on development for years are not.
"Is it always like that?" Elyise asks as you reach the stairs.
"Yes. It's always the fucking same," you answer, trying to look hurt, your shields suitably raised up.
"Well... I guess he's just trying to do his job... could use with some better manners though... " She sighs. "Let's go up, shall we?"
"Yes, lets'" She moves, letting you go first.
As soon as you reach the ship's surface deck, you look down.
"Damn... I think I lost a glove down here! Give me a moment"
You sigh, turn and look at the sea. She climbs up half a minute later and joins you.
"Hey.. are you still mad about this?" she says putting a hand on your shoulder.
"Yeah," you say. It’s true that you orchestrated this. But a part of you expected Ricardo to ruin your plan and tell Steel to go fuck himself. And he didn’t. And you felt alone again. You *are* made about it. For real.
And so you spend the rest of the trip, venting about Steel with Elyise.
Steel called you Ortega's lost puppy. But it's Ortega who looks the part in the end. Standing by himself, wanting to approach you but knowing you’re furious.
You're not sure if that's a reason to celebrate. The whole thing just makes you drift apart from them. And Ortega is... you don’t know what he is, but he’s definitely more than a friend, and you can’t talk to him now.
Oh well.
At least Elyise is your friend now.
_____________________________________
My fanfiction: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero
DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.
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