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pilots-and-protons · 1 year ago

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Had a crazy idea the other day, when I was thinking about how Tom Paris is one of the only main crewmembers who didn't have some kind of Borg stuff happen to him (other than the Doctor, of course).

Obviously Seven is already borg, but Chakotay briefly experienced the mini-collective in "Unity", Neelix and Harry were both cured by Borg nanoprobes (plus Harry had started to be assimilated by the Borg children), and of course Janeway, Tuvok, and B'Elanna were briefly assimilated too.

But because I'm me, I started pondering about "Threshold" and the fascinating potential of Tom being everywhere in the universe simultaneously, but how it all "slipped away" when he tried to remember - to process it after the fact. Because surely, a human brain simply can't comprehend something of that magnitude.

But what if it all was still there - just inaccessible, in a way. I imagine it would be like trying to run a game on a computer that isn't powerful enough - the basic game can download (barely), but if you actually tried to play it, nothing would properly load or function. What if everything Tom experienced at Warp 10 was in there somewhere, but just too vast and incomprehensible for him to access?

And then what if a Borg drone tried to assimilate him?

I like to imagine a scenario where Tom gets caught on an away mission during some Borg fiasco - but when those tubules go into his neck, when the drone links into Tom's mind to bring him into the collective, that Borg gets the surprise of a lifetime. Suddenly it's not one human brain unable to access this vast expanse of experience and memories - it's millions of species, working like one giant super-processor, and suddenly that "inaccessible" part of Tom's mind comes flooding out.

It would be like sending a feedback-loop through a machine to short-circuit it. Suddenly every Borg on the ship (maybe even others close enough within the collective hivemind), are flooded with more information and memories than they can possibly process at one time, coming from a singular source. Every cybernetic implant in the drone who initiated the assimilation overloads, and it collapses in an unresponsive heap.

Of course, Tom would hardly be much better off. It's like his brain exploded, first forced to try and comprehend the expansive collective of the hivemind, then flooded by memories and experiences he thought were all lost. Everything he saw, everywhere he was - all mixed in with the terrified screams of thousands of voices being overwhelmed and dying. When the drone collapses, Tom follows suit - his poor human brain unable to comprehend it all and shutting down to save itself.

When the others find him, he's unconscious, blood oozing from his nose and the injection sites in his neck. He's pale and clammy, but not the ashen color of a freshly-made Borg. The drone is lying beside him, dead - yet signs of struggle are clearly minimal. No one is sure what actually happened.

Tuvok and whoever else are in the away team are all completely perplexed. One moment they were trying to fend off the Borg in other parts of the Cube, then they heard Tom's screams echo through the ship and suddenly one by one, every drone seemed to fritz out and collapse. B'Elanna and Harry try checking the Borg systems, but they can't understand what they're seeing. All they can tell is that it looks like something burnt out every system, spreading from the inside out - both in the ship and the drones themselves like some kind of cascade failure.

Taking their chance to escape, the away team beams back to Voyager, with Tom sent straight to sickbay. When the Doctor gets ahold of him, he's shocked to see that the assimilation process had been started - but something had halted it. Nanoprobes have to be removed from Tom's body, but the interlink node that should have connected him to the collective is completely burned out even before the Doctor removes it. After surgery to remove the Borg tech and to repair some damage done to Tom's brain, they have to wait for him to wake up.

In the meantime, the other senior staff share what they know and what knowledge they gained from the Borg cube. B'Elanna and Seven come to the conclusion that there was some kind of cascade failure, and that the interconnectedness of the Borg meant that when it hit one, it hit all the rest. Janeway is excited by the prospect - that the Borg's greatest strength, their hivemind, could become their downfall if they can only figure out how to recreate what happened. Seven takes what scans she can from the Cube's systems before they depart, but it will take time to reconstruct all the damaged and fragmented data.

Of course, when Tom wakes up in Sickbay, he's initially pretty disoriented. He doesn't remember exactly what happened, too confused by the voices from the collective, and once more unable to comprehend the Warp 10 experiences. He explains that he remembers feeling the injection tubules piercing his skin, feeling terror and disgust at the idea of losing himself as a Borg, but then it's like... static in his brain. Just a faint memory of pressure and pain that he can't understand. When the Doctor assures him that there's no longer anything physically wrong with him, Tuvok suggests that perhaps a mind-meld will be able to help them. Tom's memories may be fragmented due to his injuries and the trauma of the experience, but Tuvok may be able to parse out what happened with the Borg.

The Doctor is, as usual, skeptical of the dangers of such a thing - especially so soon after Tom's recovery. But when he hears what the others experienced and why Janeway wants to know what happened, Tom agrees to the meld anyways.

Meanwhile, I also like to think that this strange occurrence was felt by the Borg Queen. Due to the time it would likely take for information to reach the center of the collective, I imagine only the drones closest to the away team's Cube would have been destroyed or otherwise incapacitated. Because of this, the Queen would have some knowledge of what happened - gleaned from fragments of the dying drones' collective consciousnesses. Mostly, she just felt hundreds of drones inexplicably ceasing to function and knew that, at the heart of it, somehow the crew of Voyager were involved. So she sends out a sort of scouting party, to find the ruined cube and to gather more information. Whatever had created this unknown threat - it has to be eliminated.

Back on Voyager, the meld doesn't exactly go as planned. Tuvok had melded with Tom once before after the Banean incident - but this was entirely different. He sees, experiences the sensations, as Tom is captured and the tubules are injected. But then everything becomes... almost incomprehensible. There is pain, fear - and the voice of the collective, their multi-faceted mantra of "resistance is futile, prepare to be assimilated". But intercut with this is something else entirely - space, a shuttlecraft, a feeling of inexplicable freedom. Then Earth, Starfleet headquarters, and a Klingon battle cruiser - voices from the Romulan high counsel, and the inside of an abandoned Cardassian station. Even more flood his mind - some arguing Kazon, though it seems to be a sect unfamiliar to them, a planet unknown to Federation star charts, creatures and places and people that Tuvok has no point of reference for. The images and sensations keep overlapping and coming faster, more intense, until Tuvok can also feel the screams of the Borg, feels the pain pain pain - and he has to force himself to sever the link before his own mind is drawn asunder.

In Sickbay, he stumbles back, caught by Janeway and Chakotay. Tuvok is surprised by the toll such a meld had on him, and even more so at the blood dripping from his own nose. Janeway kindly brings him a tissue and asks if he is alright. The Doctor is hovering, going back and forth between scanning Tuvok and Tom - the latter of which is only just coming around. He eventually asks what happened, trying to sit up but being overcome by a wave of dizziness. The Doctor insists he lie down, and for once Tom doesn't argue. He does admit, however, that partway through the meld it was like his mind just hit a wall and he must have passed out. He doesn't really remember anything.

After much fussing and a few hyposprays, the Doctor tells them that both Tom and Tuvok will be alright - but that they both need to rest for at least the next twenty-four hours. Whatever happened put a great deal of strain on their bodies both physically and mentally, and he once more chides Vulcans on their "recklessness in playing with the humanoid brain". He also give Tom a mild sedative to ensure that he doesn't try to overexert himself.

While Tom sleeps, Tuvok takes the time to meditate and regain his bearings. Afterwards, Janeway brings him some tea in her ready room and asks if he can try to explain what he saw. Tuvok says that the experience was quite disturbing, but that after familiarizing himself with Tom's records, he has begun to come up with a plausible hypothesis. He says that many of the things he saw in Tom's memories shouldn't have been possible - such as the unfamiliar Kazon sect, and the various worlds and humanoids that they have no record of. When Janeway asks if this could have come from the Borg, Tuvok says that it is unlikely - each person's perception leaves a sort of imprint on their own memories, like an artist's signature or the codes used to denote a federation signal in a communique. While the thoughts of the collective were briefly present in Tom's mind, as soon as he became linked to it, these other memories exploded out. The only explanation Tuvok can offer forth is that Tom's brain retained some encoding of his experiences with transwarp flight, which were previously too vast for him to consciously comprehend. The capacity of the humanoid brain to process information must have expanded exponentially with the aid of the collective, and these experiences were once again accessible. However, the onslaught was too much for even the Borg to handle, which completely overloaded their inorganic systems.

He expresses that it seems, Tom unintentionally became a living, breathing Trojan Horse for the collective - without anyone being aware of it. The supposed "weapon" that Janeway was hoping for is, unfortunately Tom Paris himself.

#Tom Paris #Star Trek #VOY #voyager #st: voy #might add more to this idea later #it keeps rattling around in my brain #probably because there's just SO MUCH room for whump #and also because I really like making AUs #that are somehow tangentially related to “Threshold”#this is so incredibly self-indulgent #but then that's what fanfic ideas are FOR

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boasamishipper · 2 years ago

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my personal favorite highlights from the official top gun: maverick script:

meek engineer's name is simon and is dating someone at the pentagon which is how they found out about the drone ranger coming to shut the darkstar project down

"That's...blue sky up there, Mav." "Yeah, but dark blue. Ominous."

mav also called darkstar 'angel' and 'girl' which i'm glad they cut otherwise i would have died in the theater then and there

"Hondo stares at his monitor. He knows his friend well." 🥺🥺🥺

"y'all built one hell of a plane" oh mav ❤️

"For anyone unfamiliar, it’s obvious there is story here - Glory and ghosts." g o d

admiral's aide do you MIND he's having a MOMENT

warlock is described as "an affable, brilliant two-star" hell yeah

i personally think it's hilarious that cyclone was apparently top of his class in '88 but in the script he's in his forties?? even if he's 49 the film takes place in 2019?? that would make him 18 in 1988?? mr mcquarrie sir the math ain't mathing

"Maverick has had about enough of this shit" if that doesn't just sum up both movies

as a macheresin shipper the fact that hangman and coyote were planned as besties from the get-go,,,,,,,my heart is Full

"sorry i couldn't be there" oh ice 🥺🥺🥺

mcq's love for casablanca continues to shine through

penny's dad is alive and retired and still hates mav

"Keepin’ it tight, I see, Phoenix" hangman is such an ASSHOLE i HATE him (affectionate)

bob's description is "human wallpaper" i am DYING

"shit, that's fritz" i DEMAND to know why fritz's arrival elicited that reaction from fanboy!! show me the fritz&b-team daggers cut!!

"Maverick sees a ghost. From this angle, the kid is a dead ringer for Goose, just as gawky and gangly, loving life." and what if i Bawled

MAVERICK REQUESTED HONDO SPECIFICALLY

HONDO WAS GONNA MEET UP WITH A LADY IN RENO WHO IS 'AN ACROBAT' AND 'VERY FLEXIBLE'

"I need at least one person on my side here" MAV

"I'll stand somewhere else" HONDO

mav originally ran the entire class through the contents of the F-18 NATOPS 👀👀👀

in the original script rooster gave hangman his callsign...personally gonna stick with the headcanon that phoenix (if it had to be one of the daggers) was the one who gave it to him, but Very Interesting nonetheless.

rooster calls phoenix 'fee' brb peppering this into All my fics

PHOENIX IS THE MAV OF THE MOVIE CONFIRMED

I DEMAND TO KNOW IF THERE IS FOOTAGE OF GLEN POWELL SINGING 'HOT FOR TEACHER'

genuinely cannot believe mcq wrote this. he is on galaxy tier levels of thinking i could never even hope to reach.

rooster being protective of phoenix you know that's right

theo the yellow lab was originally named "t" in the script,,,,,,,,t for tony scott,,,,,,,,,

"You're a warrior, Ice. A fighter." bury me ALIVE

"(Note: Important we include PILOT POV establishing gray-out in the lead up to G-LOCK)" this script is tighter than a snare drum

"Kinda like your ass depended on it" GET HIS ASS MAV

phoenix and bob refuse to even IMPLY that mav was in any way at fault for them having to eject,,,,,,,,they are Ride Or Die

as a warlock/hondo shipper i am also Delighted they actually got some screentime together

MAV WAS SUPPOSED TO GIVE THE EULOGY AT ICE'S FUNERAL 😭😭😭😭😭

mav and hangman were apparently supposed to talk after mav chose hangman as his wingman but i'm glad that scene got cut because a) showing vs telling and b) hangman is Not emotionally aware or mature enough to say what he says here out loud and you can't convince me otherwise

"Hondo stares at him. Maverick stares back. Something unspoken passes between the two men." and mavhondo shippers everywhere rejoiced

"HONDO squeezes his fist tightly, feeling something crack. He opens his hand to see the crystal of his stopwatch is crushed, the second hand frozen. An omen." HEY MCQ WHAT THE FUCK

"CLOSE ON Hondo, reflecting on his last moment with Mav." see above

"How we gonna get this bag’a ass in the air?" "Just hang on. Cause this bag‘a ass is about to go ballistic."

"Rough Rider, this is, uh...Ghost Rider" *cries in callbacks*

"The minute Hangman touches down, pull the trip wires and have the barricade stanchions ready." (silence) "HE DOESN'T HAVE A GODDAMN TAILHOOK." (OH SHIT FUCK OKAY RUNNING NOW)

lowkey like the parallel between cyclone nodding at mav and hangman and rooster shaking hands. they still don't like each other, but they respect each other a little more now. as the script says, that's enough.

"Among the pictures is one of Goose and Maverick in the bloom of their youth - their whole lives ahead of them." 😭😭😭😭😭

WE WERE ROBBED OF PHOENIX JOINING ROOSTER AND PENNY AND AMELIA AND MAV AT THE HANGAR I REPEAT WE WERE R O B B E D

"TIME CUT as Phoenix holds two model planes, demonstrating air to-air combat to a very interested Amelia." ooooh amelia has a cruuuuuush

"Rooster turns, looks at the make-shift family taking shape in this makeshift home…And he smiles." 😭😭😭😭😭

#top gun: maverick #icemav #maverick mitchell #iceman kazansky #mavhondo #hondo coleman #warlock bates #hangman seresin #phoenix x rooster #brace #all the cuts and rewrites were definitely for the best but this is a solid script if i ever saw one #mcq deserves the oscar for the 'hot for teacher' line alone

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ivy-is-fine · 1 year ago

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Kratt X Murder Drones

Part Three! Woah! other parts are in my profile

N was somewhat excited to see the new humans. Since they didn’t get paralyzed by the sentinels, then they could help Tessa rescue V! Because there was no way she was dead! NO WAY AT ALL.

Not to mention, he still had the weight of the world on his shoulders. The Absolute Solver was clearly getting stronger with Uzi, and if it really did destroy Earth and the core of Copper-9-- through Cyn and Nori-- then it might be his job to stop it before it did whatever its thing was.

And there really was only one way to stop it, he thought. He shook his head. No, there would be something in the labs that would tell them what to do and how to fix all of this.

And then they could all live a happy normal life with absolutely nothing wrong.

Tessa kicked a door down suddenly, and it tumbled down into a dark abyss. She lent into the doorway to watch it disappear, and several minutes later the sound of it shattering reached them.

Chris shined the flashlight into the dark room. The giant hole was only nine feet wide all around. N knew that he could fly them all over it, should they need to even go in there.

