#Fly Ash Database

[chemanalystdata]

Fly Ash Prices, News, Trend, Graph, Chart, Monitor and Forecast

Fly Ash, a byproduct of coal combustion in power plants, has gained significant commercial value due to its applications in construction, cement, and infrastructure development. The market for fly ash has witnessed considerable fluctuations in pricing, influenced by various economic, environmental, and regulatory factors. The global shift towards sustainable and eco-friendly building materials has fueled the demand for fly ash, making its price trend a critical aspect for stakeholders in the construction and energy industries.

One of the primary factors affecting fly ash prices is its availability, which is directly linked to coal-based power generation. With many countries transitioning to renewable energy sources, coal-fired power plants are being phased out, leading to a reduction in fly ash supply. This supply constraint has resulted in price hikes in several regions, especially where coal dependency is declining. Additionally, stricter environmental regulations have impacted the operations of power plants, causing a decline in fly ash production and an increase in costs for handling and processing.

Another key driver of fly ash prices is the demand from the construction industry. Fly ash is a crucial component in cement and concrete production due to its pozzolanic properties, which enhance durability and reduce carbon footprint. The surge in infrastructure development projects across emerging economies has led to a heightened demand for fly ash, further influencing its market value. In regions experiencing rapid urbanization and industrialization, such as India and Southeast Asia, fly ash prices have remained relatively high due to strong construction sector activity. Conversely, in areas with stagnant infrastructure growth, prices tend to be more stable or even decline.

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Transportation and logistics costs play a pivotal role in determining the overall price of fly ash. Since fly ash is often transported from power plants to construction sites, the distance and mode of transportation significantly impact pricing. Rising fuel costs and supply chain disruptions, particularly in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic, have added to the logistical expenses, making fly ash more expensive in certain markets. Countries with well-developed transportation infrastructure have a competitive advantage in maintaining lower fly ash prices compared to regions where logistical challenges persist.

Government policies and incentives also have a notable impact on fly ash pricing trends. Many governments have implemented regulations promoting the utilization of fly ash in construction to reduce environmental hazards associated with its disposal. In some regions, subsidies and tax incentives for fly ash-based products have helped stabilize prices and encourage its widespread use. On the other hand, regulatory restrictions on emissions and waste disposal have imposed additional costs on producers, which are often passed down to consumers, leading to price variations.

The presence of alternative materials in the construction industry also affects the price dynamics of fly ash. Supplementary cementitious materials (SCMs) such as ground granulated blast furnace slag (GGBFS) and silica fume serve as substitutes for fly ash in concrete applications. When the availability of these alternatives increases, fly ash demand can experience a decline, causing downward pressure on prices. However, in markets where fly ash remains the preferred choice due to its cost-effectiveness and performance benefits, prices continue to exhibit resilience.

Regional disparities in fly ash pricing are evident due to differences in energy policies, industrial activity, and supply chain networks. In the United States, for example, the ongoing retirement of coal-fired power plants has led to reduced fly ash availability, causing price surges in certain states. In contrast, countries like China and India, which still rely heavily on coal-based energy, have maintained a steady supply of fly ash, keeping prices relatively stable. However, as these nations gradually shift towards cleaner energy sources, a long-term price increase is anticipated.

The role of technological advancements in fly ash processing has also influenced market prices. Innovations in fly ash beneficiation, which improve its quality and usability, have led to higher costs for processed fly ash. Companies investing in advanced separation and classification technologies are able to offer high-grade fly ash with better performance characteristics, commanding premium prices in the market. Meanwhile, untreated or low-quality fly ash is often available at a lower cost, but its usability remains limited, especially in high-strength concrete applications.

Economic factors such as inflation, currency fluctuations, and trade policies contribute to fly ash price volatility. Inflationary pressures have led to an increase in raw material costs, labor wages, and transportation expenses, all of which have driven up the overall cost of fly ash. Additionally, global trade dynamics, including import-export restrictions and tariffs, have created price disparities across different regions. In markets where domestic production of fly ash is insufficient, reliance on imports can lead to higher costs due to shipping fees and import duties.

Sustainability concerns and environmental awareness have further shaped the fly ash market, influencing both demand and pricing trends. As industries seek greener alternatives, the use of fly ash in carbon-reducing initiatives has gained traction. The development of geopolymer concrete, which utilizes fly ash as a primary ingredient, has increased its market value, especially in regions prioritizing sustainability. Companies adopting circular economy principles by repurposing industrial waste, including fly ash, have also contributed to maintaining a steady demand, keeping prices from declining significantly.

Market forecasts suggest that fly ash prices will continue to be influenced by the ongoing energy transition, regulatory policies, and construction sector growth. As coal-fired power plants continue to shut down in various parts of the world, supply constraints will likely persist, leading to further price increases. However, technological innovations in ash beneficiation, along with government initiatives promoting its utilization, could help balance supply-demand dynamics. Additionally, the expansion of alternative energy sources such as waste-to-energy plants may provide new avenues for fly ash production, mitigating the impact of coal plant closures.

Overall, the fly ash market remains dynamic, with pricing trends shaped by multiple interrelated factors. Stakeholders, including construction firms, policymakers, and energy producers, must stay informed about these market developments to navigate potential challenges and capitalize on emerging opportunities. With sustainability becoming a key driver of industrial practices, the role of fly ash in reducing environmental impact is expected to remain a focal point, ensuring its relevance in the global market for years to come.

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[literaryvein-reblogs]

Do you have any ‘rare’ supernatural creatures?

Writing Ideas: Rare Supernatural Creatures

Bokkenrijders: Little is known about these figures from Dutch folklore, who called the name of the devil to summon flying goats that they would ride through the air, to practice untold acts of mischief. The name — "goat riders" in Dutch — was applied in the 18th century to bands of robbers that wild rumors described as the terrifying, flying goat riders of legend. Men suspected of being bokkenrijders were tortured and executed, with accusations condemning 31 people from a single municipality in Belgium between 1744 and 1776, the Belgian website Flanders Today reported.

Draugr: The resurrected corpses of Viking warriors, were terrifying, zombie-like mythical creatures that roamed the world searching for their victims. They could be clearly recognized by the stench of rotting flesh and their deathly black or blue skin. The draugr possessed staggering strength, could increase their body size as they wished, and haunted the dreams of the living. In some versions of the myth, these undead mythological creatures were also thought to have several magical powers such as shapeshifting, premonitions, and weather control. The only motivation for these bloodthirsty creepy creatures was to slaughter any living being, whether humans or livestock, to satiate their thirst for flesh and blood. The draugr condition appeared to be contagious, like modern ideas of zombies, as those killed by the draugr would resurrect themselves as these creatures. The draugr were pretty indestructible, and the only way to kill them was through decapitation, incineration of the body, and discarding of the ashes in the sea.

Finfolk: In the Orkney Islands, an archipelago off the northeastern coast of Scotland, people once whispered of the Finfolk, a tribe of sorcerers and shapeshifters who were skilled at boating and who could bend the ocean to their will. Finfolk could live underwater or on land, though their permanent home was usually described as a marvelous city at the bottom of the ocean, and they would venture into towns and villages to steal humans as husbands or wives, according to Orkneyjar, a nonprofit website describing Orkney history and folklore.

Futakuchi-onna: This eerie creature looks like an ordinary woman, but has a ravenous second mouth on the back of her head, hidden by her hair. The mouth is insatiable; it gorges on any food it can find, fed by animated strands of the woman's hair, and usually appears as a punishment afflicting people who are extremely greedy or stingy, according to Yokai.com, an online database of Japanese ghosts and monsters.

Gashadokuro: Gigantic mythological creatures amalgamated from the bones of human skeletons in Japanese mythology. In situations of mass death, such as famines or wars, individuals could not receive proper funeral rites and thus were unable to move on after death. As their bodies decayed, their souls became twisted with wrath and resentment towards the living. Their souls and bones merged into one enormous being called a Gashadokuro, translated as the “starving skeleton.” Terrifyingly silent, aside from the unnerving chattering of their teeth, these mythical creatures skulked around deep in the night, looking for their prey. Finding their victim, they decapitated them and drank their blood. A Gashadokuro would continue terrorizing the night until the resentment of every soul residing within the creature had dwindled, no longer animating the skeletal monster.

Mare: In Norse mythology, a mare was a demonic spirit who had the ability to induce nightmares in sleeping people. During the night, this mythological creature would sneak into a person’s home through their keyhole. Climbing upon the chest of the sleeping individual, they would provoke terrifying nightmares based upon the sleeper’s fears and anxieties. Their victim would experience a heavy weight on their chest, awareness of a dark presence, and find themselves unable to move or wake up, an ancient mythological explanation of what is now known as sleep paralysis. A mare was considered a female demon who was typically depicted as either a youthful, beautiful woman or an old, hideous hag.

Nuckelavee: The Scottish Nuckelavee is a "skinless centaur" with a snout like a pig's that expels gusts of steam, a single enormous eye, and arms that drag upon the ground, according to the "Encyclopedia of Fairies in World Folklore and Mythology" (McFarland, 2013). It lives in the ocean and can kill people by breathing on them, leading them to waste away and eventually die.

Penanggalan: In Malay myth, a Penanggalan was once a mortal woman who performed witchcraft and black magic. A popular version of the myth states that one woman agreed to become vegetarian for 40 days in exchange for youthful beauty. Ultimately, she broke her pact and was cursed to become a flesh-eating Penanggalan. During the day, she resembled an ordinary woman, but at night, her head would detach from her body, floating around with her trailing entrails. This disembodied figure flew around searching for sustenance in the form of pregnant women and infants, draining them of their blood; those fed on by this vampiric creature ended up contracting a fatal disease. Returning to her abode, a Penanggalan would soak herself in vinegar to shrink her organs back into her body. A Penanggalan, therefore, could be recognized during the day by this tell-tale smell of vinegar.