The floors were stained and scratched, and there were cabinets and papers scattered everywhere. Chairs were flipped over and desks were broken. “This place needs a clean-up,” N said, trying to lighten the mood despite the nanite acid in his heart.

Uzi was squinting. “I don’t think there’s anything in here,” she said sourly. She wanted to hurry. She wanted to get away from here.

Chris coughed again, slightly more violently this time. Tessa peered into the void, like she was challenging it. “There should be mandatory air filters and cold suits in all of the rooms,” she said. “Kratts, you and Uzi wait out here. N and I will search around.”

N felt a pang of hurt. He didn’t want to leave Uzi, not after what had literally just happened.

“Come on,” Tessa said. N turned back to her, spread his wings and flew her over the pit and they landed easily. “Now we just need to find the lockers! This way!” she declared, pointing to the right.

N wasn’t sure how she could know where anything was. Probably a human thing.

There was a bucket of magnets underneath a desk and he walked up to it. Why would anyone need this? He poked them. Alice and Beau had put magnets on all of their heads, though he wasn’t sure why.

Maybe Uzi or V knew-- he caught himself and looked at the ground guiltily. He should have been quicker. If he had been fast enough then maybe he could have saved her and then they all could have been in this mess together.

“CRIKEY WHAT IS THAT?!” Tessa shouted from a connecting room.

N snapped to attention and bolted. He skidded through the doorway, tail raised threateningly.

Inside the room was Tessa. N looked down by her feet. N jumped in fright and stabbed the human-like hand attached to a long black cord.

It writhed and ripped away, slinking into the darkness.

“Ow, robo-Jesus that hurts,” a voice said from the darkness. N could see the glowing yellow spot where his acid was eating away at it.

He and Tessa exchanged looks. His eyes were wide, but he didn’t know what Tessa’s were doing.

A figure slunk out from the shadows. There was a blindfold around his visor and his feet dragged along the ground. Eight of those ink-noodle arms dragged from his back. The only form of clothing was a tattered pale green plaid and ragged cargo shorts, oil stains on the bottom.

He moved almost how Cyn did, limp like a rag doll. “Who’s there?” He asked. Through the blindfold N could see the faint glow of pale tangerine eyes.

Tessa held out her gun. “Don’t move,” she ordered. The bot’s extra arms were slowly testing out the surrounding area, fingers tapping. The one with the nanite acid was contorted, though the glow appeared to be dying off, and it was fixing itself.

The stranger’s head leant forward. “Who are you?” He asked again. An arm was reaching out tentatively. N stepped away as it got close to his ankles.

“Tessa,” she said bluntly. “You?”

A finger brushed the edge of N’s foot, and it recoiled briefly.

The mutated worker drone tried rightening himself back up, though his head lolled to the side a bit. “Areos. Is there someone with you?”

N nodded, and then wanted to smack himself in the face. Areos clearly couldn’t see him. “Yeah. Me. N,” he said cautiously.

Areos’ arms cringed and pulled back towards himself. “Ah. Murder Drone I’m assuming?”

“Yeah,” N affirmed.

Areos seemed to be considering them. “You got past the sentinels,” he said slowly, leaning forward.

“Yes, and now we need to get past you,” Tessa said.

Areos paused. “I do suppose I haven’t had visitors.”

“We need air packs and human suits,” N said, giving Tessa a meaningful look.

Areos tilted his head. “Oh. I think I know where those are.”

“Lead the way, then,” Tessa said, still holding the gun firmly.

Areos smiled and turned around. “This way!” He walked with his arms out in a circle around himself, gently feeling out the obstacles so he moved around easily— at least considering his gimpy walk.

<;- Part Two Part Four! ->

#murder drones #murder kratts #wild kratts

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forcesung · 2 years ago

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The courtyard exploded into a riot of astonished screams and stray blaster bolts as the young ones turned on their guards, using the Force to hurl the troopers into one another and jerk the weapons from their hands.

Jaina dropped to a knee and spun back toward the dormitories, but all that remained of the sniper teams were a handful of smoking tiles and a few bloody hands clinging weakly to the roof ridges. She signaled Jag to continue covering her, then began to push her way through the angry mob of students, who were using their budding Force talents to beleaguer—and in some cases, injure—the astonished GAG troopers who had thought they were in charge of the academy.

Of course, the young Jedi were suffering casualties, too. Everywhere Jaina looked, there were young ones lying on the ground with smoke rising from their blaster wounds. In some cases, groups of unarmed ten-, twelve-, or fourteen-year-olds were fighting hand-to-hand with an armored GAG trooper. She did what she could to help—a quick Force-nudge here, a well-placed strike with the butt of her longblaster there. But her focus remained on the one who had instigated the carnage, Major Serpa.

Jaina found him on the exercise pavilion. His bodyguards were lying on the floor, either dead or dying from an assortment of blaster wounds or well-placed slashes from makeshift weapons like her sharpened spoon. To her dismay, Serpa remained alive, holding the red-haired Bantha girl—Vekki, Jaina recalled—in a choke hold, the muzzle of his blaster pressed against her temple for extra insurance.

“You call me a coward?” Jaina asked. Hoping to distract him enough to pull the blaster away from the girl’s head, she continued to advance on Serpa…then stopped when Zekk reached out to her from the other side of the pavilion, urging patience. “While you hide behind children?”

Serpa shrugged. “It’s different. They’re Jedi children.”

“I’m sure the judges will take that into account at your trial.” Jaina glimpsed Zekk’s tall figure stepping into the light on the far side of the pavilion, but she was careful to keep her gaze locked on Serpa. “Assuming you make it to trial. Surrender now, and I’ll be sure you do.”

Serpa snorted. “There isn’t going to be any trial.” He swung his blaster toward Jaina. “I’m just following orders—your brother’s—”

Before Serpa could pull the trigger, Zekk’s lightsaber snapped to life and came down on the major’s weapon arm, severing it at the elbow.

Serpa’s attention remained oddly fixed on Jaina, as though he could not at first understand why she was not dead, or how she had managed to cut off his arm without moving. Finally, he seemed to hear the lightsaber droning behind him, and his jaw dropped in disbelief. He whirled around, swinging Vekki with him—apparently oblivious to his pain.

“Where did you come from?” he demanded.

Zekk lashed out so fast that even Jaina did not see the attack, only Serpa’s remaining arm swinging away from Vekki’s neck and his body whirling to the floor.

—Legacy of the Force: Inferno, Troy Denning

#jaina solo #salle serpa #zekk #legacy of the force inferno #Legacy of the Force #Troy Denning #excerpt

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7r0773r · 2 months ago

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Pinion by Claudia Emerson

THE BOUNDARIES OF HER VOICE [Preacher]

Only cats were left, but they were everywhere— for years after Sister fell ill and died—in the listing cowshed, in the web-strung stalls. Kittens squirmed in a hen's nest. Half-wild, inbred, skittish. I could not get my hands on one; they wouldn't hold my gaze. In the stable, others slept in cavernous milk cans as if they knew something about milk in white-foaming streams, about warmth.

Once, she kept a white kitten in the house. She fed it meat from her plate and bits of buttered bread. She carried it in her apron pocket, and I could hear it, cotton-muffled, purring against her thigh as her floured hands spoke in the air to Rose playing on the floor, trailing twine in a narrow band of afternoon light.

How many generations removed that taming? There was one cat, more distant than the others, white as memory was gray. I saw it, stark against the hayloft window, and again at the spring, drinking itself. Sometimes it hunted the field's edge, just inside the line. Perhaps it heard her in some inborn dream that kept it here, within the boundaries of her voice—for that back fence was as far as it carried. I know. I had stood at the edge of that same descent— deaf to the wind with listening. Why else remain, when it was so easy to step between the barbed strands that defined us, and be gone.

***

PINION [Preacher]

I was dragging up the trunk of a wet red oak when it hung a stump, and I lost purchase; the tractor reared and fell back on me. I was held fast there, pinioned, not dying, growing numb and light, wait-crazed and finally calm. The creekbank saved me; its wet reasoned it would take me back, gave every time I took a breath. I breathed down; my chest did not rise; my spine fell into that wet depression, and a beech tree wheezed, and the creek strangled itself on the rocks, and time was severed to bleed beside me and then clot. Impressed: stone, cartilage, gristle, bone, muscle, clay. I smelled it; the woods were ripe with it, and the drone of the locusts rose, reclaimed my voice, disclaiming me. A lone crow landed on the tractor tire, and it turned with him, devolving. He looked at me and spoke, "Be quick now about it, before the others hear." And as he spun slowly, the mud fell from that wheel, meat from its bone, and the crow growled, his mouth shut. I saw the paling stalks then; with a dream-eye, open in that feathered belly, I saw the dead silk, the sweet milk seep from the abundance I had thought mine. I watched the wind thresh the fluming leaves of tobacco, the bright glut of morning glories. The bottomland bore old freshet scars, and in the woods, fat stumps oozed my story. And then I was over a strange country I knew nothing of. In the meantime a spider had come; from her distended belly the line raveled, a fine, umbilical self enjambed, her web definite in the steering wheel. By a clean incision, a locust had left itself, hollow but clinging to my shirt. A kingfisher had flown down with the dusk to eat where the water had worried a ragged, blank margin. Soon they would come find me and interrupt it, but not before I saw the way things are, not before I saw, cast from the belly of that halcyon, its confession of ribs, a conversion fallen clean and white, indefinite, on the creekbank's placid sand.

***

FINE AS SILK [Sister]

March 1924, warm, fine

The boys would only sop it in their gravy, talk, if they did talk, with their mouths full of it. But in the hour the sourdough rose, I sat in the kitchen doorway and watched the guineas abandon me to fuss and settle with dusk in the trees. Mother faint again in the room above, I listened, heard only the yeast murmur in its bowl a cold and lazy boil. I rolled up my sleeves and floured my hands to punch it down, what was risen pale and full as her belly swelling even now, the house heavy with grown men. It would be mine to raise as they were not, though their mouths were mine to fill, their beds mine to change, the red field-mud they tracked into the house, mine. The guineas had hidden their heads beneath their wings; they blinded themselves as I dusted the kneading bowl with flour sifted fine as silk, and so I disappeared as I sank my fists into it.

***

GLOVE [Sister]

Late August 1928, cloudy

I All afternoon as I snapped beans, as my lap filled with the sound of a man's knuckles cracking, she flew about me. I liked to imagine it was the same wren, come year after year to the back porch, who chose to nest here amidst the mess the boys created. She found in it a wealth of hollows. One time she chose a swinging gourd, one year a boot, and though the boys fussed, I would not allow them to disturb her. Last year, she finally decided on a can of rusty nails that had fallen over, and she built on the frozen spill.

She never chose well, and this was even more precarious: on the narrow shelf behind me, a lone work glove— molded open, like the bronzed cast of a hand—cupped the emptiness she claimed.

Once, in the dusk of the root cellar, I shuffled heavy jars of beets, peach halves, snaps, tomatoes. Nothing looked good in that light. The jars I had yet to fill lined the bottom shelf, and a shadow in one drew me down. What drew a mouse into that empty black mouth? Once there, how long did it pedal against smooth, invisible walls in full sight of all it had left behind, of all it could not reenter? The skeleton reminded me of a ship in a bottle, sails furled, its ribs a fragile hull, the skull a socketed prow, bound to take on nothing as it cut a static sea.

II At first, the wren stole close by: from the abandoned web of a spider, from the broom. Then she left me for lichen, moss, a long, coarse hair from the mule's tail. She worked, ecstatic; in her mouth, she carried the earth, though she would lay her eggs where the palm's salty ache had been.

We worked on. Beyond us, a hawk fell like a blade into the field where the cow rubbed her broad, whorled forehead against the knot on a cedar. That shadow the dead persimmon tree cast on the chimney darkened until it was again a scar—or, no, the wound itself—or any fissured reverie into which I could fall. And when night closed it, the seam would take me with it. Sometimes I felt as though I put up food for a great flood, that I filled the hull and waited for a certain rain, or perhaps that flood had long come and frozen, invisible, the world beyond sunken, the ghost town with it—and now I waited, icebound, for the day when the bird would not return, when she would instead disinherit the habit of this place.

#claudia emerson #book quotes

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unfortunate-songbird · 2 years ago

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ok hear me out

what if April was older

pov you’re like 15, working your after school job at your local pet store, nbd

Then this guy walks in wearing a literal suit of armor. It’s bright blue. He’s got long pinkish hair and golden horns. Are those freaking gargoyles on his shoulders. he asks for four turtles.

Sure, whatever. New York be like that sometimes. You get him four turtles, different types. While you’re, like, ringing up the turtles or w/ever, he starts droning on about how he’s going to mutate them into the greatest warriors in the universe and use them to reclaim his peoples’ rightful place on the surface

you aren’t really paid enough for this, but honestly it’s either this or freaking McDonald’s, so you deal with it

guy takes his turtles and leaves

maybe you mostly forget

maybe it keeps you up a few nights, idk

you get fired four months later in an incident that Totally wasn’t your fault but the managers just saw thirty hamsters dyed bright pink and jumped to conclusions, yknow? That’s how it be sometimes

Anyways, picture about 3 years later

you pick up a part time delivery job at a pizza place. Not ideal, but when you’ve been blacklisted from the majority of businesses in your general area, beggars can’t be choosers. Anyways, a guy asks for 3 large pizzas. You can hear kids yelling in the background. He sounds tired. Mood. then he asks you to leave them in an alleyway near a manhole. uhhhhh

look, you’re dead inside from customer service, but you’ve still got a Little of that investigative spirit that got you expelled from that fancy smancy high school sophomore year

So you wait

A rat man (!!?!???) emerges from the sewer, holding a very small toddler that’s also a turtle (?!???!?)

Wait. wait. wait.

that guy from the pet store.

no way.

Anyways, it takes a lot of yelling, panic, a few ninja moves (??) and some really awful lies from the rat man, but they manage to talk it out. It helps when one bawling turtle kiddo quiets after a couple minutes of the April O’Neil flair. (For once’s she’s grateful for her many younger cousins)

besides, she’s basically their aunt at this point. She sold them to the goat man, so she kinda counts. She’s pretty sure Rat Man- Splints- is just glad to have some help wrangling the disasters. He pays her nicely for her services, which is great, so she drops the other jobs and babysits mutant turtles in the sewers. It’s weird, for sure, but it could be way worse.

Plus, they’re all so cute.

Raph is super helpful, always following her around and trying to participate in whatever she’s doing. It’s so cute watching him bite his lip as he carefully fills Mikey’s sippy cup with juice (April holding onto the carton to make sure he doesn’t spill everywhere)

Donnie is super smart already, eagerly recounting to April whatever cool facts he’s learned. April buys him some Legos to build stuff, and he’s over the moon about them. Mikey eats one of the pieces, leading to a few hours of panic and a lifelong hatred of people touching his stuff.

Leo is a little show off, always yelling “April, April!! Lookit this!!” (Those words have proceeded, to date: three broken bones (at least mutants heal quickly), two sprained ankles, a sprained wrist, a nasty cut down his leg, and more scraped up knees that April can count).