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

List of Legendary Beasts & Monsters

Medieval Beasts (1) (2)

You can find more in the sources. Once you've chosen your preferred creature/s as story inspiration, doing more research on them is advisable. Hope this helps with your writing!

[kabr0ztrousers]

Please please write a part 2 to the corrupted angel story, it was so good. Maybe a fem angel and a different type of demon? Dealers choice because I can't think of any demons

Kabr0z Writes Episode 156: Angels and Demons, part 3

Also entitled: Outnumbered

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology, including parts 1 and 2 here!

Ao3!

CWs: Group sex; oral sex; corruption; noncon becoming enthusiastic consent; lots of fluids;

A/N: I think I screwed up with which prompt I went for for part 2... Ah well, this one's a little more permissive so we can fulfil the other anon's desire for a group of more warlike demons having their way with a pure-hearted (if slightly rash) angel

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The message was loud and clear. A poem, well written on its own merits, but heavily laden with encrypted meaning. It's a good trick, setting up book ciphers to correspond to works that never saw the light of day, but still found their ways into the Heavenly Database. Carmine left a record of what she did and why, consulting with a demon to try and find Oriniel. She also said not to come looking for her, but you’d be damned before you let that happen.

You knew where this asshole Silusirex lived, a particularly bleak corner of perdition. You just needed backup.

“You don't get it!�� You slapped the piece of paper with the annotated poem onto Michael's desk “We've lost two angels already, and I'll bet both of them to demons! We need to rescue Carmine, she must've found something, and then we can get Oriniel back too!”

Michael pinched the sides of his nose “She summoned a powerful augur, knowing the risks, in direct contravention to the law. We can't justify sending angels in, mobilisation could lead to a full-scale conflict with Hell. We don't even have evidence that either of them are still alive.” He sighed “Request denied. Don't bring it up again, not to me, not to the other angels. The existence of this poem is now classified, well above your pay grade.”

You left the office. Michael was a Principality, it was a risk coming to him and not your direct report, but you knew if anything was to happen you'd need to. The forces of Heaven loved to call things immaculate or divine, but the bureaucracy wasn't any faster here than anywhere else. You understood his meaning perfectly. He couldn't authorise a mobilisation of angels. He couldn't risk a demonic retaliation, which was bound to happen if a regiment of angelic warriors descended upon the abyss. If you were to go down there on your own, find your comrade and bring them home. There'd be a promotion in it for you when you got back, doubly so if you got useful intel on Oriniel’s whereabouts. If anyone would have it, it'd be that augur.

The armoury was clear, shockingly so. You grinned. Michael's doing, you'd bet. One breastplate, winged helm, shield and flaming sword later you were ready for your journey. Traditionally, one would go to a landing zone to takeoff but you were flying off the books today. A window overlooking the endless vista of Heaven would do, nothing but empty sky above and below, stretching on forever and ever. Heaven didn't have the same knack for expanding as Hell, initially only made to hold less than 200,000 honoured dead. Time, it seems, made fools of everyone - even seemingly all-knowing architects.

You dove. If anyone was looking at your window, they would've seen a streak of light and flame. A comet, hurtling at the speed of sound, then stillness. Your path was clear. Descend until you saw it.

You sped up as you fell. No pesky laws of physics limiting you A trailing sonic boom heralded your coming to those you'd passed seconds ago. The air turned to sulphur. Prickly heat covered your skin. Ashes on the wind dried your mouth. Definitely Hell.

The Augury of the Ashen Radiant wasn't subtle. A million miles of ash and dust, flat and level as a millpond surrounded a pit a thousand miles wide. Structures clung to the rim of the hole, an abyss rumoured to stretch down forever. Suspended in the very centre, accessible only to those with some means to fly was the Augury itself. A perfectly dark needle hidden against the all-consuming pit. Somewhere between a university campus and a gated community in Sodom, this is where the demons would be, at least all the ones worth the effort of talking to.

Between the radiant halo, fiery weapon and shining auric attire you were the vision of a capital-A Angel, no hiding it. That conspicuousness could be a benefit though, nobody's about to challenge the lady with the shining gear and the sword that looks like it could permanently end a creature made of metaphor and belief. Permanent discorporation is unpleasant, and the threat of it would get you inside. From there you just had to hope nobody called your bluff.

First is the landing pad. You blew past the first couple of demons. They didn't even bother challenging you, either your purposeful stride or impressive getup dissuaded them from trying anything. Then through the double doors into the facility proper.

Inside was a far cry from the academia you expected. Every flat surface was covered in two or more demons rutting into one another, not even noticing the angel walking amongst them. It was almost disappointing, until you saw him.

Sitting there, drinking from a goblet, overlooking his domain while a slave demon knelt between his open legs, head bobbing in his lap. You’d read his last known appearance in the archives, flat white skin, a blank void in place of his face, and looking at how the slave was struggling, the stereotypically large phallus demons tended to favour.

“Ah, Angel. You have travelled far to my august institute, pray tell why?” His voice was slimy, just hearing it made you feel violated, wrong.

You brandished your sword “You kidnapped my friend! I want her back, and I want to know what happened to Oriniel” The swordpoint levelled at the demon, flames dancing down the length of the blade. Demons were staring at you, distracted from their mindless fucking by the noise and your weapon. Good. Being subtle wasn’t part of your plan, terrifying a roomful of demons into doing what you want is as good an option as any.

“On the contrary, sweet angel, your friend came to me willingly, and stayed of her own accord. Say hello, sweetheart”

The attendant demon stood from between his legs. Tall and shapely, pale skin criss-crossed with vivid red welts and scars. It was only when she turned to you that you recognised her; her almond eyes, round face, softly pouting lips. Changed, corrupted into a cock-drunk demon whore. Still unmistakably Carmine. Her legs wobbled slightly as she descended the steps to you, fluids dripping from her naked crotch down her leg, leaving a thin trail behind her. Your sword hissed as the flames branded the back of her hand, gently pushing the blade aside to bring her too-shiny lips to your ear “We’re gonna make you one of us. You’re gonna hate it so very much, then you’re gonna love it so much you’ll wonder how you ever did without.”

Your sword flashed as you stepped back, pointing it at your former friend’s laughing face.

Hands settled on your shoulders.

You swung wildly, trying to catch whatever demon had dared touch you, but he was faster. The sword clattered from your grip onto the floor as more of them gathered around. Dozens of eyes were on you, monstrous forms in all shapes and sizes turning from their partners to focus on the fresh meat that just walked into your midst. Almost as varied as the demons was the array of penises you saw, all of them long and thick in every shape and size. Most were flared or knotted, emulating the shapes of equines or canines, some were barbed like a cat, yet others twisted into spirals or tapered into great, flopping cones.

Your wings flapped, trying to make for the door and escape. Suddenly you realised why Michael was so reluctant to send a flight of angels here. The demons were uncountable, and every single one of them was hungry.

Flying was a bad call. No sooner had you picked up airspeed a great hulking beast of a demon barred your way. Your wings were immobile in his hand, writhing out of the vicelike grip was impossible. You could only slap at his compatriots while they expertly unblocked your cuirass, lifted your helmet, confiscated your shield. All that remained was your cassock, normally a stout piece of utilitarian fabric, but here and now it might as well have been made of gossamer.

Indeed, the first bladed arm to land across you tore it to shreds almost instantly. No angel ever wants to be seen naked, but here you were. Each of your wrists and ankle were held by individual demons, spreading you apart for the one that was Carmine to have easy access to your crotch.

She touched you. Her hand was soft and cold, like silk. You shuddered, warmth blossoming within you. “Please” you begged her “Not there, not like this”

Not-Carmine laughed “You angels, always so stuffy. I’m glad you found my poem. I’m glad you didn’t follow my advice” Her finger slid inside “And I’m so very, very glad you came here like a good little girl”

Your body twisted from side to side as you struggled to escape, but try as you might you couldn't wrench a wrist free. If you craned your neck you could see your fallen sword, inert and lifeless on the floor. The finger was deep inside you, softly stroking and teasing. You screwed your eyes shut, reciting chants and prayers, trying to shut out the impending wave of pleasure the fiend was slowly building within you

“Just relax, cutie, I can feel you want it. Even if you don't know it yet. By the time we're done with you, you’ll be begging for more” Her voice was honeyed, sweet and flowing. She wasn't wrong. Part of you wanted to cum, to feel the release denied to all angels.

The rest of you wanted to get out of here. Still struggling, you screamed in protest, limbs burning with exertion.

A large demon stepped up to your face, slapping your cheek with his cock “If that's how you'll respond to our hospitality, I’d better keep the peace. Now open wide, or this'll go worse for you”

Of course, your jaw clenched shut. Hatred burned in your eyes as you stared up at him.

Carmine knew what to do. A kiss on your clit made you gasp, opening your mouth for just a second, allowing the flared cock entry. She stepped aside, her fingers leaving you as another demon took her place. A thick, heavy bitchbreaker of a phallus slapped against your cunt, each strike of the bulbous head against your clit making you twitch. Its owner lined it up, pausing slightly at the entrance, before slamming it home.

The cock in your mouth muffled your scream. Both ends of your body were full, each cock driving as hard as they could, not caring about your pleasure as they used you.

Carmine was at your ear now “It feels good, doesn't it? Relax. Really feel them, you'll learn to love it soon”

Tears welled in your eyes, shaken loose by the jolting treatment the demons were giving you. The pressure in your belly was building, every time the thick cock in your cunt bulged your tummy, you felt yourself getting a little closer. Every thrust of the flared cock down your throat you felt more, and hurt less.

Your body shook. As though you were nothing but a single exposed nerve.

Carmen took the coup de grace. Soft fingertips, eerily cold, ivory smooth, caressed your thighs, drawing to your stretched open cunt. You tried to shake your head, to beg her to stop, but she wouldn't care, even if she could understand you through the gurgling slurping sounds coming from your throat and cunt. Those cold fingers slid over your clit, pinching it between her index and middle finger, rubbing gently in circles.

It was too much. Your knees buckled and shook, your pelvis thrusting up into her hand, riding the cock hammering into you. Above your head, you heard the sound of hot metal being pressed against dry ice, before cracking and splintering.

You clenched yourself against the demons, willing them to finish. As if obeying your wordless command, the one in your throat throbbed and pulsed, his balls clenching in front of your face before a wave of thick cum pumped into your mouth. You couldn't swallow it all, despite what you wanted. Rivulets of his seed flowed out of the sides of your mouth and from your nose, coming in waves with every pulse until finally he pulled out.

“Who's next?” Your voice was unfamiliar to you. Not just from the cum coating your throat, it was deeper, more sonorous.

You weren't satisfied. You wouldn't be until you’d tasted every single demon here, and maybe not even then. One thing's for sure:

It's going to be a long night

[amessageonthewind]

Gym Badges

Gym Badges can do far more than just signify a Trainer’s progress within their Gym Challenge. They can do multiple things, including even raising certain stats of a Trainer’s Pokémon.

Certain Badges can grant permissions to Trainers to perform tasks such as cutting down trees, breaking rocks, moving boulders, and even flying and riding a Pokémon across the water. Non-Trainers can be loaned temporary Badges for professional use for such reasons by the Gyms. The League does this to be able monitor and maintain local ecosystems and keep the delicate balance from being disrupted by Trainers and companies. Some companies, however, are exempt from this rule such as the Devon Corp.

Stronger Pokémon have a chance of disobeying their Trainers, especially ones who have been traded to other Trainers. Gym Badges grant Trainers the confidence to be able to command these stronger Pokémon and these Pokémon, in turn, are more inclined to obey their Trainers as they get stronger with this increasingly gained confidence that earning Gym Badges grants them.

All Trainers are required to collect eight Gym Badges before being eligible to challenge the Elite Four and the Champion as well as participate in the League Conference to be scouted as Gym Leaders if there is a vacancy that cannot be filled otherwise. Trainers that have collected eight Gym Badges are added to a local Trainer database that are then contacted when a League Conference is scheduled to be conducted by the Pokémon League.

Should a Gym Leader be changed and has a desire to change the Gym itself or the Badge, a Gym Leader can commission the Pokémon League to make a new one to give out to Trainers. An example is if a Fire-type Gym Leader retires and the next Gym Leader that takes their place is a Grass-type Gym Leader and wishes to change the Gym and the Badge. This doesn’t happen too often, but it’s not unheard of and so long as the Gym type doesn’t overlap with any other existing ones, it is allowed.

Some Gyms and Gym Leaders are more focused on a theme than on a specific type, which is also allowed by the League depending on the circumstances. Notable examples are Striaton City in Unova, which is themed around the Grass-Fire-and-Water-type triangle, and Hammerlocke City in Galar, which is themed around sandstorms.

Taglist:

@earth-shaker / @little-miss-selfships / @xelyn-craft / @sarahs-malewives / @brahms-and-lances-wife

-

@ashes-of-a-yume / @cherry-bomb-ships / @kiawren / @kingofdorkville / @bugsband

Let me know if you'd like to be added/removed from my taglist :3

[chef-mordo]

Hyper-Species Database Entry #002 | Radon kashiwagii (“Rodan”)

Species: Radon kashiwagii (Rodan)

Subtitle: The Fire Demon

First Modern Sighting: December 26, 1956

Temporal Range: 156-0 Ma

Height: 111.43 Metres

Wingspan: 361.52 Metres

Weight: 42,634.601 Tonnes

Category: 5

The fastest of Earth’s native species, Rodan are a massive species of highly derived hyper-faunal pterosaur, a true relic from Earth’s ancient past. It is believed that the Rodan species diverged from rhamphorhynchid pterosaurs sometime in the mid-Jurassic when ancestors of the species had somehow acquired G-Cells. It is thought that its ancestors nested within volcanoes and gradually developed a bio-volcanic nature by absorbing bursts of radiation occasionally emitted through underground caves and tunnels within these volcanoes through their lower wings and storing it in their middle crest. The radiosynthesis done by Rodan is very similar to that of the Gojira species, though the process is far less efficient. As such, the species has to also rely on gaining nutrients from hunting other large fauna and it is believed that many individuals currently lie dormant in areas with high-levels of radiation to recharge. Due to the bio-volcanic nature of Rodan, their inner organs can reach temperatures of nearly 1 '300 degrees Celsius. Though their body insulates most of this heat, it is additionally vented through their lower wings to prevent internal combustion, causing a trail of potential airborne ash and magma to be released during flight. The presence of a hydrogen sac connected to the lungs of Rodan also brings into question why such a similar organ with a similar purpose to the one within the Godzilla species exists. Thought it may simply be a product of convergent evolution, the implications of it are much less straightfoward.

Rodan exhibits corvid-like levels of intelligence and can replicate many sounds. The species has been documented mimicking the sounds of whales, fog horns, earthquakes, storms, and even other kaiju. It’s additionally been discovered that Rodan are capable of interspecies communication through variety of vocalisations and gestures. Despite the low number of documented Rodan; likely due to the general size of the species, the kaiju are believed to be a very social species. It would seem that the species mates for life as the first two recorded Rodan in modern history seemed to be a mated couple; even prior to emerging from dormancy. The fact that the original male rodan often spent time roosting near Godzilla Junior and spots he would often frequent after the death of his mate seems to reinforce the idea of Rodan being a social species, even among other species.

Rodan seem to have much less durable bodies than most other kaiju, likely due to the limitations of being fast fliers. Despite this, they are still impervious to conventional weaponry, though it has been show to irritate the kaiju. One major defensive capability possessed by the Rodan species is the tightly packed sharp pycnofiber quills on their underbelly. Rodan are known to be the fastest of Earth’s native kaiju, with a current max speed of Mach 5.2. When flying at high speeds close to the ground, the species has been known to cause “cyclonic drift streams”, shockwaves capable of leveling entire cities. And though the kaiju prefer to often avoid conflicts when alone or against much stronger opponents, they also have many specialized offensive abilities, including:

Supersonic Divebomb: The intelligence of the Rodan species cannot be understated as they seem to be aware of the destruction caused by their cyclonic wind drafts. In fact, they seem to utililize this capability in combat; soaring thousands of feet into the air and diving down at top speed before pulling up at the last second, sending shockwaves equivalent to those produced by a small nuclear weapon. 

Volcanic Lightning Ray: The maximum output of Rodan’s offensive capabilities, the kaiju expel radiation stored in their center crest into their mouths, inflating their gular pouch. In addition, they begin to create distortions in the air, manipulating the electric charge of surrounding atoms causing the area around their beak and horns to become charged with powerful static electricity. Finally, the kaiju release the contents of their hydrogen sac into their mouth as they open their beak, the reaction with the radiation causing scorching “heat beams” somewhat akin to Godzilla's atomic breath. These heat beams disrupt the static electricity causing an effect similar to volcanic lightning to follow the ray, creating a devestatic explosive and electrically charged blast upon impact.

[edutainer2022]

This turned out sadder, than I expected. Oh well... Virgil gets to contemplate Renaissance art as Scott finds a baby in the earthquake debris. John makes a brief, bit meaningful appearance. There be angst and melancholy, and lots of Earth and Sky love.

CW: mention of earthquake and destruction; mention of a minor character death in an earthquake

BABY BLUES

Their tech would undoubtedly blur the image for security purposes, but Virgil made a point to commit the sight to memory. It didn't get more awe-inspiring or symbolic than a figure in blue, ascending into the air from the smoking pile of rubble and ashes, a small bundle cradled in a sure arm, against the backdrop of a cloudless sky, the blazing sun providing a natural halo around the stunning visage. It made Virgil think back to the stained glass windows and frescoes he got see for the first time in Rome, dragging his grumpy brothers around and pulling every favor and blackmail chip to see more of what Renaissance had to offer to an aspiring artist.

Scott landed next to Virgil, killing the jetpack, and the bundle in his arms made its presence known with a wail, breaking the spell. A baby! The sole survivor, apparently, of that building collapse in an earthquake. A baby boy, to be precise. He made it, thanks to his mother throwing herself over the crib. The crashed ceiling didn't leave her any chance. Rendered quiet in the face of an abject tragedy, that hit them all close to home, Virgil concentrated on assessing the baby for possible injuries and smoke inhalation. That was a bit of a problem as Scott was yet to relinquish the hold of the child. Parallel to Virgil's ministrations he knew John or Eos would be already running the database checks for any relatives, hopefully a father or grandparents. The first sweep came up empty fairly quickly - the owner of the demolished house was never married nor had any close relatives listed. The baby boy's birth certificate registered no information on the father, but did give them a name - Jeffrey. Jeff. Talk about symbolism.

Miraculously, the medscan flashed nothing more aggravating than yellow - baby Jeffrey escaped the ordeal relatively unscathed. Still, they had to get the child to Two's infirmary and then to a nearest hospital STAT. Babies were extremely fragile, especially in a danger zone like this. Virgil reached to transfer the now somewhat quietened baby to his hold, but, to his surprise Scott wouldn't let go. He shifted the small weight to one arm and with a flick of one hand slaved One to TB2 controls to fly in formation, turning on his heel and marching to the green bird, a baffled Virgil in tow.