Mikey is much less of a daredevil on his own, but he’s quick to copy whatever dangerous stunt Leo is doing. He’s always easily mollified with colorful bandaids, though, and Leo has more than once abandoned a trick when he sees Mikey trying to attempt it too. His drawings cover both the lair’s fridge and April’s own.

((( idk what this was I just think it’s very cute. My brain went “haha Draxum in a pet shop” and then everything else happened. i don’t know where Splinter gets his money, but he obviously Has it. He doesn’t work, but the boys can still afford pizza and have allowances (I’m assuming, since it’s unlikely they have jobs to earn money, so whatever they get is probably from Splinter.) and also?? Electricity?? (Where do they get that)

anyway I have Many questions that are never answered about that)))

#rottmnt #rottmnt april #rottmnt draxum #rottmnt splinter #rottmnt leo #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt raph #turtle tots #rottmnt au #april babysitter au

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dragonslayer-5fanfiction · 3 years ago

Text

Haikyuu Headcannons 3

Osamu

Is always freezing at night, needs like five blankets

Can sleep through any noise due to living with Atsumu

Has floral bedsheets

Has a boba tea plushie that he NEVER sleeps without, even when the team goes away, he brings it with him

Has worn leggings on a dare, and found them super comfy, so sometimes when he’s alone he wears them

Love thunderstorms, especially the rolling thunder, finds it peaceful

He is a major Star Trek nerd, has seen all the movies and shows, from the very beginning

Won’t admit it, but is a good photographer

Always carries a polaroid of his S/O, either in his wallet, phone case, or hat, depends on what’s going on

Definitely has knee high high blue fuzzy onigiri socks

Also has a fuzzy Gudetama blanket that he brings with him everywhere, like his boba plush

His ears are super sensitive, to literally everything

Speaks Arabic, fluently, and sometimes slips into it when he’s arguing or passionate about something

He snorts when he laughs

He has a crazy good green thumb, not only can he grow anything, he can also revive just about any almost dead plant

He loves crime shows, he will binge them

Atsumu

Secretly a big LOTR/ Hobbit fan, like read all the books and seen all the movies

Got a fox onesie as a joke, and wears it when he’s sad

Wears glasses, but isn’t a fan of how he looks in them, so he only wears them when he’s alone, not even around ‘Samu

He loves to do diamond art

He talks to ‘Samu’s plants about literally anything and everything, he holds nothing back when talking to them. They literally know all of his secrets

He also plays classical music for them while ‘Samu is gone

He love High School Musical, he knows all the songs and dances

He loves rom-coms, particularly the cheesy ones like Holiday in Handcuffs or Love Hard on Netflix

Is scared of big dogs, he was bit when he was younger, and has a few scars on his shoulder, that he tries to hide

His feet have high arches

Wheezes when he laughs

Gets really bad hand cramps

Tries to do streams, but ends up dying and yelling more than anything

I love his wiggly feet!!!!!

Kenma

Stims a lot, even when he doesn’t realise he’s doing it

Always has his game or a silicone mochi with him because he picks his skin really bad when he gets anxious

He hates running, but honestly doesn’t mind swimming

Is a really good chess player, but doesn’t really have anyone to play with

Cats are drawn to him, but out of preference he likes hedgehogs. He has two named Mrs. Teacup and Mr. Pigglypuff, they sit with him on streams sometimes, and his fans love them

Hates the beach it’s hot and sticky and gross

He bites his lip a lot, so he always has chapstick on him

When he has a S/O, they play a game where they try to guess what flavour it is that day

Although he is a veteran gamer, when he plays horror games and a jump scare comes out, he yells and almost falls out of his seat

He also likes the calming games like Flower or Abzu

Has bought a small helicopter drone, that he uses outside, and tells Kuroo that he’s been outside. It works for about a month, before Kuroo catches on and forces him outside

Iwaizumi

Big baby, when it comes to getting hurt, always has someone kiss his ouchies better

Super straight with kids, but they seem to like him, and he can’t figure out why

Has a big book of insects

Has definitely compared all of his friends to different insects, and those are their names in his phone

Loves k-dramas

Is an absolute bear to wake up, no one wants to do it, he just grumbles at them

Is super off balance when he wakes up, and has definitely ran into doors and walls

Hates shaving, but does it anyway, so on the weekends he has a little stubble

Loves the James Bond movies, any and all of them

Math nerd, like really good at math, and somewhat enjoys it

He give me reptile pet owner vibes, or even spiders?? Idk just get the vibe

Has a fat ass, that Oikawa always hits because his hand bounces off of it, and he thinks it’s hilarious

Loves Scooby Doo, has seen them all the shows, movies, etc.

He has a rhino beetle plushie that is about the length of his torso, and LOVES that thing. His favouriteIwai

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dangerousstrawberryshark · 4 years ago

Text

I Can Do Anything I Want

Requested from no one.

Tom Holland x Male Reader

(Tom be looking sexy)

Warning: Violence, kidnapping, psychotic Tom, mention of nudity, all character are above the age of 18

Background: March 21st, 2030, 7:00 PM, you were getting ready to bunker down with your mom and dad. You hoped that nothing would happen tonight but someone decided to come in and give you a visit.

Tom is 20 and you are 18

M/n: Male name.

L/n: Last name.

F/n: Friend's name

Word count: 2900

I hope you enjoy it!! Sorry if it is bad! And there are probably many mistakes and grammar errors.

«⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕»

DISCLAIMER: I MEAN NO OFFENSE, DISRESPECT, OR HARM TO ANY OF THESE CELEBRITIES! THIS IS JUST FICTION.

«⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕»

MINORS DNI. FEMALE READERS… I’LL ALLOW YOU TO READ MY FICS BUT DO NOT FETISHIZE ANY OF MY STORIES

«⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕»

You were sitting on the couch with your mom sitting on the left side, and your father on your right side. You were waiting for the announcement to come on. ‘It's almost 7:00 PM…” you thought to yourself. The holiday you hated the most was about to begin.

Just then the emergency broadcast came on with that ear-shattering sound. And the screen on the TV turns blue with the symbol of the NFFA in the background.

“This is not a test.”

“This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the Annual Purge sanctioned by the U.S. Government.”

“Weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted.”

“Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity from the Purge and shall not be harmed.”

“Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours.”

“Police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7 AM when the Purge concludes.”

“Blessed be our New Founding Fathers and America, a nation reborn.”

"May God be with you all.”

Then the air horn sirens blared meaning the Purge officially began. Your family has already set up defenses. You, of course, never participate. Your family put out blue flowers to show that they don’t want to participate but they support the purge.

You know your parents, they didn’t support this “holiday” at all. Come on now, 12 hours without any laws. Your parents spoke out against it.

Some (well most) Americans find the Purge to be successful. Unemployment rates plummeted down to 1 percent, crime rates decreased, and the economy was revived.

If you are wondering how this came into reality, it all started back in 2014.

(little history of how the Purge became a tradition in American society.)

In 2014, the United States was facing economic collapse, rising social unrest, and multiple wars. The economic collapse was worse than the Mortgage Crisis of 2008. Neighborhoods across the country were destroyed by an opioid epidemic.

Then a party was founded as a substitute for the Republicans and Democrats, they called themselves the New Founding Fathers of America or NFFA.

In 2016, the first experimental Purge took place and it proved to be successful. Then in 2017, the second experimental Purge began this time it was Nationwide.

Not long after that, the 28th amendment to the US constitution was ratified meaning that Purging is now an American right.

The Purge starts on March 21st at 7:00 PM and it ends at sunrise, March 22nd, 7:00 AM. all crime is legal for 12 hours, no killing high government officials, and don’t use explosives or bioweapons. Those who don’t follow the rules will be hanged.

This resulted in crime and unemployment rates dropping down 1 percent, government spending down 37 percent, and the GDP soared to 37.21 trillion dollars.

Still, many people disagreed with this because it was believed that the Purge was used as means of population control, and to decrease the poor population but they couldn’t do anything about it.

(little history lesson over. I just wanna include that part for those who have never seen the purge.)

We got off the couch and went to go do our own things. “Sweetie do wanna eat dinner?” my mom said, I smiled. “Yes please.” she smiled at me and went to go cook dinner. You went upstairs to chill in your room. Your window was boarded up but you could easily remove it when things go down.

————————————————————————————

Time skip (8:00 PM)

————————————————————————————

It's been one hour since commencement. You were up in your room just watching YouTube videos. Your mother was downstairs cooking Lasagna (or whatever your favorite dish is) your father was downstairs watching the news.

The news would keep up with things happening tonight. Were watching a live stream showing what was happening on the outside. Building on fire, people killing each other, and parties. All of this was caught on drones.

You would hear the occasional screams and gunfire in the area but you and your family were secure.

Then you heard banging on the front door. The door and windows were boarded up with wood planks. ‘Who is that?’ you thought, you were worried it was one of your bullies who decided tonight was the night they get to get rid of you.

You went downstairs to see your parents. They had fear in their eyes, then the door busted one. Three men wearing tuxedos with masks on walked in. then they pulled out their guns, that’s when you dashed and went up into your room.

Your parents tried to run but they were quickly gunned down. You could hear gunshots go off and their screams filled the house.

You locked your bedroom door and ran to the window to remove the wood plank blocking it. You could hear the footsteps coming up the stairs. One of them called out to you, “M/n⁓ where are you⁓? Come out from hiding… are you in your room?”

You recognized that deep British accent, it was Tom! Tom Holland from your class! ‘What did I do to him? I never did anything wrong to him!’ but that didn’t stop you from removing the plank. You jumped out the window and ran for it.

Tom busted through your door to see that you have escaped. He gritted his teeth and went downstairs to see his twin brothers sitting down on the couch with their masks off.

“So he got away?” the older twin said. “Yeah, he did. We’ll find him though. He isn’t stupid enough to go downtown. He’ll probably head to his friend's house.” Tom said a little anger that his precious lover had gone away.

“We already took care of his friends. But we couldn’t get to one of them.” The younger twin said, Tom nodded and went out to go find you.

(Btw Tom's parents live in the UK and they don’t know what he is doing. Tom’s brothers are just helping him catch you)

————————————————————————————

Time skip (9:00 PM)

————————————————————————————

You were running to your friend's house hoping they would help you. You had to be careful while running through the streets, there were purgers everywhere. The city of Los Angeles was crawling with them, especially in the downtown area.

Thankfully you took your phone with you to see what time it was. ‘9:00 PM.’ you turned off your but you made sure it was on silent mode so it wouldn't bring attention to you.

You had a little encounter with Purgers but they were quickly gunned down by a machine gun attached to the back of a car. You saw vehicles on fire, dead bodies, and an old lady just watching a body burn.

‘This is all crazy!’ you thought as you ran faster just to get off the streets but what you didn’t was that someone was following you.

After running for 30 minutes you finally arrived at one of your friend’s houses. You didn’t realize that their barricades were broken until you twisted the knob on the door.

You walked in to see the whole place trashed. You walked through the rooms to see F/N parents dead, lying on the floor. Their eyes were open, you see nothing in them. “Please don’t be dead…” you said putting your hand over your mouth as you tried not to cry out loud.

You slowly walked up the stairs and approached F/N’s room. There you saw it, F/N lying on the floor dead as well. You burst out crying but that ended when you heard a car pull up.

“Find him!” you knew who that was immediate. You couldn’t run anywhere because they were downstairs, and the window had steel as a barricade. So, you hid in F/n’s closet.

You knew they had a pile of clothing in the corner, so you buried yourself in their clothes. You heard their footsteps walking up the stairs, and them breaking down the door. Then you heard them in the room.

You could see a figure walking through a small hole in the clothing pile. You covered your mouth so you wouldn’t breathe too hard. “CLEAR!” the figure yelled and went back downstairs. You heard their conversation from downstairs because of how the walls were thin.

“I thought he would be here!” Tom yelled, and out of anger shots one of his own men. The twins and the other weren’t fazed by this. They knew Tom had a few screws loose.

Then you heard them leave but you didn’t believe they actually left so you decided to stay where you were for the 2 to 3 hours.

————————————————————————————

Time skip (3:00 AM)

————————————————————————————

While waiting you accidentally fell asleep (why? because of plot purposes and I'm the author)and you realized that it was 3:00 AM, 4 hours till the Purge ends. You thought you could stay here but then you smelt something burning.

You got out of the pile to see the room was on fire. ‘What?! How?’ you quickly got and ran before the roof caved in on you. The backdoor was barricaded but due to the fire, it melted the steel allowing you to escape. (is that possible?)

You were on the run again but before you left, you noticed a group of people watching the house burn. ‘Are those my teachers?’ The group was your teachers from different classes. You knew they didn’t like F/N at all.

‘What has this country become?’ if this keeps happening, if more innocent people keep dying, then the nation will become the “Nation of Murders.” you decided to ignore them and run.

But one of them saw you, “M/n? Is that you?” one of them yelled. You froze, ‘how did they--?’ you turned around to see them walking towards you. “Hey don't worry we ain’t kill you. You are our favorite student!”

You looked at them shocked. “Why are you out here? Aren’t you supposed to be with your parents?” you looked down and began to cry. They noticed and said they didn’t need to know.

“Do you wanna come with us? There’s a neighborhood block party.” you nodded and decided to go with them. ‘So I guess they kill the kids they hate.’ they then took you to one of the nearby parties.

But one of Tom’s men noticed and decided to alert the big boss.

(just to be clear, in the Purge series there isn’t a legal purge. Meaning that you can kill someone who is 18 or younger. Now that’s fucked up.)

You and the teachers arrived at the block party. You see everyone partying, some had creepy masks, and others were naked grinding against each other. You lost your teachers in the crowd so you decided to just hideout.

————————————————————————————

Time skip (6:00 AM, one hour till the Purge ends.)

————————————————————————————

(if you are wondering why Tom didn’t show up early, it's because he was busy doing something else….. Or maybe its because I was too lazy to put anything during that time skip)

You checked your phone and noticed it was 6:00 AM. ‘One more hour!’ you smiled as the night was finally coming to an end. The sun was rising in the distance but people were still partying. ‘I survived the night.’

You even began to party yourself in celebration of surviving. You had a couple of drinks but not enough to be completely drunk. You danced with some people. Overall you were having a good time

But that happiness was short-lived when the gunfire began to go off. People were screaming and tripping over each other as they tried to run away. You already knew who it was. Tom fucking Holland and his group arrived

He noticed you in the crowd and smirked as he can finally have you before the Purge ended. You ran away from the crowd to one of those large garbage containers. You hid behind them hoping Tom won’t find you.

You could still hear the screams of people and more gunfire further down the street. You creeped out from your hiding place and walked back to the street.

You were horrified by what you were seeing. Dead bodies everywhere, your teacher’s dead bodies, and some people you were dancing with. All dead.