Virgil busied himself with fixing a tiniest oxygen cannula on the fussing boy, as Scott materialized once again with a blanket and a bottle of formula, picking the baby up. They kept all kinds of supplies in Two, for all kinds of rescuees, of course, still Virgil found himself pausing in surprise again. Scott waved him away to pilot, his focus completely on the now happily munching little Jeffrey. Virgil turned one more time before leaving for the cockpit, catching Scott features soften and glow the way he only remembered the biggest brother look at a much younger Alan.

Virgil's heart constricted at the weight of everything their brother gave up, was still giving up every minute of every day, to be what they all and the whole world around needed of him. Part of his mind wandered into the forbidden territory of calculating if they could successfully baby-proof the villa. Or maybe not so forbidden? They had the resources and the manpower of responsible adults (well, almost) at home now, right? It takes a village, they say. Well, they did have a small taskforce of people completely dedicated to making sure Scott got every ounce of happiness and fulfillment he deserved, regardless of his take on the matter. It could work. Safely in the cockpit, Virgil pinged John over an isolated channel.

Baby Jeffrey was placed in the pediatric ward for an overnight quarantine and observation. Virgil hung out nearby, as Scott stayed, transfixed, by the huge bay window, overlooking the rows of tiny beds. Two would need to leave soon to pick up Gordon and Alan in their pods - the earthquake mission was almost wrapped up - but there was still time. He certainly didn't want to startle or hurry Scott away. Not now.

A cry down the hospital hallway disrupted the quiet reverie. Both Virgil and Scott turned their heads in the direction of the sound as a young man, not much older than Scott, practically flung himself at the IR Commander and sobbed. Virgil's first instinct was to regroup for danger, but there was no menace in the stranger's fierce hug - only relief, gratitude and sadness. The man couldn't seem to stop weeping on Scott's shoulder, a jumble of frantic thankyous and I'msorries muffled by the IR uniform. The man was baby Jeffrey's father. John was exceptionally good at data analytics and cross-reference. A part of Virgil, he wasn't particularly proud of in that moment, wished he weren't. But it was just as well. They had a huge spat with a then fiancée and broke up - she never got to tell him they were expecting. John examined the data through the late mother's social media and financial records, ran the numbers and identified the man in the neighborhood, thankfully, unaffected by the earthquake. The guy was shaken by the grave news, but extatic to meet his son and adamant to step up. Which he did immediately, rushing to the hospital and pouring out all the emotional turmoil to the leader of IR who saved his baby. Virgil nudged Scott away by the elbow, gently, as Jeffrey's Dad took over the vigil by the ward. Where he belonged.

Gordon reported they were ready for the pick-up, and generally ready to leave that particular disaster behind them, but Virgil still lingered where Two and One were parked in the field. Scott was yet to say anything after they left the hospital and was staring up at the sky. It was the kind of wistful gaze that usually filled Virgil with dread - as if Scott was not all there, missing something up, amidst the endless blue, as opposed to staying on sturdy earth with them. Virgil summoned all the courage he could and ventured to speak first:

- You can have that, you know? - he nodded in the general direction of the hospital, the baby they left behind. Virgil found his conviction strengthen, as he spoke. - You CAN. If you want to, you can start a family. We'll all help!

Any adoption agency would fall over themselves if Scott Tracy as much as blinked their way. And any child could not be luckier to have Scott Tracy for a father. If Virgil ever believed in anything, that was their biggest brother was born to be a Dad. He only wished the biggest brother in question shared that faith.

Scott shook his head slightly, in cadence with some unvoiced thoughts, his eyes not leaving the skies:

- I shouldn't. I should've known better.

Virgil took a sharp breath for a vehement contradiction, but the wrist-com blinked blue - John was inquiring their ETA to the original danger zone.

Scott looked back down on him with a rueful smile, that threw all Virgil's panic stations into red alert:

- Go, pick up the Tinies, Virgie. Go!

For the second time that day he was reminded of the art in Rome, when looking at his brother - the serene bliss and detachment of martyrs and saints, captured in marble.

- Aren't you coming, Scotty? Let's go home. Please! Please!

Virgil found his voice cracking into a plea, small and scared, as his hands moved to clasp, almost spasm, around his brother's. He wasn't above adding the biggest, teary puppy eyes to a litany of begging, in an irrational hope of compelling Scott to follow the cue. If they could just go home now, it would be alright. It will all be alright from there.

Scott returned the gentle squeeze of the hands and shifted his eyes back to the sky:

- It's okay, Virgil. I'll stay at Gran Roca tonight. I need to talk to Mom.

***

Fifty two thousand miles above John mused, not for the first time, that Open Comms was, by far, the best of their protocols - that, and the compatibility of all their crafts with all their properties - as he gave Eos instructions to reposition Five over the family estate and to prepare the space elevator for a trip down. Noone was wallowing and mourning a self-professed lost chance at fatherhood alone tonight.

[stardustspell]

Title: These Little Broken Things Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Relationship: Loki (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s) Rating: E WC: 2.8k

Summary: Senator Anna Selvig, daughter of astrophysicist Erik Selvig, has dedicated her political career to protecting her constituents however she can. When the Avengers recruit Loki Laufeyson, the demigod who used the mind stone on her father, things get personal. When she filibusters the Hero Act, a bill that would make the Avengers a cornerstone to Earth's defense against metahuman and extraterrestrial threats alike, she presents an amendment to put Loki on parole. The public turns on her, putting her political career on the chopping block.

When Tony Stark steps in with an idea to help her win back the love of her constituents and change her mind about Loki, Anna is forced to look at the person the demigod has become in the years after the attack on New York. Will sparks fly between them, or will Loki burn everything Anna knows and loves to ash?

Start Chapter 1 here

“You really should take a little more caution when entering a room, Senator Selvig,” a refined voice said. A chill ran down my spine and I swiveled around to find a tall, pale man in a black suit lounging languidly in the chaise adjacent to the couch in the living room.

Laufeyson.  

He’d been right under my nose, and I hadn’t even noticed him. I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin, doing my best to not look as shaken as I felt. “If you don’t leave now, I’m going to call the police,” I warned, holding up my phone and hovering my finger over the emergency call button to show him I meant business. A smirk flitted over his beautiful face, and he leaned forward—steepling his fingertips together. 

“Now, now, Anna,” he said chidingly. “There’s no need for that, I just want to talk.” 

“How did you get my address?” I demanded, hating the slow, condescending way he said my name.

“The Avengers’ database is fairly comprehensive,” he replied, sitting back in the chaise as if it were his own personal throne.

“Do any of the others know you’re here?” I asked. Loki shook his head. This probably meant that he was probably here to threaten me. “You have five minutes,” I said darkly, folding my arms over my chest. 

“How thoughtful. I do love a quickie.” 

I narrowed my eyes at him, “tick-tock, your highness.” 

[armageddonfm]

welcome to SOL CITY, survivor! please make sure to review the checklist before sending your blog in. once accepted, you have 48 hours to send in your account and post ic. remember your ash mask!

( andrew lincoln, 50, cismale, he/him) — Look who it is! If you take a look at our database, you’ll find that CYRUS FRANKLIN is a a/n CENSUS OVERSEER that works in SECTOR 6. According to the file, they’re a mutant with the power of MUTATION NULLIFICATION & LIE DETECTION. That must be why they’re METICULOUS  and CALLOUS. If you ask me, they remind me of a venus fly trap closing around its prey,leaving behind a token of ill will, and black opium upon their pillow . They are affiliated with THE MONTELL SYNDICATE AS THEIR LEADER. ⸻ played by bird.

[just-a-normal-crow]

The crow fights to remain in the air, the lost feathers proving to have been vital into its ability to fly. It's flight path is errating, but it's able to get distance between itself and the doctor--

Though that success remains short-lived, as the loss in aerial agility proves to be its downfall. It fails to evade the last icicle and is struck in the other wing, falling to the ground with a crash--though isn't immediately destroyed by the impact.

Chassis badly damaged and wings too damaged for another flight, it spends the rest of the night looking for a dark, hidden corner where no one would find it. There, its fail-saves begin to kick in. Everything in its local database is uploaded to Onychinus's servers before a self-destruct sequence begins.

No one can know what it was and where it was from.

By morning, nothing remains of that one surveillance unit other than burnt metal and ash.

(But perhaps the doctor should still remain vigilant; the crow's master is a persistent, stubborn man, after all. It'll be back.)

closed || @zayne-snowman

It is during the veil of night that the crow grows most active. The darkness is its biggest ally in carrying out its assignments, providing an ever-present layer of protection in the form of endless shadow.

Tonight, the crow relies on its ally once more as it awaits its target; a cardiac surgeon named Zayne. Nights of observing the man from the distance told it that he should be coming out of the hospital any moment now. Perhaps tonight’s observations will be more fruitful than the previous nights, even if the crow wasn't sure what it wanted to see. Anything other than endless research and an average man’s night routine, maybe. At best, perhaps the doctor will find himself in the company of a certain Hunter…

The crow watches the hospital doors from its place atop one of the tall lights in Akso's parking lot. There, it is nearly invisible against the night sky as it waits.

[johannstutt413]

(requested by anonymous)

When Lappland woke up that morning, the first thing she noticed was how cold her bed was; the second thing was the Doctor-shaped hole in it; and the third was that it was, in fact, her bed and not his. This series of observations confused her - she’d definitely fallen asleep in his bed last night and had been for the past four months - and so she did what any rational person would do: yell.

“Doctoooor!” The Lupo roamed around her apartment, finding neither hide nor hair of her captive darling...darling captive? He was hers, that was what mattered. “Dooooctooooor! You there, my guy?...No?...Well, shit, where’d he go? I’ll try texting him.”