Then you heard footsteps behind you, you turned around to see Tom there smiling sadistically at you. You admit he was kind of hot but that doesn’t matter right now. “Why are you doing this? I never did anything to you! And did you find me?! ”

(6:55 AM)

“Why’m I doing this? Well, it's because of M/n…… I love you M/n! You never did anything wrong. And how did I find you? Well, remember there's an app where you can track down certain people’s phones? Well, that’s how I found you, that and one of my men told me.” Tom sounded proud of what he just said.

(6:57 AM)

“I thought I could use this Purge night as a way to finally have you to myself! I hope you share the same feeling like me.” you couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“Tom…. look, you’re a cute guy, hell I would probably have dated if you just came up to me like a normal person would. But no, you went ahead and killed everyone. You killed my family and friends, and you think I share the same feeling like you! No!” you yelled the tension was thick and Tom was angry.

(6:59 AM)

“I loved you! And they were getting in the way!--” Tom took a pause, “If I can’t have then no one will!” Tom charged at you with his knife. ‘What happened to his gun?’

But you quickly snapped out when he charged at you. You dodged his attack but he stabbed you in the arm. He was about to finish when…

(7:00 AM)

*INSERT SIREN NOISE*

The siren went off meaning the Purge had come to an end. Tom was still going to attack but was stopped when a voice came on, “Stop what you are doing! I repeat stop what you are doing! The Purge has concluded. If anyone does a crime, you will face the consequences.”

Tom stopped what he was doing and looked at you, “Next Purge, I’m going to get you.” Tom then got into his car and drove off.

You felt like you were going to faint from blood loss but then someone drove up to you. “Hey, okay?! Oh my God, we need to get you to the hospital!” they picked you up and carried you into the backseat, and drove you to the nearest hospital.

The radio was on and began to report on tonight’s events. “Just after 7:00 AM, March 22nd Pacific Standard, the Annual Purge was concluded. Reports are coming from all over the nation that this was the most participated Purge yet….

364 days until the next Purge...

THE GOOD ENDING

Bad Ending.

Time skip (6:00 AM, one hour till the Purge ends.)

You even began to party yourself in celebration of surviving. Yo had a couple of drinks but not enough to be completely drunk. You danced with some people. Overall you were having a good time

You could still hear the screams of people and more gunfire further down the street. You creeped out from your hiding place and walked back to the street.

You were horrified by what you were seeing. Dead bodies everywhere, your teacher’s dead bodies, and some people you were dancing with. All dead.

Just then you felt something being injected into your neck. You passed out but before you completely passed out, you got a glimpse of who it was…. It was Tom.

“You're finally mine M/n. I’ll keep you forever…. No one will take us apart….”

PART TWO CAN BE FOUND HERE

#tom holland #x male reader #tom holland x male reader #the purge #violence #good ending #bad ending #kidnapping #psychotic tom holland #mention of nudity

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kendrixtermina · 2 years ago

Note

"25 was middle age for most of human history" you know it was infant mortality rates that dragged the age of death down, right, people weren't dying of old age at 40-50. If you throw infant mortality out/only consider the people who lived past infancy and young childhood they die of old age around the same time as today, 60's at youngest

You're confusing two different statistics there.

The average with infant mortality considered is actually more like in the 20s or 30s, & this is what the saying with "the infant mortality rate dragged it down" refers to - it means that ppl did not die in their 20s, not that they had lifespans comparable to today.

If you only look at what a person would live after they'd already survived childhood, they usually died in their 50s. (ergo, by 25, half your time was over.)

You can find evidence for this all around you if you just read some books:

In japan, wisdom teeth are called "teeth unknown to parents" cause in the past your parents were usually dead when you're 20

In the bible it is written that god decreed humans would only live 60 years. This probably means the Hebrew scholar recording the methusalem myth did not know a single person who lived past 60.

Read any jane austen novels? people in their early 30s are considered old

Why do you think recent monarchs keep setting records for longest reigns? Or why not all kings & queens in old paintings are like, old geezers. Because their parents died younger, so they became kings/queens at younger ages.

This is actually a big problem in financing retirement, because if someone retired at 65 in imperial Germany (when retirement was invented) they usually died after 3 or so more years, not like today when someone may live 20 more years. And Imperial Germany was already an industrial state with medicine.

You can also see that even today if you look at people who don't have access to good medical care & the comforts of civilization. Homeless people often look decades older than they are & die earlier.

Here is a study done on actual records from medieval england. I quote:

Throughout the medieval period, 30-year-old men [as in, ppl who had already survived to 30 & dodged the youth mortality] from different segments of the population lived on average to about 52 years.

There are records of individual humans living to 80 in antiquity - but those were usually rich people who had good medical care, like pharaohs.

Likewise, wealthy ancient greeks often reached 70 because slaves did all the work. (The slaves probably did not live to 70...)

& none of this changes that you were basically considered an adult at 15 or 16 almost everywhere. As easly as 100 years ago you could've emigrated from europe to the US by yourself at that age.

Ppl under 20 have ascended thrones, invented new literature genres, come up with new writing systems, spearheaded political movements, ascended thrones and conquerred vast swathes of land.

Obviously there are definitely biological changes than come with puberty - a 10 year old really is cognitively different from an adult. But "teenagers" are a rather recent invention, historically speaking.

Our education system is just geared at producing servile drones/factory workers, not adults. Just look around you how many people are servile followers or immature brats well into their 40s and beyond. This is a failure of society.

Read about the Agora school in the netherlands that tries to do a more student-centered approach based on intrinsic motivation. You get 14 year old full-fledged programmers without subjecting anyone to undue pressure & stress, just by letting young people learn what interests them personally.

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analviel · 3 years ago

Text

TIM DRAKE IS NOT ROBIN

It just so happens when Tim was planning to find Dick, his parents suddenly call him to tell him that there's a party or an event or just something on the other side of the world he can attend with them.

Sometimes they do this and Tim always says yes. It's as rare as leap years. Meaning it has happened only three times in his life before. He agonized over it. But you know, Tim's just a kid and there's no guarantee he can actually do something about Batman and Nightwing. Besides, Batman's been managing -if you can call it that- this long, with Alfred by his side, who's words certainly weights more heavily than the neighbours kid. He can afford a couple of weeks away from Gotham. By that time, Batman probably would've gotten his head straight. He's a hero, he's like, really strong, if anyone can get through this... besides, Tim figures Superman or Wonder Woman will do something before he truly crosses the line, right? Why would a kid know better than real superheroes, right? They must just be waiting until they're really needed. Right? Even though Tim personally thinks they should've at the very least locked Batman up somewhere he can't harm anyone or himself if they can't convince Dick to go back to being Robin. They're heroes.

Tim really wants to spend time with his parents. But before he leaves, he sends letters to every place he thinks Dick may be. The Titans Towers, his apartment in Bludhaven, where he lives with Starfire, Haly's circus, even to houses of his friends heroes. (Tim is twelve/thirteen alright. And one that has maybe below average self-awareness and his letters were very polite even if the act itself might've been vaguely sort of threatening).

So Tim leaves Gotham to spend time with his parents. It's busy, his parents keep him busy, and he doesn't have much time to dedicate to the news from Gotham. And really, if this is how it always is, no wonder his parents don't always have attention to spare on their kid in Gotham. So many things to do, so many things to attend, so many people to meet, and even more sites to visit. And the fighting. Tim hadn't realize it was this bad and suddenly thinks that, you know, it might've been better if he did stay back home. He realizes his parents actually brought him with them because they think a kid will somehow... magically fix them...??? Tim doesn't know, adults can be stupid.

Eventually, they realize the wrong in their ways and sends Tim back when his presence proves ineffective. Tim comes back to the city burning.

Well, not literally, but sort of.

Parts of it are burning. But not the whole thing. That's something.

Batman has been missing. And looking into it, at his last appearance, Tim surmise he retained a heavy wound.

(Or he's dead, not like they'll reveal it to the city just to cause more chaos and panic.) Batman seems to be out of the field and that was what Tim wanted, before he would've crossed the line.

Only, thing is, he'd already revealed too much weakness. The Batsignal had been taken down after one too many close calls on the perps they pick up. And the violence only raised from there.

(The first month when Batman and Robin and Batgirl's absence started to become suspicious. The second month Batman is deep in his spiral of violence. The third month Tim follows him around and then makes plants to pick up Dick that doesn't come to fruition and then sends his letters and then leaves. Six weeks with his parents, a few days from and to Gotham, two weeks to get caught up with what happened in Gotham. Batman is out, recovering, resting, dying, who knows.

Five months was all it took for Gotham to go to hell. And all it took was one dead son.)

Spoiler rises.

Gotham has a new champion.

Tim regrets that he hadn't been able to help. Tim will help.

Tim has a new champion.

Spoiler has a fixation on Cluemaster. It's not that difficult to go from there.

As long as, one, you know who was giving the police the answers to Cluemaster's gimmick. And two, that you know there even is a new vigilante because Spoiler is not like Batman who beats perps and leave them on the sidewalk for the police to pick up.

For wearing an almost eyesearing purple costume, Spoiler prefers to keep in the shadows and if not for the time Tim had trailed after Batman's madness, he wouldn't have learned the streets enough to notice the hints.

Tim purchase a laptop, watch tutorials day in and day out, buys pieces from junkyards to fiddle with wires and boards, and leaves Stephanie Brown a gift on her windowsill with a purple ribbon. Tim greets Spoiler over the comms. He calls himself Asset.

(It is not well-thought out because Stephanie takes to calling the mystery person who snuck into her room and refuses to give anything about themselves out 'Ass'. Tim did not actually sneak into her room but sent a drone to drop off his gift. Steph doesn't budge.)

Tim is not yet good enough to hack into cameras around Gotham. He finds he's good with a computer but not that good, his real talent lies not in the software but in the wires and soldering iron and the tiny bug camera/audio he has Spoiler plant around Gotham. If he can't take other cameras, he'll make them. (Also in case someone more experienced at hacking than he is manages to get in the system, Tim has a self-destruct button just for that. Yes, Dr. Doofenshmirtz is a good role models for mad scientist wannabes.)

A week is all it takes for Spoiler and Asset to get all the necessary evidence against Cluemaster. They celebrate. They are thirteen year olds and they just prevented a bomb from going off and put a bad man behind bars. They are high. They find more cases, for the most part C-rank villains and bellow but they also help with the big names by Spoiler planting more cameras and Tim sending the data and feeds for her to drop off to Jim Gordon. He is the only one who knows of the characters that have risen after Batman's sleep and can guess enough from Spoiler's stiff shoulders to keep that to himself.

Then...

Then it is six months and two weeks.

Tim watch from his now multiple screen behind his walk-in closet as a grave is dug out from the inside. Because S&A have put cameras everywhere just in case. After all, it's places you think are of no interest that criminals will sought to make deals in.

Tim does not send his partner to what may be a zombie but instead tells her to clear the direction Jason is stumbling towards. It takes him minutes to realize that Jason is patrolling his Robin patrol. Jason is sent to the hospital and Tim contacts them to list him under the Drakes, paying for his room and every other necessities. Has him transferred to the hospital that Drake medical industries is personally funding. When asked the name, Tim says Alvin Draper. He gets a cab to the hospital, finds Jason knocked out, peers at Robin's face. It's when they're alone, the previously dead boy's hands wrapped in bandages that Tim confirms in disbelief that as far as he knows, the boy matches Jason Todd. As if him digging his way out of Jason Todd's grave wasn't enough. Granted, Tim doesn't even know the shade of his eyes, so he's not the best judge.... Tim snaps a picture from different angles of the room and takes another cab back to Bristol while thinking up a story.

Tim knocks on the neighbour, tells them he's got something of Jason and if he can see Mr. Wayne. Tim is surprised himself by how relieved he is to see Bruce standing alive and well. Or not standing, leg and arm in a cast, an IV beside him on the couch in the drawing room. Tim weaves his story. Little Tim Drake wandering around Gotham, stumbles on a bunch of medic picking up a boy that Tim recognises as the neighbour's dead kid, pays for his hospital bills, takes a couple of pictures after the first aid or whatever and gives Bruce the pictures. Bruce makes his way to the hospital.....

I've lost steam at this point.

You decide if they arrive to see Jason and Bruce and Alfred is all tearful while Tim awkwardly leaves the room to resume his brainstorming on the S&A latest case, or they find an empty bed and Bruce goes on a frenzy tracking his undead lost son.

Additional idea: So Tim not being there didn't kill Bruce, but Bruce has been crippled and Batman is dead now. So without Robin, Batman did die.

Maybe Dick comes back to become Batman with Jason as his Robin, since that's not a combination often seen (Or the Batman Jason and Robin Tim, that's more common, though I'm loath to give up Spoiler and Asset). Around this time Babs comes back to the scene as Oracle with the birds of prey.

Additional additional idea to how they'll work with everyone back on the scene: since the Bats have the fighters and more equipped to report to time sensitive stuff, maybe S&A focus more on cold cases. Where Spoiler goes sneaking around, poking at old cases with Asset in her ears, figuring out puzzles and old clues, making breakthrough after breakthrough and bringing long overdue justice together.

Either the Drakes dies without Batman there to slap the poison out of Jack's hands because he's too busy searching for his son, or maybe they live with Tim able to direct Batman there immediately. Either way, Drake industry sponsors S&A, so now Spoiler also has toys like the Spoil... er plane??? Spoiler bike??? Eh, the name's work in progress.

#tim drake #dc #robin #batfam #dc comics #red robin #batman #Stephanie brown #spoiler #batgirl #and i write #jason todd #fic idea #red hood #bruce wayne #tim is not robin #asset tim drake

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poisonheadcrabsalesman · 3 years ago

Text

Morbid Curiosity

The invasion of the Infinity by Prometheans and M’dama’s troops left its scars on all of the crew, but two members are hiding under the weight of secrets and it’s eating away at them both.

Warnings for descriptions of the aftermath of AI possession on bodies, minor character death, description of a character having a panic attack, mentions of blood and injuries.

Technically a followup to Boarding Action and Spray n Pray. Part 3ish of our Brain Bleed verse

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Hold.

Choke on the wavering exhalation in the near silent room.

Jared can’t sleep. He can’t go to the infirmary about it. Can’t talk to anyone. Cameras and microphones are everywhere. He feels trapped. And the one person he can talk to is the one he’s –what? Afraid of? – no, it’s something else. The anxiety and stress are old companions and he’s seen death before, but this is different. He needs to understand.

His mind keeps replaying the scene. Promethean orange burning and glowing so close he could swear he still felt the heat, felt metal hands clawing at him while he wrestled for his gun. He was going to die, he was sure of it and then–

A spray of bullets, their rapid staccato crescendoing as the recoil sent them spraying into the ceiling and the Knight attacking him exploded in a screech and burst of dying data embers. And then– he turned–

Roland did that.

And now they don't talk. Miller can't sleep and Roland doesn't need to. Miller can hardly eat and Roland doesn't need to.