A rigorous search of her phone told her nothing - or, rather, it told her ALL information related to the Doctor she’d kept on there (contact info, some pictures both safe for work and otherwise, conversations, anything related to him) had been precision-stripped from her device while leaving everything else intact. It was like he’d never existed according to her phone. “Well, fuck. Weird bug, but maybe someone can help me find him. Or fix my phone. One of the two. Seriously, what the fuck happened?”

“Lappland?” A voice at her front door. Since she was wearing pajamas (for some reason), there wasn’t anything to stop her from answering.

“Yeah? Oh, hey, Pipsqueak.” Her ‘affectionate’ name for Sussurro. “What’s up?”

The Vulpo simply gave her a look - not offended, at least not at this hour of the day. “You were calling for a doctor.”

“Huh? No, I was calling for Doctor.”

“The only difference is a definite article in there.” She walked around the Lupo in a tight circle. “Feeling alright?”

Lappland...well, she might as well tell someone what was happening, and Pipsqueak seemed to know something. “You know where The Doctor is?”

“Who are you referring to? Dr. Kal’tsit?” Now Sussurro’s tone was drifting into confusion.

“No, The Doctor.” The Lupo shook her head. “Company hoodie, runs strategy and personal relations, been shacking up with him for the past four months?”

More, deeper confusion. “I’m sorry, Lappland, I don’t know who you’re talking about. Four months, you say?”

“Yeah. Look, he gave me thi- what the fuck?!” There should’ve been a bite mark from the other night on one of her shoulders, but it, too, was gone.

“Calm down, Lappland,” the Vulpo advised. “Would you mind coming with me to my office so we can get this down in writing?”

She certainly did...but she needed her Doctor and she needed him NOW, damnit. At least Pipsqueak wanted to help. “Yeah, sure, whatever brings him back, take me with you.”

“Alright. If you wouldn’t mind stepping in front of me? I’ll tell you when to turn.” With that, the Lupo took the lead, following Sussurro’s directions to Medical, then to a small office near the front.

“Good morning, Dr. Sussurro,” Ptilopsis chirped as they entered the office. “How may we help you?”

The Vulpo gestured to the door. “Close that for us; I’ll be writing a transcript for an exam with Lappland here.”

“An exam? You think I’m lying?”

“Lying, no,” the Medic replied, “but there’s a reason you remember this Doctor person and I don’t- Ptilopsis? Something wrong?”

At the mention of ‘Doctor,’ Tilly had stutter-stepped. “Corrupted database entry found: one file labeled ‘The Doctor.’ Peripheral contamination detected; quarantining affected data...This unit needs to record this infraction.”

“Close the door and record it for the transcript; this is more serious than I thought. Perhaps some kind of cognition hazard...” Sussurro hopped over to where she kept her medical journal, flipped to a fresh page, and began writing furiously.

“You remember him, too, then?” Lappland grabbed the Liberi’s shoulder as she turned away from the now-closed door. “Do you know what happened?! Tell me if you do!”

Ptilopsis shuddered. “This unit apologizes, User Lappland, but this unit’s memory bank has been corrupted. This unit cannot determine the veracity of their data-”

“To hell with that! What. Do. You. Know.” The frenzy was starting to kick in.

“Lappland, control yourself or I will be forced to control you,” Sussurro called from her desk, eyeing her patient with a frown. “Please give us time. We’re working through this together.”

The Lupo growled. “I could throw you across the room and make sure you wouldn’t bounce.”

“I believe that. Ptilopsis, how are you doing?”

“Data recovery complete,” Tilly replied as her eyes changed color. “Assuming direct control.”

Both Vulpo and Vulpo-chucker looked at the Liberi. “Ptilopsis?”

“She realized I was the only one who knew what happened to him, so I’m gonna take over for a minute. Nice to see the outside after all that time cooped up in her head.” She giggled.

“...Ah.” Sussorro reached for her tranquilizer setup. “What happened, then?”

The Other Voice grinned at Lappland. “This is all a dream, lil’ Lappy. Alllll a dream.”

“Then get me the fuck out of it.”

“Oh, I can’t.” ‘Ptilopsis’ opened the door. “Go find Dusk. She’ll get you out.”

The Lupo was gone before the tranq dart landed in the analyst’s neck.

Locating Dusk was actually rather simple: find Saga. “Hey! Saga! Where’s Dusk?”

“Oh! Hail and well met, Miss Lappland!” The Perro gestured to a nearby wall that was curled in on itself - attempted camouflage? Hard to say. “Surely you shall come upon her in here, although she has most graciously asked for a warning-”

“I’ll give her a warning, alright. Thanks.” No further questions; the Lupo charged across the painting’s threshold.

The monk looked on for a moment. “If only I’d spoken more precisely. I meant to give her a warning, not ask her to give one in turn...”

“Ashes to SilverAsh, dust to Dusk!” Lappland called into the inky blackness she’d found waiting for her. “I don’t know why I’m here, but you’d better take me back quickly!”

“Even a facsimile of Saga can’t help but be helpful, it seems. Will you stop shouting so much if I send you back?” The Dusk addressed her without revealing herself.

Her visitor, though, knew exactly where she was. “You’re my world’s Dusk?”

“Obviously.” The artist waited. “So?”

“Take me back, or my shouting will be the least of your problems.” Lappland’s hand was pressed against the back of her neck.

Dusk sighed. “A thousand rivers will dry before a drop of my blood meets the earth. You really think-”

“I don’t.” The Lupo struck the Dusk’s back with her other hand in three very specific places, and her victim fell forward. “I also found the exit while you were replying. You’ll be back on your feet in an hour. The next time you do this, you’re dead.”

“Ah...So this is where she took her?” The Doctor was standing in front of a conspicuous, swirling void made of paint.

Saga nodded. “Verily, I witnessed her in the midst of crossing the threshold. Doctor, thine anger burns brighter than I hath seen.”

“Don’t worry, Saga, I’m not angry.” He cracked his neck. “I’m furious. When I see her-”

“Doctor!!!” Lappland, like a streak of white lightning, bolted across the threshold and sent them both flying into the opposite wall.

Their Perro witness clapped. “Lappland! Thou hast spared Dusk the wrath of thine beloved!”

“Why?” Said beloved’s face was covering her with kisses and secondhand tears at the moment. “Why the fuck did she take you?”

She didn’t have an answer for that, and she didn’t care; much more important was the fact that she was home.

“If I might interject? Lady Dusk oft spoke of Lappland’s cackling having a powerfully distracting effect on her. Mayhaps she found herself incapable of restraining herself and acted out in anger?”

“...Sounds like what she said,” the Lupo muttered in the Doctor’s ear. “Can we go home?”

He squeezed her tightly to his chest before letting her rise to her feet and following suit. “Let’s go home...Saga? Let Dusk know I’ll need to speak with her tomorrow. I see a lot of Orirock in her future, and I’m not talking about her painting a fucking mountain.”

“Um, yes, I shall inform her of thine will post-haste.” Saga took her leave into the ink dimension.

“She’s got another fifty minutes of time-out,” Lappland noted, her entire demeanor muted by relief, both hers and her dearest’s. “Some god...same weak points as a Lung...”

The Doctor squeezed her hand. “Let’s forget about her for the rest of the day, hmm? All that matters right now is that you’re here, and I’m here, and that’s not changing any time soon.”

“Mmm...Yeah. You have my phone on you?”

“Sure do.” He handed it to her, and she opened her photo album. “Everything there?”

The Perro nodded, scrolling until she was satisfactorily reassured that this was the right reality she was in, before putting it away in her pajama pants pocket. Everything was back to the way it should be.

Everything, that is, except for Dusk’s locomotive capabilities, but they’d sort themselves out eventually.

[chemanalystdata]

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[readinginthereadyroom]

I am very aware of my dean-centric tendencies, but I do have various and sundry headcanons for our boy sam winchester:

sam’s an addict. that doesn’t just go away because he stops drinking demon blood. he craves it all. the. time.

and there’s no 12-step program for this. but he does pop into various anonymous meetings while on the road. sometimes it’s alcoholics, sometimes it’s narcotics—doesn’t really matter, since he can’t tell the whole truth anyway. but being around other people who struggle. who fall off the wagon or don’t. it helps.

it’s also where sam’s healthy habits stem from. running is a natural high and his cravings are always worst first thing in the morning. right after dreaming and before coffee.

he’s not a vegetarian, but if he’s honest with himself he knows he’s headed in that direction. he gave up red meat pretty early on. because the thing about demon blood is it’s, well, blood. smokier. with a hint of sulpher. and all it’s mystical, addictive properties. but still blood.

not that he wants to drink human blood. ew, no. he’s not a vampire. but it is a trigger. esp a rare steak with it’s pan-fried sear... that wisp of ash and smoke and... and he doesn’t eat it anymore. no red meats. no bacon. nothing with that awful artificial smoke flavoring. and oddly, hard-boiled eggs.

also he still has psychic powers. nothing big, like telekinesis or prophetic dreams. nothing really even noticable. dean doesn’t notice. just thinks he has good instincts. knows how to dig a case out of a few headlines and some googling. which, yes. that’s just good research. but it’s also a gut feeling. a knowing. that there’s something there before he backs it up with lore.

he’s pretty sure cas knows. will give him one of those head tilt stares when sam’s not paying attention and his fingers fly over the keyboard. just a little too fast. when his first guess is always right. when he complains about having a bad feeling about a case—and then it goes bad.

cas never says anything tho. sam chalks it up to friendship. but also. it’s kinda cas’ way of acknowledging that sam’s powers, slight as they are, are not a problem. are in their own way normal. well, normal for them. for him. just another facet, like his hair, that makes sam sam.

eileen knows, too. he told her, pretty early on, when things started to become serious between them. told her his whole bloody history. terrified she’d look at him in disgust and walk out the bunker door. and never come back.