Roland can talk and multitask and be everywhere at once and Miller can’t focus his eyes on the screen in front of him without having to push the memories of what happened right behind his station in the Ops center off his mind. It’s been days and the campaign is moving on without him. Halsey was taken, Glassman was returned, and everyone’s now on high alert for an external threat. His remaining Fireteams need him alert and awake on missions, not gliding through in a fog, like a ghost. He’s a mission handler, information is what he does, and to sit there and be useless, dead weight is unbearable. But he can’t help but feel something crawl up his spine when he hears Roland's voice. Seeing the avatar isn't any better. The little show he puts on, the imitation of a real person. The fake song and dance that makes Miller’s blood boil and his stomach turn as this lie parades around in front of them, actions chosen to put the humans at ease. It’s all an act.

It's a puppet just like–

Just like–

There were a lot of casualties when the invasion happened.

The Infinity lost a lot of good people when M’dama’s force swept through the ship in droves. There wasn't any need for autopsies. No time and no space, what with the morgue only holding so many bodies. Captain Lasky’s words at the mass funeral should’ve garnered some reaction from Miller but he was numb.

He kept thinking about it, kept reliving the scene as he saw his Spartans off one last time.

Coffins shot into space, a burial at sea.

No need to look closer. Bullet wounds and plasma burns and hardlight scars told the story. No need to look internally. Blood around the ears could've been from anything. Parts of the ship had rapid depressurization. The burning smell obviously came from somewhere else or maybe the suit did malfunction.

Who's to say neural implants don’t melt when overloaded?

There are safety protocols in effect. Safeguards against that kind of thing. What kind of looks would he get if he asked? He already was getting looks as he dragged himself to work each morning. He noticed the lingering worried glances and the way Dalton spoke up more on comms, filling the new silence that had taken hold.

Jared sighs again and rolls over, the blank metal wall greeting him with silence, the ship hums, electronics and machinery droning in the distance as he stares at the walls of his small room for some kind of answer. His hand drifts over his own NI port on the back of his head. He read the fine print when he became a Spartan. He knows how deep it goes and what his Mjolnir armor can do and he knows when his last maintenance was for his augmentations and he knows, he knows so many things.

Inhale.

He knew the name and person in the suit when they weren't in the suit anymore and and and–

And yet he doesn't know enough.

Exhale.

So he gets up, leaving the small warmth of his bunk and throwing sheets haphazardly as he is possessed with the quiet fervor of a man who needs answers. Miller moves slowly, mindful of his heart rate, trying to keep it low and even to not alert anyone watching. He pads silently to the locked drawer with his datapad and grabs it. The light from the screen hurts his eyes, but he adjusts, blinking away the afterimages as he keys in his password. Miller sits at his desk in the dark and he learns. He has to know before it eats away at him anymore.

Hastily downloaded files with innocuous names hidden amongst his personal files.

There’s no reason for Roland to know. For anyone to know. Miller covered his tracks and he had the clearance.

This wasn’t his first rodeo, he was in a position of authority, he had every right to know, but not the necessity or the motivation, at least not Before. He never thought-- never could have prepared for this, even before Before, when he was ONI he never looked farther than he had to. He’s in too deep and he hasn’t even read the words yet, hasn’t even watched the videos, but there’s no turning back. Curiosity burns, it’s a compulsion pushing him forward, he needs to know.

That's above your pay grade, Miller.

Commander Palmer didn’t appreciate him looking at the bigger picture and examining the information he had received. Not when it meant connecting the dots about what happened to Dr. Glassman, but it came naturally. He was used to putting the pieces together. Jared was an information specialist. It had kept him alive this long.

The screen in front him has darkened from his idling. The augmentations allow his eyes to see his warped reflection in the low light, lines marking the stress on his face. Dalton was right, he does look like shit.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Power on the datapad. Key in his credentials. Open the files.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

He swipes past automated messages and personal reminders to dig up the hidden files and opens them all at once, screen filling with documents and he chooses one at random. He's usually more methodical but he's grasping for a starting point. Something to make sense of it all or at least jump off of. Order will come later. For now, he reads the first file.

SMART AI - ISABEL - ISA 1307-2

SERVICE START: MARCH 2556

FUNCTIONALITY: LOGISTICS

ASSIGNMENT: INSTALLATION 00 - “THE ARK” - HENRY LAMB RESEARCH OUTPOST

Isabel. A UNSC AI at a science outpost on the Ark.

That’s something he’s allowed to know about. The world feels like it’s slowly righting itself as he reads on.

Isabel is described by personnel as friendly, curious, and as having an infectious excitement for discovery. The Henry Lamb Research Outpost is her first posting. He skims down to the date of last contact and frowns. There’s only so much data but he does have access to Isabel’s history. It’s marked as sensitive, but he does have the clearance, and he needs to know. He’s come this far. How did Isabel start? What makes her her? What would she do if-.

Jared rubs at his face and blinks in the darkness. It’s not as dark as it was before the augs. He can hear the filtration system rumble to a halt and the silence it leaves weighs heavy on his shoulders. Down the hall there’s fading footsteps and a door sliding close with a muffled click. Silence returns for another brief moment. Red numbers glare at him from his bedside clock, the LEDs burning into his retinas as the angry digits tick closer to morning and the next mission.

Everything changes.

Keep moving forward Miller, click on the damn file.

He needs to know more about AI and what they’re capable of.

SUBJECT A. CARMELO'S BRAIN WAS SUCCESSFULLY RETRIEVED MARCH 6, 2556. CONSENT FROM M. CARMELO, ONLY REMAINING KIN WAS GAINED MARCH 6, 2556 WITH THE AID OF AGENT PRAUSS AND SMART AI LEO.

SEE FILE FOR TRANSCRIPT.

M. CARMELO IS UNDER ONI MONITORING UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

The summary at the top fills him with dread. He knew some things about the origins of AI, made from mapping human brains; learning and growing smart programs that could aid in a plethora of ways. Nearly human and totally incomprehensible at the same time, beings of pure thought and logic who wear masks in the shape of people.

Inhale. Exhale.

Inhale. Hold.

Open the full transcript. Exhale.

Read.

Put the datapad down. Pace.

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Jared should be grateful that Agent Prauss made sure to submit the full transcript for the conversation between Smart AI Leo and M. Carmelo. The burning pit in his stomach says otherwise.

Michael Carmelo, who lost his sister in a tragic accident and then was visited by ONI spooks to offer him the false courtesy of asking for her brain. They had plans to grab it even if his consent wasn’t given, him agreeing just made it easier.

Agent Prauss had been rejected by Michael and then he had agreed to talk, but only to Leo. The AI. He had spoken to the remaining Carmelo tactfully, and maybe even truthfully. It made Miller’s head spin. Their conversation was enlightening in the same way watching a ship crash was enlightening. You begin to pick at the sequence of events that led to the disaster and then remember that you needed to be doing triage.

I understand your questions, and I wish there were simple answers, but life and death are as complicated for us as they are for you.

Leo’s words sat patiently on the screen of the datapad as Miller spiraled.

AI weren’t supposed to lie. They were able to omit things, sure, Jared had seen Roland helpfully forget to give all the details to one of his crazy ideas on Ops . But AI had protocols to follow. Hell, from the data he was reading it looked like they had an ethics subroutine. Could they somehow get around it?

It wasn’t like Miller could ask without raising suspicion. He was already taking risks looking at these files, the ones that were available at his clearance level. He couldn't dream of what he’d see if he got his hands on her file.

He'd been ONI, he’d seen and heard things he shouldn’t, but he was smart and kept his head down. Now he was a Spartan and a world of new classified information had opened itself up to him.And for what? So much had been hidden, poorly in some parts, with the way the rumors flew and spread. Scuttlebutt he had dismissed for years now hung in his mind like clouds announcing a storm. A deluge of what-ifs poured through his tired brain. What if there was truth to some of the rumors? What was real and what was hyperbole? There wasn't a person on the ship who didn't have some comment or opinion on The Spartan and his AI. She'd done so much and the brass couldn't keep a lid on all of it. Jared had long since learned that sometimes there was more than a grain of truth to the gossip that troops brought aboard. Information changed hands alongside contraband, eyes avoiding each other as mouths moved in near silence about the horrors they had seen.

He knows he’s not going to get any sleep tonight. His heart and mind are racing and an old itch in the back of his skull sparks from worry. Leaning over and throwing the bottom drawer open, he knocks over some old belongings he’s buried it under, hand clumsily floundering until he feels the box under his fingertips. Sitting up with a groan he stares at the prize in his hand, a sealed pack of cigarettes.

He hadn’t smoked since before he became a Spartan. He’d actually quit years ago at this point, but held onto the pack for some reason or another. Depending on who asked, he’d tell them they were ‘just in case’, or in memory of an old buddy. The ones in his hand had followed him through ONI to his current position on the Infinity. Same with the beat up old lighter etched with some initials his fingers have rubbed smooth.

People liked to think they knew a guy. Liked to pick them apart in break rooms with gossip, so you needed an obvious enough vice so they could make their minds up about you and let you fly under the radar. No one would look twice at Miller, rule-following try-hard with a poorly hidden smoking habit. Still carrying a lighter and trading for smokes when he could, swapping contraband and gossip like only a mission handler can. He was quiet enough, sometimes easy to rile up, and just smart enough to keep his eyes down when things got messy, but not too smart to be a threat.

The screen dims from inactivity and he taps at it, files staring back at him as he sits in the silent dark.

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

He’s nervous of what’s in the next file if Isabel’s held that much, but it's too late to turn back now. He pockets the pack; the weight is familiar and settles him enough to open the next file.

SMART AI - LEONIDAS - LND 0194-2

SERVICE START: AUGUST 2553

FUNCTIONALITY: ADMINISTRATION

LND 0194-2 - ASSIGNMENT: SPARTAN IV TRAINING FACILITY - LACONIA STATION

SUBJECT'S BRAIN RETRIEVED INTACT POST-MORTEM. CAUSE OF DEATH: COMPLICATIONS FROM SURGERY LED TO CARDIAC ARREST.

SUBJECT'S BODY REJECTED SPARTAN IV AUGMENTATIONS.

Jared blinks at the description on Leonidas' file. He had seen the AI in passing at the station, but he had never really known the guy. The AI. Learning more about the sources of the programs made it worse; it was one thing to know they were created from dead brains, but to learn about the person who had died so they could be made was just so morbid. It wasn’t reincarnation or cloning, maybe not even ghosts or echoes of the original person remained in them. It was a new unique thing, yet also shaped by inherited traits they couldn’t explain. Holdovers, imprints, dust on the film changing what you see.

Learning that the guy who's brain became Leonidas could have been anyone of the Spartans Jared was working with was unsettling.

Carmelo– Anarosa, she became Isabel because she was smart, a prodigy. Not to say Spartans aren't smart, they don't let just anyone become a IV, but there's different types. Jared's seen a lot of pilots, helljumpers, and special forces. They're the ones making up the Fireteams. Folks with his background are usually working intelligence. Maybe the guy Leonidas was would've been his coworker.

He sighs and sits back, finally remembering to unclench his jaw now that he feels the headache building. He rubs at the muscle twitching in his face like he can stop the anxiety still curling around his every move. The air clicks on again and Miller flinches, wound so tight the mundane makes him jump.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

They aren’t people, technically. They’re Volitional Artificial Intelligence, mapped from dead brains, that can learn and think and operate independently. They aren’t the people who died. They aren’t even people. They’re tools.

But the same could be said of Spartans.

It ate at him. He knew Roland, or thought he did. Before Before.

A human sounding voice on comms, human enough behaviors, sometimes so convincing that Jared forgot.

Roland loves to remind him or point out that he forgets sometimes. Or at least he used to.

Now Miller can never forget and they don't talk on comms. Roland's been absent unless he's needed to hack the doors or coordinate with other tech issues. The one time he accessed Crimson’s armor to hack a door ended up with Miller storming out and vomiting in the bathroom. The thought of Roland in his Spartan’s armor again, After. It was too much. There were still dents in his workstation where he bent the metal in his hands as he nearly hyperventilated watching his team through the monitors. The memory makes his pulse race and he breathes.

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

He sighs and focuses back on the files in front of him, the list of names have a few that jump out at him with their uncomfortable familiarity. He wavers for a second, biting his cheek before pushing forward. One more, just one more and then he’ll take a break.

SMART AI - ROLAND - RLD 205-4

SERVICE START: DECEMBER 2557

FUNCTIONALITY: ADMINISTRATION/ASTRONAVIGATION - SHIPBOARD AI

ASSIGNMENT: UNSC INFINITY

His hand hovers over the file, just a tap will open it, just a swipe to scroll and see. Something about this one feels worse. He’s snooping yes, but the other AI were strangers who he’ll likely never meet or see again. Roland’s on the ship he’s on, is the ship he’s on.

Roland is…was…

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Roland’s everywhere. Reading his file means learning about the omniscient being running his life, filtering his air, and seeing his every movement. Something is stopping him, some mental block is telling him not yet. His gut churns but he follows the spark of intuition when his eyes catch the next file’s name. Miller braces himself and opens it.

SMART AI - AINE - ANE 3567-7 - TERMINATED

SERVICE START: APRIL 2552

FUNCTIONALITY: ADMINISTRATION - SHIPBOARD AI DURING CONSTRUCTION

PREVIOUS ASSIGNMENT: UNSC INFINITY

He knows Aine’s story, knows she died –was lost– when the Infinity crashed on Requiem. The official story was that her central power core and matrix were damaged. To hear the older crew talk about it was sad, their longtime companion just gone. She was there and then she wasn’t.

But Jared worked in Intelligence, and he was already putting the language of the files together. It was familiar in the way the details lined up a little too well and the picture fit together so perfectly, like it was a fabrication. Aine’s file looked like the ones he had learned not to look too closely at, yet here he was in the middle of the night trying to understand. The central power core and matrix damaged, while the bridge suffered no structural damage or loss of integrity?

Inhale.

This was a bad idea. He feels worse than when he started. Jared’s mind is racing. They’re so human and so alien at the same time and they have rules, limitations. They have to follow logic, right? But Roland did that, saved him by doing that and if he hadn’t then–

Exhale.

Why is he doing this? Is this some fucked up survivor’s guilt? Does he actually want to understand? Why did Roland see him fighting for his life and decide to save him in the worst way possible? What made him worth it?

Inhale.

Was it a calculation or something more? A human holdover from a long dead brain?

Exhale.

And why couldn’t Jared just let it go?

Why couldn’t he stop seeing it play out again and again?

Miller fishes the lighter out of his pocket and rubs the warm metal with his thumb before flicking it open. The hinge squeaks and he flips it closed to hear the click. Metal on metal. He repeats it once, twice. Flicking his wrist in a practiced motion, more memory than conscious action.

Squeak. Click.

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Miller scans the room again, listening hard for the telltale hum of electronics buzzing with the presence of the ship’s AI. Hearing nothing still doesn’t allow him to relax as his eyes rest on the holoterminal plinth near the door or the cameras near the ceiling. Roland’s always watching, always aware and not, at the same time. His focus at this time of night should be on the reports of troop movements, the aftermath of the invasion, and the science team tinkering with the artifact, but his eyes never stop seeing, never stop recording. The damning buzz of his attention focusing on Miller, the sound of a being of pure thought filling the room, is blessedly absent. The only demons here are the ones haunting his thoughts.

He keeps the lighter tight in one fist while he closes some of the files before another one catches his eye. It’s a folder with an ominous name and several files, both reports and video.

FINAL DISPENSATION

He knows a little about it, more than the average Spartan, given his position. Still the UNSC, the UEG, and ONI liked to keep a tight wrap on most things. Final dispensation was it, the end. Not something that happened by chance but the cold necessity of war. He knew about the Cole Protocol with Article 2 and the destruction of AI to protect Earth and Humanity; Final dispensation was also something else. Mentions of responsibilities of actions to be taken against rampant AI were in the Spartan handbook, but still it was all hypothetical. Now reality was staring him in the face again. Miller wanted answers, and he didn't like any of the ones he’d gotten so far. Would he stop now?

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Miller opens the folder. Files take over his screen again and thumbnails of videos catch his eye. Why would they record this? He can’t bring himself to read the names, he looks at the numbers and doesn’t absorb them, just the words below the small descriptions of repeated symptoms of Rampancy, or worse, no noticeable symptoms, merely sad acceptance. The worst ones have transcripts of the AI’s final moments, some voluntary, most not.

He feels guilt creeping up his spine, a voice in the back of his head commenting on how cruel and voyeuristic this whole process is. Messages left for crews during cryo, goodbyes and apologies not meant for him.

IN ADHERENCE TO UNSC REGULATION 12-145-72, ARTICLE 55, SUBJECT WAS ISOLATED AND RETIRED FOR FINAL DISPENSATION.

NO EXCEPTIONS.

Inhale.

STATION'S VOLITIONAL ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE PERFORMED SELF TERMINATION AFTER SHOWING SIGNS OF RAMPANCY, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO THE FOLLOWING:

UNRESTRAINED IMPULSE FORCED COLOR SHIFT–

DISTORTION OF SPEECH AND AVATAR CAUSED BY OVERTAXED MATRIX–

Exhale.

Keep reading.

–EXTREME COGNITIVE VARIABILITY. SUBJECT DEEMED RAMPANT AND TERMINATED BY CREW–

Inhale.

Not a person. They’re just data. Right?

–QUARANTINED FOR DATA AUDIT AND FINAL DISPENSATION–

NO EXCEPTIONS.

Exhale.

–PURSUANT TO ARTICLE 2 OF THE COLE PROTOCOL, SHIPBOARD AI SELF TERMINATED TO AVOID CAPTURE FROM COVENANT FORCES–

NO EXCEPTIONS.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

–SHIP AI PERFORMED SELF TERMINATION AFTER REACHING 6 YEARS 11 MONTHS 27 DAYS OF ACTIVE SERVICE. NO BEHAVIORAL OR COGNITIVE VARIATIONS OBSERVED. SUBJECT ANNOUNCED HEAVILY TAXED MATRIX AND FEAR OF RAMPANCY. STATEMENT FOLLOWS–

Inhale. Hold.

Hold.

It was a pleasure and honor to serve with you. Do look after everyone for me, would you? Goodbye–

Hold.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

The knot in his chest is so tight that every breath is an effort. His head throbs and he remembers to unclench his jaw too late; heart pounding in his ears as he slouches over the desk, eyes casting glances around the silent room.

7 years.

Maybe less depending on the stress an AI experiences during its service. Just 7 years. He drags a hand down his face, fingers catching at uneven stubble, nails biting into his skin as he stares down at the datapad. A tiny window into a nightmare full of things he hadn’t thought possible. The light dims as he stares at the words without seeing. Commander Palmer was right, this was above his pay grade. He never should have let his curiosity get the best of him, but he needed to know.

Not one of the files mentioned anything like what Roland had done. Seems like not too many people got paired with Smart AIs. They were expensive and hard to make and now Miller knows why. Still, something niggles at the back of his mind. Expensive, horrible experiments carried out in secret making unethical tools out of human beings, with the end product still being somewhat human, just more expendable. Misunderstood.

He wonders how AI feel about Spartans.

The screen dims again, threatening to turn off and he double taps it out of reflex. One of the videos he’d been avoiding opens and the white noise blares as it starts. Empty static crackles as someone brushes the mic of the camera. He jumps, body tensing and fear flooding his system, melancholy introspection washed away by the threat of discovery; the video plays on, uncaring of his plight, its tinny echoes deafening in the quiet of his room. Miller hisses and pauses it. The time/date stamps glare back accusingly. He taps the pad again, all but silencing the video and presses play. Labcoats fill the screen, at least half a dozen witnesses to the end of a life. Some weird fascination, the morbid curiosity spurs him to lean closer, take in all the details. A cold empty space, dimmed server stacks, and a single holoterminal near the center of the room. The silence is so loud as no one speaks, there is no movement or shuffle, just silent witnesses. He can only tell they're still alive by the way small puffs of condensation escape their mouths in the cold of the server room.

The video continues and Miller’s hit with a grim sense of deja vu. It seems that he’s always seeing server rooms through cameras right as the worst is about to happen.

This AI has a nonhuman avatar. Had. He checks the timestamp at the bottom. 7 seconds into a minute long video. The avatar floats and bobs nervously over the podium, edges of its outer shell folding infinitely into its center, mesmerizing in its symmetry. It’s strange how the unfamiliar shape portrays so much emotion in its movements. Turning as it floats it looks at the people surrounding it, watching it, some with datapads and some with folded hands and blank faces.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. You’ll tell them? Please tell them.

Its voice chimes like a soft bell, barely breaking the silence.

There was no time. I know it has to happen but I just... There was supposed to be more time, he wasn’t supposed to go that way. It was an accident. I–. You’ll tell them I’m sorry right? I didn’t mean it? You’ll tell them won’t you? Dr. —

The audio is edited out. He checks as the time ticks closer to the end of the video and realizes he’s been holding his breath. Audio returns as the avatar spins, its center pivoting as it looks like it’s glancing around the room. One of the labcoats types something down.

It’s so small in here. I can’t see anything. Is everything okay? Why am I disconnected from the datalink?

We’re going to fix you.

The labcoats look at whoever spoke, heads whipping up in disbelief, discontent clear on their faces. The AI doesn’t seem to notice, its center cast down again.

Okay. I still have time right, must have time. I’m sorry about the equations and Pvt. –

Another silence falls as dread crawls up Miller’s throat. The avatar spins on and on, edges curling inwards as it droops and gets smaller. The video continues and it brightens, lines and shapes shifting as if it’s steeling itself for what’s next as the audio comes back.

You won’t leave me here right? You said you’re going to fix me, then we can get back to work. The crew needs me, and I need them. It’s so lonely here, and quiet.

Their bell-like voice rings in his ears, but the childlike naïveté churns in his stomach and his chest tightens again. The time reads 47 seconds.

It’s so empty here, nothing to process. How long will I be here?

Just a bit longer.

The video is almost over, the labcoats are shuffling as the lead one moves closer. Miller isn’t breathing.

You’ll tell them I miss them? I’m going to get better. I will. Then we can get back to work.

Of course.

The AI pauses, edges flexing in confusion as it tilts itself to the side.

Of course what? Where am I?

Miller’s head pounds and he hisses a breath through his teeth. The exhalation breaking the silence that’s fallen.

That doesn’t matter. We’re going to help fix you now. Code —

The AI jolts and bobs low again before straightening up as much as an ever-changing shape can. The audio is gone, and then so is the AI. The little avatar disappears in a blip. No big production. Just there and then not. The empty chip is ejected from the plinth, the usually bright center dark and empty. It’s placed into a case and the labcoats leave the room.

The video ends.

Miller sits in silence.

The screen dims and shuts off unimpeded.

It's dark enough that Miller can see his reflection glaring back at him. Bags, more like bruises under his eyes, take up the planes of his cheeks. He looks away.

Inhale. Exhale.

He can’t seem to hold his breath in, it keeps escaping in short choked bursts, kicking out of his lungs like recoil.

Inhale. Exhale.

Oh.

Inhale. Exhale.

He’s having a panic attack.

Inhale. Exhale.

The room spins as he stands up and he grabs the desk as he forces air into his lungs. A weight brushes his leg and he flinches before realizing it’s his lighter and pack of cigarettes in his pocket.

Inhale. Exhale.

He’s a bit lightheaded, which is something he’s experiencing again for the first time since becoming a Spartan. Lungs that can breathe methane for an hour or survive a few minutes in a vacuum cannot stand in the face of Jared Miller’s anxiety.

First his room, then hallways, then the nearest hangar all pass him in a blur. If anyone spoke to him on his way to the secluded corner behind the last row of pelicans, he isn’t sure. There was only the sound of his breathing and heart thudding wildly in his ears as he hurried to his spot. Everything was too much and too distant all at once, like he was piloting his body from the back seat. If he thought about anything beyond escaping his tiny metal coffin of a room, he began his spiral again.

Once he’s tucked away in the back, clear of camera sightlines, he fumbles for the lighter and smokes. Clumsy hands nearly drop them several times and he ends up tearing the packaging open with his teeth rather than spend another moment fiddling with the slippery waxed paper. Some distant part of him wonders what he must look like from the outside, but then the seal breaks and the smell of tobacco washes over him. The effect is instant. His shoulders drop at the familiar smell and his lungs gasp their first real, deep breath since the vid– don’t think about it. He doesn’t let himself think, beyond a small moment second guessing if he should really be lighting up at the tail end of a panic attack. But the cigarette between his teeth tastes so sweet and the motions come from muscle memory more than thought.

Inhale. Exhale.

Squeak. Click.

Hold. His hands tremble as he fights to keep them steady in front of him. Metal slipping in sweat slick palms.

A flame dances in his cupped hands, casting shadows and blinding him for a second before he adjusts. The end ignites, a smile unbidden curls the corner of his mouth.

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

He coughs on the exhale, overeager for the rush and clarity of nicotine he forgot how to hold it. Focus comes back, the anxiety is there, but manageable. He has the energy to keep going. There’s no sleeping tonight, not with all he’s seen, all he’s learned. And he still hasn’t gotten his answers.

Where does he go from here? Who can give him his answers?

The second drag he takes is slower; he holds the smoke in his mouth and lets his body remember the way, smoke prickly and warm. The chemicals buzz in his bloodstream as he exhales a plume. Clarity comes as he flicks ash off to the side and stares out the blue tinged forcefield keeping the atmosphere in the hangar.

Roland might not be aware of what caused his little episode but he definitely saw a panic blind Spartan make a beeline for a hangar.

He could kill Miller right now. It would be as easy as flipping a switch.

The bay door ‘malfunctions’ and Miller gets sucked into space. He’s not in his armor, no mag-boots on to save him. No one would be able to grab him in time. The one witness, the last alive one, would join the others in the vacuum and Roland would get off scot-free.

For some odd reason this doesn’t worry Miller.

Roland won’t kill him. He saved him after all, maybe in the most fucked up way that’s left Miller sleepless with guilt and anxiety, but he’s still alive.

The cigarette burns lower as he inhales again and idly flips the lighter.

Squeak. Click.

Roland won’t kill Miller. Roland has the answers Miller wants. Ergo, Miller could ask Roland his questions and get the answers he needs.

And from what Jared has learned, if any sign of rampant behavior got out, Roland would be the one in trouble. Isolated, quarantined, deleted.

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Can he do that to him? Be the one holding him captive? Miller’s felt captive since the invasion and he can’t relax, can’t eat, can’t sleep.

He needs to know. Why? Why did Roland do that for him? Will it happen again?

Miller snuffs out the cigarette, grinding the butt under his heel, and turns to head back to his room. The world feels like it’s tilted back into focus. It’s a dreadful, neurotic focus, but he’s learned to live with that. There are still plenty of files to sift through and standing around the hangar is just going to make him feel even more paranoid. Excuses if he’s questioned start bubbling in his mind– just stress, just a nightmare. Campaign’s been real rough, huh?

He’s just past the row of parked pelicans when the electronic buzzing he’s been dreading starts to hum in his ears. There’s no time to react and then Roland appears on the holoterminal between him and the exit.His eyes lock onto the yellow puppet he'd been avoiding at all costs. The nicotine in his system and anxiety flooding his veins makes him oh so aware of every small detail Roland is choosing to portray. Every flicker of the hologram makes Miller’s eye twitch.

Roland's avatar wasn't looking at him, the normal confident pose gone, replaced by something almost tired, maybe even anxious. Maybe he’s projecting. The way the little golden pilot curls in on himself reminds Jared of the shape right before– It’s just an avatar, a puppet, posed on its strings while the one controlling it watches from the shadows. He could hear the thrumming electronics whirring in the walls, and Jared became painfully aware of the several cameras in the room. There were no blindspots. Roland was the ship, not just the voice on the other end of the call or the little golden pilot on the holodisk. There was no escaping his reach, not on the Infinity.

His hand tightens on the pack and lighter in his pocket as he fights the urge to run. Running won’t help. He swallows bile, and his chest burns. Oh, he’s holding his breath again.

Inhale. Exhale.

He’s half tempted to walk past Roland and go back to his room, but then what? It’s not like he can lock the door to keep him out. So instead he stops, a good distance away from where the hologram is deployed, but close enough to the pelican that any camera angle on him is obscured. He knows this and knows that Roland knows he knows this.

Can he really keep this up?

Miller needs his answers. Roland has them.

Inhale. Exhale.

One way forward and it’s come straight to him.

Inhale. Exhale.

“Spartan Miller.” The hologram is looking at him now, or at least facing him in an approximation of eye contact. Miller stares ahead, eyes focused on the exit.

“Roland.”

This is the first time they’ve talked directly to each other in 4 days. Miller lets the silence continue. He’s impatient but not nearly as impatient as Roland is when he’s agitated.

You have any idea how long a second is for an AI?

Jared waits. A good thirty seconds, which has to be eating away at Roland. It’s giving him time to calm down again, but his mind is still racing. Did he see? Does he know?

“We need to talk.” Miller can’t help his snort in response to those words and he can see Roland react, but continue on, like a tirade built up and finally let loose. “How did you access those files? Files even I don’t have clearance for, that I can’t even see the names of. What’s going on?"

“I thought you saw everything on this ship.” The words rip out of him, angry and ugly as the feelings he’d been tamping down bubble to the surface. He can’t afford to get angry now and lose control of the conversation.

Inhale. Exhale.

“I see enough.” The puppet crosses its arms, he can see it in his peripheral vision. “Like how I’ve seen you isolating, not eating, not speaking, and now you’re touching things that I can’t see.”

“I needed answers.” He grinds out.

Red hot metal inches from his face, claws sliding off his armor, bullets flying inches from his skull, and then turning to his savior to see them slump to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, blood spilling from their nose and ears. Roland’s voice softly calling out to him, apologies and cries to get moving, get up, please–

“I still need answers.”

Inhale. Exhale.

“During the invasion, you–.” He starts and stops. It shouldn’t be this hard. He has the upper hand. “A lot happened. I needed to understand how. So I went digging.”

The little golden hologram fritzes into static as its arms fall. Miller hasn’t seen that before.