he should’ve known better.

she took it in stride. then told him her own secrets. things were amazing after that. they had some hunting wins, sam finished an online certification in database infrastructure he’d been working on, eileen and cas were spending more time in the bunker, and dean had found a vintage part for the impala he’d been searching for since they were teenagers. life was good.

until it wasn’t.

sam had gone out so dean and cas could have a date night in. he’d spent some time at the sports shop buying new running shoes and then popped into the used bookstore to pick up the books he’d ordered. he got back to the bunker late and cas and dean were (thankfully) no where to be found.

but the remnants of their dinner was still on the table. smiling, sam blew out the candles and picked up the dishes to take them to kitchen. he noticed the smell immediately. steak. rare. the kitchen reeked of smoke. he beat a hasty retreat, took a few deep breaths, and went to his room. let dean clean up his own mess in the morning.

it was about 3am when eileen got in. she’d been on a demon hunt with jody and sam had been expecting her. so he just rolled over and let her climb into bed. she threw a bandaged arm over his side, tracing OK onto his back to let him know she was fine, before promptly falling asleep. sam did too.

he woke with a shout. eileen’s side of the bed was empty. his throat felt like he’d swallowed ashes and his nose was clogged with sulpher. he’d been dreaming of ruby. his skin felt two sizes too small. he felt like screaming. or maybe crying. he needed coffee so bad.

wandering to the kitchen he found dean making bacon and eggs, humming under his breath. cas was at the table, reading a book, a giant glass of V8 in his hand.

are you kidding me. sam ran his hands thru his hair a couple of times. tried to center himself before grabbing his favorite mug from the cabinet. the air had a burnt smell to it. his mouth watered.

he almost fell out of his chair when eileen came up behind him for a hug. she was freshly showered. her wet hair smelled faintly like vanilla. it was the dark hair that had startled him. his eyes fixed on the too-red of cas’ drink. smoke and blood and sulpher clawing at his nose.

eileen kept a gentle hand on his bicep, but took a step out of his personal space. dean stopped humming. cas stopped reading. they all stared. his knee started bouncing under the table. he beat a hasty retreat.

eileen found him in the library, staring at his open laptop. she sat in the chair next to him. a silent, calm presense. she knew him too well. knew she could wait him out while he got his thoughts in order. and eventually, he did. just started talking. about the smoky kitchen last night. the way her hair had smelled of sulpher when she returned from her hunt. the dream. then the stupid juice and stupid bacon and how stupid it made him feel. how out of control.

with a nod at all the right places, eileen just sat quietly and let him talk. get it all off his chest. when it was clear he was done she called him a dumbass. scolded him for thinking he could this all his own. you’re problems are my problems, sam. you can’t just tell them to me and think I won’t lift a finger to share them.

and share them she did. hauling sam up from bis chair, eileen dragged him to the kitchen where she proceeded to rip dean and cas new ones for being so insensitive. pointing at the fridge, she made dean clean out all the red meat. upended cas’ drink in the sink and sent him to get some air freshner from the store. then she tossed sam in the shower, while she stripped the sheets of their bed and did the laundry.

he felt better after. still on edge, but better. eileen was sitting on the freshly made bed with his laptop open. she signed while talking. she’d found a narcotics anonymous one town over. I think you need a sponsor. for the bad days. like today.

as usual she was right. sam had been thinking the same for a while. eileen was the shove he needed tho. her love and intensity and fierce protectiveness the balm he needed.

it was still a bad day. but it was a little less bad because he had her at his side. sam leaned over to shut the laptop and snuck a kiss to the side of her lips. then he scooped up her hand to kiss her knuckles. a move guaranteed to make her blush.

she shoved him off the bed. now go for your run sam winchester. he laughed and did as he was told.

[coldkryptonitecupcake]

“Abomination”, Ch. 17

  Narvuk ran his hand over the crystalline monolith, watching as soulfire danced under its surface. "Zivath, can you scan these? Perhaps there's something about them that makes them... special." She nodded her shell and a blue cone of light shone out, encompassing the statues one after the other.

  "Looks like standard molecular structure, only real difference is a small amount of... wait, that can't be right." Zivath shook her shell and re-scanned one of the statues as Narvuk cocked his head at her. "I'm getting trace amounts of sterile neutrinos in these!" She flitted over to her Guardian, who looked puzzled. "Right, sorry. Sterile neutrinos are normally found near sites of Taken activity."

  The implications dawned on Narvuk, and he stepped closer to the statue, laying his hand against the cold idol. "I feel nnothing. But these" - he gestured to the faces carved into the top of each statue - "look familiar. There mmust be something that gives names to themm."

  "The soulfire inside, it sounds like words. Eir, Ur--"

  "-- Xol, Yul." Zivath looked over inquisitively as Narvuk finished with her. "How do you know those?"

  "Thosse are the names of the four Worms. They gave our king the Logic, and it is the pact with them that compels us to fight and kill. If our own worms are not fed, they consume us from inside. We kill to survive, not simply to kill," Narvuk explained without looking away from the statue. "None of us asked to be thrust into a life of wwar, as no Guardian asked for a second life. But my people have chosen their path. Now, can we return to the task at hhand?"

  Zivath's shell drooped for a few moments as she turned away to a different statue. "Um, well, there's runes carved in the base of this one. They read 'Visage... of the... Disliked'? No, hold on... Unfavored! 'Visage of the Unfavored'. Aaaaaand this one" - she flew to the third statue - "has runes as well! It says 'Visage of the Scheme-Mother'. Those titles aren't in the database, which is odd. We accessed the World's Grave years ago, so we shouldn't be missing anything."

  She glided back to Narvuk, maneuvering under his arm to get a closer look. "The titles are not familiar to mme. Little Light, I amm sorry for being... terse. My people... they are lost, and none can see it." Zivath half-turned to him, then returned her gaze to the stone. "Zivath, please. I did not mean to dismiss you. I--"

  "Look, I'm trying to translate what may very well be a viral language here, so maybe hold on a minute," she snapped. After a moment of tense silence, the Ghost spoke up. "Final runes translated. 'Visage of the Warpriest', it says."

  "That one, I know. The Warpriest was one of Oryx's champions, and fed the king's worm through conquest and slaughter. He conquered five hundred and eighty-five worlds, salting them with ash and painting the void with fire. According to the Vanguard's own rrecords, he died shortly before the king."

  "If you don't wanna join them, bug, I'd recommend you drop the sword," a familiar voice called form behind the two. They turned as one, and before stood DeMarcus. On either side of him were the six Guardians Narvuk had seen in the hangar. The Knight noted the Warlock on the left as the same one who had questioned DeMarcus' plan. "I gotta thank you, bug. An accident in the patrol zones, that's one thing. But here on the Shore, ain't no rules but Spider's. And he doesn't much care for meddling in Lightbearer business, unless it messes with his," DeMarcus mocked, drawing a hand cannon from the back of his waist and aiming not at Narvuk, but at Zivath. His companions unholstered their weapons as well, though they pointed at Narvuk.

  "Let's be honest, bug. You were never gonna be one of us. Just 'cause you got a Ghost, doesn't make you a Guardian, just makes you lucky. Deep down, you're just another Knight in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now, drop. The sword," he finished. Narvuk extended his arm to the side and let go, the Cleaver thudding to the ground.

  "DeMarcus, just get it over with already. We're not here for you to monologue," the Warlock scolded, glaring at his friend from the corner of his eye. "We've been here too long already."

  "I'll do it when I'm ready, Edal, got it? Just keep your gun on him," DeMarcus barked, turning his attention back to Narvuk. "Now, bug. Sienna and Poppy" - he spit at the ground, and Narvuk clenched his jaw - "may think you're alright, but me and the boys here? Well, general opinion is you're a walking time bomb. Probably a trap from your great-aunt, in fact." DeMarcus' face lifted in a smug grin. "Bet you thought no one would find out, huh?"

  Narvuk was puzzled for a moment, then the meaning became clear. "Hhow did you... Sienna." The Titan nodded. "Hrnn... well, you sseem to be holding all the... corpses?"

  "I think you mean cards. 'Hold all the cards'," Edal interjected. DeMarcus shot a glare at him as Narvuk nodded thanks.

  "Cards, then. Hhow are you going to pplay them, is the question," Narvuk half-mocked, gesturing invitingly to the group. "Yyou clearly aren't scared to face me wwith allies, but can you stand on your own?"

  DeMarcus stormed forward, stowing his cannon. "Titan's need only the strength of the Light! You're nothing without the girls behind you!" He balled his fists and shifted into a fighting stance. "Bet they didn't teach you how to fight without your fancy magic sword in those tunnels you bugs love so much, huh? C'mon, you ugly son of a--"

  DeMarcus' inevitable stream of insults was over before it began as Narvuk's rock-hard fist crashed into his chest, caving it in instantly and sending the Titan flying back. One of the Hunters ran to where he landed and crouched. After a moment or two, he looked back to Edal and shook his head. A Ghost materialized above the body and pulsed with Light, and DeMarcus shot up with a gasp. The Hunter offered him a helping hand, but he batted it away and stood shakily. "Cheap shot, bug," he spat, advancing once more. "This time, I'll--"

  "Do nothing, Lightmonger," a raspy voice finished form above the Guardians. Their gazes snapped to the cliffs in unison and were met by at least four bright eyes for every Guardian. Narvuk hid a small grin as he recognized the speaker: the Vandal that had spoken to him earlier. As he looked around, he noticed that the rest of the Fallen from before had returned as well, all armed with shock pistols or wire rifles. "Drop weapons, or we shoot-fire." The demand was followed by the sound of charging wire rifles.