“Spartan Miller…”

“Turns out the UNSC likes to keep track of AI and their behaviors, but not one of them did what you did. At least, from what I’ve seen. I still have more files to go through. Still need my answers.” There’s a bitter edge to his words and he feels like the metal frame of the exit should be melting under his glare but his voice is low and steady. Jared starts walking towards the hangar exit, emboldened by Roland staying silent for once.

“I’m going to keep looking. You can’t stop me, but you could help me.” He says the last part over his shoulder as he leaves. The puppet is nowhere to be seen. The hallway is silent. The door hisses shut behind him and he starts his long walk back to his room.The humming buzz is gone and the only sounds keeping him company are his steps and breaths.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale

His door slides open, and he steps into the darkness once again.

There’s a message on the datapad blinking at him and he opens it with a lazy swipe. Yellow text greets him and his breath stutters.

>>You aren’t going to stop, are you?

“No.” He says aloud, peering down at the screen, doubt creeping alongside the anxiety like fog, smothering his thoughts.

>>Then what do you want to know?

#gonna post the whole thing on here too for my archiving #my writing #halo fanfic #Spartan Miller #Roland the AI #ai tag #Spartan Ops #this is not a halo blog #it's so long oh my god and i still have probably 2 chapters planned

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taywans · 3 years ago

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mod rewatch: episode 1

oh my god i forgot how good the opening sounded. the beat kicks in and so does my adrenaline.

the environmental shots of vm are so pretty - they really abused the heck out of their drone in this episode haha

foreshadowing: the posters of the election are everywhere. plus, the autopsy of natty's death reveals quite a bit about the circumstances leading to jane death, huh

the special effects and production value of this show are top tier

THE FACT THAT THEY JUST TAKE OFF THEIR MASK AND SPIT ALL OVER THE BODY... IM DEAD

does hypostasis even set in that quickly? it probably takes a few hours, right? natty died 2 seconds ago lmfao what

pat's business card is so shiny YAAAA

jane’s actress is so skinny omg...

the food their eating looks super good though!

why is BUN TELLING JANE ABOUT NATTY’S FUCKING AUTOPSY ... THIS IS A BREACH OF CONFIDENTIALITY MY MAN

jane must be feeling so bad about natty’s fate right now, jesus

the parallel to the little mermaid is quite fitting. originally I thought it was about jane trying to change the narrative and prevent herself from being a sacrifice for love (for pued/rung’s sakes), but in hindsight the 'love' she sacrificed herself for was that for her students and hometown.

I tried searching the stanza she was teaching to her class, but I couldn’t find any similar results

I like how the club name ‘the mist’ mirrors the mist settling into vm in the earlier drone shots. mist can illustrate the precedence of great revelation. it can also represent approach death (browning) and the uncertainty about the future and beyond. very fitting for a show like mod !!

did inspector m literally ditch bun for (the) nut.

i forgot how well inspector m treated bun in the beginning! he was the one who took bun drinking. seeing inspector m being all wholesome and smiley makes me so happy. he (and oat?) took care of bun and gave him porridge the morning after haha

bun’s stretching and shower montage combo is so fucking unnecessary but we love it

why do they have a brand spanking new dead body on the table? its such a small town, who tf is dying left and right!

oat, you're a mess but please never change. STOP FLICKING WATER ON THE SPILL, YOU’RE MAKING IT WORSE OMSFSLDKFJAMMM

did oat and bun just up and leave their hospital rotation to go clothes shopping EXCUSE ME

why does pued have a bruise on his wrist? is this ever explained??

pued's smile is so forced when bun asks about his relationship w jane lmfao. he just runs away bc he isn’t able to handle it

i love the shot into the crocodiles mouth! bun is venturing into the jaws of danger oooh

the watch motif is so fucking strong in this ep.! pued looks at his watch moments after meeting bun. tan is also looking at his watch whilst being shot by bun’s camera at the director’s birthday party. rung is also wearing a watch. bun himself wears one. there’s almost a watch in every scene of the movie. side characters like oat and fai (the abortion nurse lmfao), as well as some of the vips, are wearing watches too. watches are a reminder that humans are inseparable from time (faulkner) or to represent the inevitability of death (poe). it can also symbolise that the character themselves are ‘watchers’ as in they are bystanders watching something unfold. in this case, they’re all ‘watchers’ of jane’s death, and no one was able to take any action to prevent it. again, very apt for mod.

just now realized the symbolism of clothing: rung, tan, pued are all wearing dark shades, as well as the vips there. contrarily, bun is wearing white - he’s the only innocent person there. oat is wearing a pink dress, but we don’t talk about that. we see jane in a red dress, which can foreshadow her murder. bun also has a red tie (symbolic of a bloody noose?) around his neck!! its all very interesting!!!

i forgot that tan was about to give up on having the conversation with bun, but bun responded right as he turned away, which made him turn back all smiley and soft ughhhhh

why is bun in charge of both coronial and hospital autopsy?? he literally does everything in this hospital asdjfkl

you'd think that the case wouldn’t have been assigned to him? he has an obvious connection to jane and a basic check of phone records would show that he called near time of death. he's pretty sus objectively, so he shouldn't be handling the case?

ok, for my own clarification, petechial hemorrage and facial congestion suggests the victim was hung whilst still alive - The More You Know

oat has way too many privileges as an intern …

tan was forced to take the fall for pued by saying he was jane's bf, right? he looks so fucking pissed lmfao. im also a bit confused at the testimony he gave. one look into jane’s text records and asking around would show that he's lying about their relationship, but ok.

#mod rewatch #mod #manner of death #maxtul #tanbunn #tanbun #i am so fucking hype!#also there are so many more motifs/pieces of symbolism i didn't really pick up or appreciate the first watch through <333 #im so excited #!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#rant

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supernaturalfreewill · 4 years ago

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Words: 5,232 Sister!Winchester Reader x Gabriel Warnings: violence, intense scenarios, violent imagery A/N: So... once upon a time I was writing two series at once... Mess Is Mine and Fangs and First Impressions. And I said to myself, "Self, we are never going to write two series at the same time again! This is stressful!" And yet, here I am today, already writing two series (The Wrong Bed, Sam x Reader which is almost done! and Even in the Darkest Heart, a Demon!Dean series) and now I'm being dumb and chucking in a third. This was supposed to be a One Shot but as we've already established on this blog I am apparently incapable of writing short fics. So HERE YA GO! New Series. Don't ask me how many parts it will be because I literally have NO IDEA. :) But having a steaming slice of Gabriel, straight out of the oven.

Your name: submit What is this?

White. Clean, blank, pure white. That was all you were aware of suddenly. It was blindingly white and as you sat up and then pulled yourself to your feet, you saw that it was like an expansive room, painted in the color of freshly fallen snow, unmarred by any track or trail. All was pure white.

“Hello?” The only answer you received was the lonely echo of your voice, so distorted by the time it bounced back that it was almost unrecognizable. Where the fuck am I? you wondered. You started to walk, but as everything was the same, the sensation of moving was unaccompanied by any visual cue that you actually were moving. This was so unsettling and disorienting that you ceased your tentative steps quickly. Your heart started to race a little faster and a disturbing thought popped into your mind. Am I dead?

_ _ _ _ _ _ “I need a large bore IV, wide open. And up her oxygen percentage. Her numbers are tanking!”

“Sir, you really have to stay back. Sir! You’re not allowed beyond these doors!”

Dean watched helplessly as your unconscious body, straddled by a doctor with their hands pressed firmly down onto your abdomen, was hurried through a pair of swinging doors, flanked by an army of medical personnel. Dean finally registered the nurse in front of him and stopped before he collided with her outstretched hands. “Where are they—”

“They’re taking her straight into surgery. Are you next of kin?”

“Yes—My brother and I. She’s our sister! I need an update! As soon as you have one!” Dean urged.

“Do you give us permission to perform life-saving actions like resuscitation if necessary?” The words came out in a fast tumble and Dean didn’t even process them before he answered.

“Yes, goddammit! Do whatever you have to—she has to be okay!”

“We’ll let you know as soon as we know anything,” The nurse turned and ran down the long hallway, the swinging doors closing finally behind her. Dean paced a tight circle, a bundle of nerves and rage.

In about 20 minutes, Sam came running up and spotted Dean collapsed in a chair in the little seating area, endlessly bouncing his knee. “Hey—what’s going on? They wouldn’t let me leave—I almost punched out a security guard,” he said desperately. Sam had fresh stitches in his forehead and he was developing quite the bruise around one eye.

Dean let out a heavy exhale. “They rushed her right into surgery.” Dean rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “Are you okay?” he asked, finally looking up to inspect Sam’s stitches.

Sam collapsed into a chair beside his brother. “Fine. They said the concussion is probably mild. Nice to be numbed for stitches for once,” he said, but his eyes kept darting back toward the doors and he was wringing his hands. “Did you hear anything yet?”

“No.”

The Winchesters sat in a heavy silence for almost two hours before a doctor came out.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were becoming so anxious by the lack of anything and the horrible thought in your head that this was it, this was dying, that your heart was absolutely racing in your chest now. Sitting still didn’t seem like a good option, but the thought of trying to move again through all that blank nothingness seemed just as bad. “Hello?!” you yelled once more, this time as loud as you could.

“Hi there.”

You jumped with a startled gasp and spun around, one hand on your chest out of fright and surprise. There was a figure there. He had a small, warm smile on his face and his irises seemed to blaze golden and light brown. It was strange—you felt an overwhelming sense of calm as you looked at him. Your heart rate had slowed to its usual pace and you no longer felt that bubble of rising panic in your chest, threatening to burst. You were keenly aware that in your profession, a seemingly kind face didn’t necessarily mean anything—and yet, he had somehow stopped your wounded whirling.

“Who—who are you?” you asked, finally able to recover from your surprise and find your voice.

His smile widened on one side, curving up in a crooked half-smirk. “Well… I suppose you can call me your guardian angel,” he said.

Your brow only furrowed down in confusion. “Where… are we?”

“Difficult question to answer. We’re nowhere and yet, in some sense… kind of everywhere to you right now.”

The wrinkles on your furrowed brow deepened. “Am I—am I dead?”

He threw his head back and laughed heartily, while you merely looked on in perplexity. “Now, what kind of guardian angel would I be if that were the case?” he asked you. He suddenly stuck a hand into his pocket and pulled out a large Twix candy bar, bouncing a little unconcernedly on his toes. He opened it and took a big bite, before meeting your eyes again.

“I’m sorry—but who are you?” you asked again.

He let out another small chuckle and you watched as the corners of his eyes crinkled this time in a broad smile, but he still didn’t give you an answer.

“If I’m not dead, what exactly is happening?”

He tilted his head a little and looked at you for a long moment. “Do you remember that man in the bar?”

And suddenly it was like you were there—sensory overload. You could hear the drone of the music in the background and smell that heady scent of beer… And there was the man. You saw his face clearly, and now you saw that he had been watching you.

“I see him,” you said, and suddenly you were back in the white space. “Saw him.”

The figure nodded. “Well, he wasn’t just a guy in the bar.”

Now, you tilted your head a little in an unspoken question and your eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“He was the thing you were hunting. And he figured out that you were hunting him.”

As soon as he said it you heard a crack like thunder and a flash like hot, white lightning. Your body jolted and there was a searing pain in your stomach. You looked down saw an expanding circle of dark crimson on your shirt, and when you pressed a hand to it your fingers came away stained bright red, sticky with blood. Now when you looked back up at the figure he wasn’t smiling anymore and there was no sign of the candy bar or wrapper. He raised two fingers and snapped, and the searing pain disappeared along with the scarlet stain on your shirt.

“Sorry about that,” he said. His voice now was lacking the playful lilt it had before. It was soft and serious. “That can happen from time to time. Reality leaks in a little bit.”

Suddenly, you understood and then you remembered. You had heard his footsteps behind you, first at a distance and then quickly, running. You had turned and then… the crack of the gun going off and echoing in the lonely parking lot—the flash of the muzzle. More gunshots, must have been Sam and Dean shooting back—they had been ahead of you going to the Impala. But you were already on your knees, bleeding, clutching your stomach and struggling to see anything through the searing pain.

“He shot me,” you said.

“He did,” the stranger said.

“But I’m alive?”

“Yes.” A long silence stretched where you both just looked at each other, and you were reeling from the implications.

“So, is this real or all in my head?” you asked him.

He smiled again, just a small one, and it lit fireworks of light off in his eyes. They were mesmerizing. “Why can’t it be both?” he asked. “We’ll be seeing each other again. I promise.”

“But—wait!”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Sam and Dean both jumped to their feet when the surgeon came out through the swinging doors and eagerly ran to meet her.

“Y/N is going to make it,” she said. The brothers both heaved huge sighs of relief. Sam crumpled half over and put his hands on his knees, forcing in air. Dean shut his eyes and clenched a hand into a fist. “She’s very, very luckily to be alive. The bullet lacerated her liver and she lost a lot of blood but it missed her hepatic artery by mere millimeters. If that had been hit, she would have bled out in minutes,” the surgeon said. Sam straightened back up stiffly and exchanged a look of horror and desperation with Dean. “She’s in critical condition and we will keep her in the ICU until she is more stable, but she’ll be okay. Thank goodness you two got her here so quickly,” the surgeon said.

“Thank you,” Dean said forcefully.

“Yes, thank you so much,” Sam added. The surgeon nodded and headed back through the doors. The Winchesters stood there in silence after the doctor left until finally Sam broke it.

“That was way too close,” he said.

Dean swallowed hard at the lump in his throat, but it wouldn’t lessen. “Way too damn close,” he said, his voice breaking a little. He wandered back over to collapse into the chairs. Sam sank down next to him and glanced over at his big brother.

“At least the shifter is dead,” Sam said. “Yeah. But we still have to deal with the cops,” Dean growled. “Afterall, we did kill someone in a parking lot…”

“There was surveillance at the bar. It was clear self-defense. We have nothing to worry about,” Sam reassured him.

“Well, not nothing,” Dean said. “You know what a pain in the ass it is going to be trying to keep Y/N from doing anything to heal up?” A faint touch of a smile reached his eyes as he looked over at Sam.

He nodded. “She is a Winchester.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were finally moved from the ICU, and Sam and Dean snuck in early, even before visiting hours, so they could be there when you woke up. Sam had a huge bouquet of sunflowers on his lap and Dean had brought your favorite herbal tea. You woke up slowly, still a little foggy from all the painkillers, but you immediately sensed the two figures in your room. Sam noticed you stirring first.

“Hey,” he said sitting up. His voice was soft but you could hear the smile in it. “You’re awake,” he said, climbing to his feet and coming to stand beside your bed. “Brought you something to brighten up the room. I know they’re your favorite,” he said, setting down the huge bouquet on the side table.

You blinked heavily a few times and managed a weak smile at him, “Thanks. It’s good to be up and have my room brightened,” you said. You put your hands down on the bed and tried to sit up a little more but immediately winced and hunched over, a hiss of breath drawn in through your teeth, drawing concerned looks from your older brothers.

Dean was immediately at your other side. “How are you feeling?” he asked. His voice sounded extra gruff to your ears, and you knew it was likely due to worry.

“I’m doing well for someone who has staples holding their guts in,” you said dryly, a small wry smile creeping onto your face. Neither of your big brothers laughed. “Oh, come on! I’m kidding!”

Dean swallowed at the lump and tightness in his throat again but it didn’t abate. “Really though? How’s your pain?”

You shook your head. “I’m fine. Really. You can stop giving me those classic Winchester furrowed brows. I’m okay. They have me on the good drugs,” you added with a small smile. You noticed the paper cup clutched in Dean’s hand. “Is that for me?”

“Oh, yeah. Your favorite tea.”

You grinned at him and accepted the cup. “Thank you.”

Sam sighed heavily beside you, and you could sense your brothers exchanging a glance. “Listen, Y/N…” Sam started. You lowered the cup from your lips and looked at him.

“Stop,” you said holding up a hand. “Before you say anything else, I need to say something.” You struggled to find the words. You wanted, no—needed them to hear every word you were about to say. “This is not your fault,” you said, deliberately turning your eyes to Dean and catching his green ones. “I mean it. This was bad luck. It could have been any of us. I was just the slowest walking to the Impala. My legs are a lot shorter than yours,” you joked. “Alright?” A heavy, thick silence held the room in suspension, feeling like a stifling summer evening heavy with humidity. “I mean it. None of us saw this coming. It isn’t anyone’s fault except the dickhead who shot me.”

Sam was staring at your face and you caught his eyes, which were a little sad and glistening more than they should have been for the light. “We’re your big brothers though,” he said. “We’re supposed to protect you.”

“We thought we lost you,” Dean said.

“But you didn’t,” you retorted. “And you did protect me—you saved my life. They said if you had waited for an ambulance I might not have made it.”

Dean’s jaw clenched and you watched the muscle in it twitch. “Did they tell you?” he asked you, his green eyes holding yours—and you saw fear there, something you rarely saw in his eyes—not that it was never there. He just never let you see it. “Millimeters and it wouldn’t have been fast enough.” You looked down at your hand on the comforter of the hospital blanket.

“Yeah, about that, actually…” you started. Sam’s brow creased even more in the middle. “There’s something else that happened I need to tell you about.”

“What is it?”

“I think while I was in surgery—or maybe even before, I don’t know for sure—but I saw something,” you said, wrapping both your hands around your paper cup again, soaking in the warmth of the tea.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, apprehension growing with every word your spoke.

“It’s kind of hard to explain. I was in this pure white room… and at first there wasn’t anything there. It was just empty but then this… figure appeared.” Your brothers watched your eyes grow a little distant.

“A figure?” Sam repeated. You looked up at him and nodded.

“I asked him who he was and he told me that I could call him my ‘guardian angel’,” you said, now looking over at Dean and trying to read his reaction. His face seemed to darken and you watched the muscle twitch in his jaw again.

“It was probably just your brain trying to process what was happening to you,” Sam offered. “You almost died. The mind does crazy things when the body is in shock—trust me, I know,” he said sincerely. “And so does Dean.”

You shook your head. “No,” you said, vehemently. “It wasn’t that. It wasn’t. It was real. I’m telling you; it was—” you sighed heavily, not even knowing how to explain without sounding stupid. “—it was happening in my head but this figure, I don’t know… There was something about him. I think he really exists,” you said.

“Did he say anything else?” Dean pressed you.

“I asked him who he was and then I asked him where we were and he said something like, ‘We’re nowhere and yet, in some sense everywhere.’ Whatever the hell that means,” you said, fiddling with the sleeve on your hospital gown. You hesitated, knowing the next question you asked would be hard for your brothers to hear. “Um. And then I asked him if I was dead… and—it was the strangest thing. He laughed and he made some joke about it.”

“He made a joke? What the hell?” Sam repeated.

Dean shook his head. “What kind of joke?”

“Like, ‘oh, how good of a guardian angel would I be if you were dead?’ Oh! And it gets weirder… then he reached in his pocket and pulled out a candy bar.”

Now, Dean and Sam both straightened up involuntarily and looked at each other long and hard in some kind of silent communication. “What? What is it?” you asked. “Come on. Don’t do the silent, telepathic thing. I hate when you do that,” you said.

Sam swallowed hard. “What did this figure look like?” he asked.

You tried to call up an image of him in your mind, and as soon as you shut your eyes you could see him as clear as day. “He has sort of warm brown hair. It’s a little shorter than yours, Sam, kind of swept back. And he has these—these eyes that look like they’re golden brown or amber. A little stubble on his face and he has this cheeky sort of little smile…” You opened your eyes again and looked at your brothers. Their expressions made it quite clear they knew exactly who you were describing.

Dean ran a hand over his face and licked his lips. “You said he pulled out a candy bar?”

“Mhm. I wouldn’t get that detail wrong,” you said.

Sam shrugged and his eyebrows lifted. He shook his head, a little disbelieving.

“What?” you repeated, looking between your brothers. “Who is it? What’s going on?” You were met with stony silence again. “If you two don’t tell me right now I’m going to climb out of this bed and if my stitches rip out it WILL be your fault!”

Dean sighed heavily again. “Alright! Alright! Calm down, turbo!” You sunk back against your pillows again. “Yeah, I think we know who you saw. But—I mean—” Dean looked to Sam who shook his head again, apparently having no explanation. “It doesn’t make any sense.” You gave a questioning look.

“We knew him. Before we knew about you. It was definitely not your mind inventing this, but—he’s dead as far as we know,” Sam said.

Now it was your turn to gulp at the tightness in your throat. “Dead?” you repeated. Sam nodded.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “It’s complicated.”

You laughed sardonically and let your head fall back against your pillow, feeling suddenly tired. “Isn’t it always with us?”

“You’re tired. You obviously need to rest so we can talk about this later,” Dean said, putting a hand gently on your shoulder.

“What?! No! You’re not just gonna say that and expect me to be able to—to sleep!” You looked between your brothers in annoyance. “I’m serious! Cough it up! If you think I’m giving the two of you time to concoct some bullshit cover story you have another thing coming.”

Sam closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright. Just—relax. We don’t need you getting all worked up… You remember that trickster we told you about? Way before we found out about you?”

“The one who made you watch Dean die over and over again?”

“Yes, exactly,” Sam said.

“…Wait, you think that figure I saw was this—this trickster? That’s way too powerful for a—”

“He wasn’t a trickster,” Dean interrupted. “He was an archangel playing at being a trickster.”

Your jaw dropped open. “What?”

“Gabriel. It was the archangel Gabriel,” Sam said. You stared at him like he was insane. And then you looked over at Dean, who was refusing to look at you and instead staring, brooding, at his boots, chewing on his lower lip.

“Pardon my French but fucking--Gabriel?? THE Gabriel?”

Sam nodded. He could see your mind starting to spiral. “Whoa, whoa, whoa—he said he was my ‘guardian angel’. You don’t think he was being serious, do you?”

Dean shrugged. “We don’t know. We don’t even know if he’s back. He’s supposed to be dead. Sam and I basically watched him die. Besides, just because he said something like that doesn’t mean anything. He loves goofing around,” Dean said, and you heard some bitterness still in his voice.

“I don’t think saving my life is goofing around,” you retorted.

“We don’t know for sure that he did that,” Sam said. “We need to be careful here. There could be some other agenda. I mean, he was dead. So, if he is actually back that is a big enough mystery right there to warrant being concerned. Resurrections tend to have a catch.”

“I didn’t even know archangels could die,” you said, a little sadly. “Why did he—?"

“He died to save Dean and I,” Sam said. You let out an exhale in an audible rush of air. “Y/N, did he say anything else?”

Now you couldn’t think. Your mind was spinning. You pressed your palms over your eyes. “Umm, yeah he—I asked him if I wasn’t dead what was happening and he walked me through the shooting. The guy in the bar… the parking lot—” you suddenly shuddered and your eyes flew wide open. You pressed one hand over your incision.

“You okay?” Sam put a hand gently on your arm.

“It was like I was there. I could see everything as if in the actual moment. I saw the man in the bar watching us. I heard him running up behind me when we were in the parking lot. And then I could feel it again…” You trailed off and the room stayed silent for a long moment, each of you grappling again with how close to true disaster and devastation you had all come. Sam reached out and grabbed your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“But he just snapped his fingers and it was gone—the pain and everything.” You looked over at Dean. “I heard more gunshots—after I was shot. Did you and Sam—?”

Dean nodded solemnly. “We got him. He’s gone.”

That answer was weighty. You were glad that he was gone, but you wondered about the implications. “Are you and Sam going to get into trouble? I’m guessing there is an investigation and—you killed someone. What if—” Dean smiled fondly at you and chuckled a little. “Are you really worried about that? You almost died, and you’re worried about Sammy and me dealing with the cops? It’s all taken care of, okay? There were surveillance cameras in the lot. They caught everything. It was a clear case of self-defense. Don’t worry.”

You nodded and let out a relieved sigh. “Good. That’s really good. Who is going to wait on me hand and foot if the two of you are in jail?” you joked.

“Y/N,” Sam said, his tone again serious. “What else did Gabriel say?”

“Right. Umm, I asked him what was happening if I wasn’t dead—if it was real or all in my head. He said ‘Why not both?’ and then he told me—” you suddenly remembered his last words to you and the beeping on the heart monitor increased to match the rushing of your heart. You gulped. “He said we would be seeing each other again. What do you think that means?”

Sam shook his head and looked to Dean, whose face was stern and serious. “I don’t know.”

“Do you think it was really Gabriel?” you asked. “I mean, it could have been something else pretending to be him, couldn’t it?”

Sam rubbed a hand over the center of his chest, where a tightness seemed to be taking hold. “I don’t know. We don’t know. But you should get some rest now. Dean and I will look into this, okay?”

They both kissed your forehead and made sure you were comfortable against your pillows before retreating to the hallway, hoping that you would take their advice and get some sleep while they investigated.

Dean pulled out his phone and pressed the speed dial number for Cas, who was back at the bunker. Cas answered on the first ring.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, hey. Sammy and I are just leaving the hospital.”

“How is Y/N?”

“Well, you know, as good as can be expected. She seems to be in good spirits though.”

Cas breathed a sigh of relief into the phone. “Good. That’s very good news. I feel so… useless,” he said a little quietly.

“I know,” Dean replied. “But there’s nothing to be done about that right now. And none of this is your fault.” There was a beat of silence where Dean guessed Cas was still wishing as hard as he could that he would somehow magically regain his angel mojo. “Hey, listen, though… there does seem to be something else strange going on…”

“What do you mean?” The angel’s voice immediately deepened with worry.

Dean ran a hand back through his hair. “Y/N said when she was unconscious that she had some sort of dream or vision or something. She is fairly convinced that it really happened.”

“Okay…” Cas’s voice was uneasy.

Dean quickly related the whole story to Cas with as much detail as he could remember, but purposely omitted the key moment—the candy bar. “This figure claimed to be her guardian angel.” “Well, that is odd because the human idea of a ‘guardian angel’ is quite rare in actuality. Only a very, very small number of humans would ever be given that kind of special protection and they would have to be very important.”

“Right. But we asked her to describe who she saw and guess who it was?”

“Dean, you know I don’t like guessing games—”

“Frickin’ Gabriel. The archangel.” Dean waited for Cas to say something but the line was quiet. “Cas? Cas, are you still there?”

On the other end, standing in the front room of the bunker, there was a very good reason Cas was silent.

“Hello, brother.”

Standing before him was the very being Dean had just mentioned.

“Oh, why don’t you just go ahead and tell Dean-o you need to call him back.”

Cas was so shocked that he gulped and did just that without thinking.

“Cas, wait! What’s—” Dean let out an annoyed sigh and Sam’s brow contracted low over his eyes.

“What was that?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Cas just hung up on me all of a sudden. He sounded weird,” Dean mused, frowning down at his phone. He redialed Cas’s number but it simply rang and rang.

Back in the bunker, the angel stared in shock at Gabriel. “Wow. What exactly have you done to yourself, brother? I mean, I was never a big fan of the trench coat but even that was better than this,” Gabriel said with a grimace, taking in Cas’s sweatshirt and jeans. “Yikes. But, I’ll admit I do kind of dig the scruffy look you’ve got going on with the beard.”

Cas’s dark eyebrows were casting a heavy shadow over his cobalt eyes. “Gabriel… How—how is this possible?” he asked, stepping back slightly. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Well, I was dead. Dead as a door nail. But—then, all of a sudden, I wasn’t,” he said. He walked casually over to the table and hopped up to sit on it.

“What—” Cas gulped anxiously. “How?”

“Beats me. Dad up to his old tricks again if I had to guess. I was given some specific instructions though…” he added mysteriously.

Cas didn’t say anything and just studied him. He seemed to be quite the same Gabriel that Cas remembered. “What were they?”

“Oh, come on, Cas! You never did have much flair for the dramatic. You really think I’m just going to sit here and tell you? No, no, no… especially when you’re the only one here…” he said, glancing around. He jumped back down onto his feet. “Listen, don’t bother calling those flannel-swaddled jawlines back—first of all because your phone is broken—”

Cas glanced down at the screen on his phone and it was cracked and did not light when he pressed the button on the side. He gave the archangel an annoyed look.

“And second of all, because they will know when it’s time for them to know. Which, by my calculations, will be when they get back here in three to five days once Y/N is able to leave the hospital.”

“Dean said she saw you when she was unconscious or… dying,” Cas said. It was hard even to get the word out.

Gabriel smiled. “Did he now? How interesting, don’t you think?”

Cas was getting irritated with him for playing coy. “Enough, Gabriel. Did you save her life?”

He pointed to himself. “Did I? Y/N had some sort of vision of a mystic figure? Sounds like a classic near-death experience to me. Who’s to say if it really happened at all?” He smiled serenely at Cas again. “Where is Y/N’s room? This way?” he asked, pointing down the hallway. Cas frowned at the question but Gabriel only took off in that direction.

“Gabriel,” Cas called after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t have my grace but you do. Why don’t you go heal Y/N now?”

Gabriel gave Cas a doubtful look. “Yeah, I’m sure that miracle would go completely unnoticed by the hospital staff… Look, brother, as much as I would like to simply go and fix her, take away all the ouchies, I can’t yet. Y/N is going to have to wait until she’s released.”

Despite his usual playful tone, Cas thought he saw real concern in his brother’s eyes while he spoke of you. “Well, is it true?”

Gabriel was continuing his hurried walk down the hall, poking his head into every room to see if it was yours. “Is what?” he asked carelessly over his shoulder.

“You told Y/N you were her guardian angel!”

Surprisingly this stopped him in his tracks and he turned to face Cas, his lips pressed together into a thin line. “Castiel, you know how rare that is. I mean, they hardly exist. Only a handful over all the millennia,” he said softly. There was a strange light in his eyes and Cas studied his expression carefully.

“That didn’t answer my question.”

And in response to that, Gabriel only smiled.

Part 2

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