  Edal and the others hesitated for a moment, glancing at DeMarcus before slowly placing their guns on the rocks. DeMarcus stood, fuming with clenched fists, in front of Narvuk. The Knight simply stared down at him, neither willing to back down. Edal came up behind his friend and laid a hand on his shoulder. "DeMarcus, let's go. We can't start a fight with the House of Spider, and you're not in a good state of mind right now anyway. Let's go home." The Titan glowered at Narvuk for a moment before turning, marching past his companions, and transmatting away.

  The rest followed one by one until only Edal was left. "Narvuk? I- look, DeMarcus doesn't speak for anything close to a majority of Guardians. If he tries something else, shoot me a feed, alright? I've got practice reining him in," the Awoken said, more than a hint of apology in his melodic voice. Narvuk merely nodded, and Edal vanished.

  A Vandal wearing the red and gold of the House of Light dropped down next to Narvuk and said something in Eliksni. It stared at Narvuk for a few seconds, awaiting a response, then realized its mistake. "You save-rescue us. Much thanks-gratitude, Hive," it rasped in broken English. "Mithrax Light-Kell will hear-learn of this, that we may help-aid you."

"Think nothing of it, ffriend. I did what hhad to be done."

  "I am called Vytkos. I am in your life-debt. You will always-breathe have an ally in House Light. For now, we must return-go to our Kell." With that, Vytkos and her fellow Fallen disappeared, along with those from the House of Dusk. Spider's Vandals simply began walking away, leaving Narvuk and Zivath alone once more.

A/N: Hey, guys! Sorry this chapter took so dang long! School has been a bit hectic, and I've been slacking! But here we are, at the end of chapter 17! Only a few (relatively) more to go, and then it's on to the sequel (yes, there's gonna be a sequel)!

[moonchildsaurora]

The Racer who chased supernovas

»»—— Crew Member #7 of Space Pirates ATEEZ ——««

all aboard The Perihelion, welcome to the co-pilot’s log system! here you’ll be able to access the crew’s profiles should you wish to read about their journeys: (no nsfw content)

[CAPTAIN] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

“your wings have always existed, all you have to do is fly and fly high for the winds will be at your command”  

the other individual that you could pick out from a crowd, especially by his high-pitched laughter

full of charisma and a youthful soul, he attracts all kinds of attention and has trouble reigning in his recklessness at times

Wooyoung is an Alxil-Rolgrie mix who survived on his own in the lower district of Liyutania, the other member of The Perihelion who didn’t really know the meaning of family until his path crossed with the others

[database file: Rolgries are very much human-like beings, only distinguishing features are their strikingly light-coloured hair (that comes in shades of ivory, lilac, silver and/or coral), heterochromatic eyes and slightly translucent pale skin. This is due to their inherent ability to camouflage with their surroundings, like a chameleon, if they so wish to. Alxils are a nomadic sub-group of Dark Elves, preferring to keep to themselves. Having darker hair along with a more ash-grey skin, glowing red eyes and defined elongated ears]

Wooyoung seemingly took on more of his Rolgrie heritage in terms of physical appearance & ability. His hair is of a lilac-coral mix (that resembles the hues of sunset as Yeosang once said), an indigo-coloured left eye & violet-coloured right eye, slight translucent ash skin and the Alxil elongated ears

his camouflaging ability came to him since his youngling years though he didn’t really master it until his adolescence. Used to need all the concentration he could muster just to hold a full blend or to make sure it was the correct blend in the first place but now he could hide his entire self easily with his eyes closed

this has proven to be extremely beneficial for him to make his way around town undetected and a free-‘get-me-out-of-this-mess’-pass

though Yeosang made him pinky promise not to use that during their childhood games of hide-and-seek because he knows Woo would cheat to win

“I would never!”

“…you literally have been standing there all this time and I’ve just walked past you at least 10 rounds making me look like an idiot”

“gotta admit that was pretty fun-OW OK OK!!”

the lower district community did look out for Wooyoung, knowing that the cheeky kid meant well and he was just trying to get through each day at a time

sometimes one of the more empathetic merchants would allow Wooyoung to sleep on a spare rug under their tents, other times young Wooyoung would be lucky enough to find unoccupied shelter on his own to stay the night. Elderly food vendors would drop off extra scraps to make sure he wasn’t going to bed on an empty stomach at least

has had a few rough run-ins with the Uppers that caused him to be defensive by instinct and personally biased towards their aloof, ignorant nature although his view significantly changed after meeting Yeosang

initially he thought the young half-Suva was an oddball because why would an Upper remotely be interested in knowing his name, least of all saving him from face-planting on the ground too?

the warmth he felt on that day was by far something foreign for him to feel especially after how Yeosang complimented his appearance and shared his oshiadilla bun. With the meekest “thank you” Wooyoung marked that day as friendship achievement unlocked

when Yeosang spontaneously invited him over for dinner Wooyoung spent majority of his time just gawking and taking in the sight of the Kangs’ residence, too afraid to touch anything in case he’d accidentally broke it, “is that really a golden fountain in the middle of your courtyard?!”

young Wooyoung got terribly confused as to why there were so many forks, spoons and knives for one person to use at the dining table too

he became a constant around the residence so much so that the Kangs adopted him and it took him a good whole month just to process the fact that he was now a part of a family, he belonged somewhere – Wooyoung would never trade anything in the galaxy for this

the first time Yeosang ever saw Wooyoung cry was when his parents surprised them with their new school uniforms and supplies. His mother helped fitted their uniforms, embracing both her sons closely afterwards and all Wooyoung could think in that moment was damn did it feel good to have a mother’s embrace

it also felt really good to receive Yeosang hugs too, not really knowing just how touch starved he was

academic studies wasn’t really his thing but he did try his best, being street smart was more up his alley, “no matter! Education is important and everyone should have an opportunity for it, so long as you come home knowing something you didn’t know the day before,” were the encouraging words his adoptive parents would give

he holds high respect for Yeosang’s intellect and wouldn’t shy from proclaiming loudly & proudly, “THAT’S MY BEST FRIEND AND OLDER BROTHER!” whenever Yeosang did his thing in the classroom even though he’d earn a forehead flick from a flustered Yeo most of the time afterwards

Yeosang may not be as openly affectionate as Wooyoung is nor show that he actually cares in an obvious manner, but he did make it crystal clear just how important Wooyoung is to him after punching a classmate who had nothing better to do than rudely reiterate the differences between Wooyoung’s ‘kind’ and the rest of them

from that day on Wooyoung swore to have Yeosang’s back, just as much as he had his. He almost cried out of fright that Yeosang had put himself and his reputation on the line to protect him. Ended up crying in bed at the overwhelming gratitude that he felt from receiving the amount of love that he himself still wasn’t sure if he deserved

“don’t you dare think otherwise, and besides the only one who’s allowed to roast you as per sibling’s obligations is me”

before Wooyoung joined The Perihelion as Hongjoong’s fighter/main gunner, he was the up and coming Drifters Arena’s rookie champion in podracing

as a youngling he’s snuck into the Arena a couple of times to watch the races and it wasn’t till years later, for a birthday treat did he return to the Arena (this time purchasing a ticket properly, courtesy of his family). Wooyoung not only found his passion in flying but seem to have a natural flow for it too

he learnt the basics and started practising with the other rookies by having casual races. Effectively catching the attention of a previous retired champion, Redline, who saw potential in Wooyoung albeit his messy improvised manoeuvres and technique solely based on instinct when in race mode

Wooyoung had to get Yeosang to slap him just so he could tell that he wasn’t dreaming when Redline asked if he’d be interested to train under his guidance

“IS THIS THE REAL LIFE OR IS THIS JUST FANTASY?”

“stop being such a drama queen! He’s right there you know?”

more yelling ensued when Redline set Wooyoung up with his very own podracer, a second-hand from the mechanics but reliable enough to still function decently. Over time with his winnings Wooyoung was able to spend it on extra parts and resources to spruce up his beloved baby; Aurora (yes he was very proud of the name he came up with for his podracer)

‘Little Speedstar’ was the nickname that Redline gave him but Wooyoung wouldn’t have it because, “I’M NOT THAT LITTLE”

“no you’re just vertically challenged that or gravity is just against you” Yeosang would snicker in lowkey

to say that it’s stressful watching a podrace would be an understatement according to Yeosang (anything goes in a podrace and racers aren’t conservatives when it comes to playing dirty at times), but it gave him nothing short of pride and joy watching Wooyoung effortlessly dance through the skies and be the first racer to cross the finish line

Wooyoung loved and appreciated seeing Yeosang amongst the crowd, it was a grounding factor for him before every race. What wasn’t a normal occurrence for him though was seeing his best friend being manhandled by an odd bunch of strangers

with post-race adrenaline kicking in and the need to protect strong he didn’t think twice about yelling at the group and power stomping towards them, not stopping even when he thought, “well damn, hello gorgeous” as San stepped defensively in front of Mingi to shield Wooyoung’s attempted swipe at him to get Yeosang back

fortunately over time more trust was established and their bonds were less of a rocky road, if anything Mingi empathised the most with Wooyoung for having similar backgrounds and lack of family in their early years of their lives

the other combo package deal that Hongjoong got with Wooyoung and Yeosang officially joining the crew

Wooyoung adapted fairly well to his new nomadic lifestyle and just when he thought his world couldn’t have grown any bigger, it did; now his family extending to that of the crew (he still dislikes being sent to Hongjoong’s room and will always complain to Seonghwa because, “I’m your favourite son right?”)  

San became his go-to whenever he needed to fill his daily quota of affection  

the party don’t start till him and Mingi walks in, drinking buddies along with Jongho (Wooyoung has a very soft spot for the youngest) & Yunho. Is openly smug about the fact that he’s got one of the best alcohol tolerance on board

when Jongho installed blasters onto Aurora, Wooyoung had dubbed it the glo-up of the century. Not only could he fly to scout/retrieve/act as a distraction but he could f i g h t now – he could make things explode (chaos levels have increased)

accidentally became the other half of the reason as to why Hongjoong banned any sexytimes on the ship and a sensitive content blocker feature was added in the Yunhogizers after Wooyoung sent a spicy photo to the group chat instead of his private fling

“Mother did NOT raise you this way”

major pouting over having bro privileges revoked but he’s been cooped up making a dozen new starcatchers for Yeosang and also has hijacked Seonghwa’s kitchen to surprise cook dinner for the crew as an apology literally wrestled a Grandu [database file: equivalent to a giant crab, a food delicacy] into the pot to boil and learnt that cutting onions truly is the demise of every being

all in all never forget (1) Wooyoung loves his family, very much (2) anyone who messes with them is sure to become target practice for him                                         

(moodboard made with love, by @s1ardusk​ ♡)

[jcnuaries-blog]

what’s up you absolute cursed heathens, it’s ya boi kael (he/him, 22, gmt+8:00) and i’m bringing you the lovely miss january st. james who doesn’t have that many gifs so i might b reusing a lot of these so bear with me—below the cut is the sparknotes version of her story and whole deal!

THE STORY—

remember euripedes’ play of medea? well it goes something like that lmao; basically january was born to a line of sorcerers from a demigod who was cursed by the gods to suffer for her power, and january was basically isolated to her family because they diluted their powers enough so they could practice some magic and keep their bloodline afloat

enter: love! love sucks, and january can testify to that! a hero flattered her (w the help of a goddess) and promised her a lot of things so that he could have a sorceress on his arsenal; her power, while it was okay wasn’t good enuf which was a total drag so the only logical thing to do was to activate her curse and at least grow more powerful to help her #onetruluv !!

spoiler alert it doesn’t go well !!

he leaves her after his series of quests, and goes off to get married to some beautiful demigod who the gods have promised to him or he rescued, she really doesn’t care about all that tbf

what she does care about? vengeance! and bc the gods didn’t really care about karmic retribution except for nemesis and she didn’t answer her, she went “fuck it!” and concocted a plan of her own. taking the heart of a freshly dead thing and a sacrificial dagger, she killed his bride at their wedding

she also killed the one after that, but that’s neither here nor there. what’s there is that the guy died in the end. from grief? from anger? who knows, who cares! not january!

this is supposed to be the part of the play where medea gets to fly an awesome golden dragon chariot to her grandfather helios’ place, but like lmao no helios, no dragons only bullshit gods and what happens for her retribution? she gets her family killed!

the place where she lived is now scorched earth and has the faint smell of ozone! the ashes are kept in an urn, where she takes with her and honestly she’s just miserable in the end. the gods also called on her to stay in this city

she hates the city. and the gods. but she doesn’t know what tf to do at this point and just sits in her apartment and goes 2 the database !!

THE CURSE— 

her curse basically works to isolate her as long as she has her power. this works by creating a roadblock of sorts? like fuzzy memories if she’s around! like she’s there, but... like what did u do what did u see. u had a time w her but u can remember the details of it all u know !!

she needs to have a ritual done in order to create deep lasting bonds which sucks because a.) it’s hard and b.) it hurts !! the double whammy of this is that her power dilutes every time she makes this choice, and if the opposite choice is made to isolate herself she gets her power back !! yay !! but also she will sever contact from the person and no more deep bonds in the end !! boo !!

currently, she’s powerful as all hell, but lonely so u know... yikes? also fuck the gods tbh

THE EXTRA—

she’s got a black cat familiar named the grand duchess aveline du bois who absolutely hates when people come over. that said she’s also a little gremlin who tries to eat potion reagents and january has to spray her with the bottle

she likes sorcery! big shock i know, but she’s made it her main thing after the jackass hero cut her off from her family lmaooo !! she likes doing it, and it’s not uncommon to see things levitating in her house. 

january loves winter and autumn but hates the fact that she can’t sleep in !! let her live !!

bill and ted’s excellent adventure was amazing and january dares u to say otherwise. she loves her comedies shush !!

breaking promises is a no-no !! if u break a promise to january, a real serious one you’re on her shit list and she will not interact with you whatsoever. that said, she will keep to her word 99% of the time, except for the 1% where she needs to lie to make a plan work

she used to design buildings !! it was a good job and kept her comfy !!

her home smells faintly of jasmine bc of the air fresheners she keeps buying every day !! if out she’ll get either lavander or just a clean air one tbh

[fortunei]

log #417

I want them, again. Give more love to Rhinebirbs

Also on ao3

-

She never wanted to be a killer, a destroyer. Or to be exact, the catalyst of destruction.

She just wanted to do her job right.

She just wanted to be useful.

She just wanted to save people.

The sea of fire is still present in the back of her mind; people in white coat are screaming, the center of the fire is also screaming. The one who shielded the remaining of the blast stood before her, along with the ones who’s able to stand despite the heat. The calcium – the calcification, the specks of calcium carbonate, flying around and about, slowly turning into an ash alike the research papers that’s burned clean from the table.

She could still call her drone to tend the injured around her, but the fire spiked up like a volcano, like a hell’s scorching alive on the Earth.

There, she witnessed something worse than the Catastrophe itself; a wild-eating fire, her proud creation, her patient—

.

Her eyes jolted open in dimly-lit room. Unlike all the fire and scalding hot air in her dream, the table she slept on was comfortably cold. Quickly, she raised her head up, ignoring the mess of book stacks that she made upon her wake.

It was dark out, or maybe she has yet to open the vertical blinds from the baring sun. As much as she wanted to pull the curtain, she found the task to spend more energy than checking the owl-shaped wall clock on the wall. She adjusted her glasses to see well: it is indeed morning, though it’s 2 AM in the morning, a not-so-normal waking hour.

She was still on her table working, despite it should be a day off, technically. Her shift on medic quarter should have ended two hours ago and she could retire somewhere else, but then it seems her sleep cycle preceded her judgment (again, as if she didn’t see it coming). She didn’t remember which paragraph she was in with her report before her episode of narcolepsy kicked.

Should have prepared some stick notes, though she peered the expanse of her table to find that her to-go office equipment was void of it.

“Ptilopsis has detected an increase on your pulse, Dr. Silence.”

Silence blinked. She straightened up on her chair as the lamp to the medic quarter is lit. Ptilopsis was standing behind her, the door was ajar. She has her signature sickle moon cane tied on her back. The ends of her jacket were dirty; she was clearly just freshly arrived from field duty. On her hand was a duty report card, another card that needs to be refilled by the Medic Operator in-duty for any operation. Her orange-colored eyes skimmed on the content before she signed at the available box.

“Did someone need a medical attention?”

“Ptilopsis have taken care of it earlier.” She said. Silence has been used to her monotonous tone, yet she couldn’t help to think it has grown a little, melodious. A soothing sound. A bit similar of what Silence ever remembered of her.

“They only needed a half roll of bandage and a minuscule amount of disinfectant spray, three sprays; about 0,12 ml. If you have done the inventory report earlier, Dr. Silence, I can add it up to the list of ‘emergency action’.”

Silence nodded, she sought the today’s—actually yesterday’s—inventory card. Of course, she has yet to fill it in because of her sleep episodes.

“About the increase on your pulse, it is still persist. Do you require any medical assistance about the problem?”

The brown owl held her gaze. Ptilopsis didn’t check her pulse, or touched her, though she always somehow knows. Ptilopsis is a fast-learner, perceptive, work-oriented, though at times she is too focused on one point that she would ignore everything else. She also changed fast, though – she is now starting to be more aware to her surroundings, and-

Ptilopsis cocked her head to the side, “Dr. Silence? Do I need to repeat on my latest query?”

-yes, just like this. She will try to help. And she won’t back down. No Medic Operators will ever back down on a presence of patient. Never. It is Rhodes Island, not Rhine Lab environment. Ptilopsis is no longer a data scientist. They are but the same Medic Operator.

“What option would you recommend to me?” Silence tapped on her chin.

Ptilopsis pursed her lips, all the while Silence fought an urge to smile. This is no test, or even a tease. Or maybe it is a tease. Wait, who’s bad habit is this; did she happen to hang around other merry Medic Operators too much?

“Of the 100 options that came to my database, I would recommend for you to take a ‘fresh air’,” Ptilopsis said. “Taking ‘fresh air’ perhaps unadvisable outside the perimeter of Rhodes Island right now, as it might alert the security. But I believe the route to canteen is open …”

There was a visible shift to her ear-tufts, Silence waited patiently as Ptilopsis finished the rest of her mumbling, partly amused, partly used to it, and partly found her passive jiggles were fascinating.

“Or, if you wanted to hear the other 99 options, I would be happy to iterate.”

“I’ll take on the first offer, then.”

-

Even though the alleys and emergency quarters are open 24/7, the canteen is not. Both of them knew about this fact, yet the two birds kept on walking. Ptilopsis waited until Silence finished on packing her equipment and discharged her Drones before they departed for the closed-but-not-gated canteen.

The hall was empty as expected, but Ptilopsis urged Silence to sit at one of the long bench there, the one located between the vending machine to purchase lunch tickets and the one with cold beverages. Silence didn’t speak of anything else, or hinted her wants to drink something, Ptilopsis was the one who checked out the beverage machine and came back bearing two cans of the strongest black coffee available there.

Caffeine is a harmless joke to their narcolepsy, they agreed to it. It might keep them alert for a bit but that’s that. It might be counter-effective to her spiking pulse, but Silence didn’t mind either way.

Not like the ‘calming’ tea is free from that particular alkaloid substances.

“Weren’t you tired from all the mission?” Silence asked as she cracked her can open. She gave the white owl a sidelong glance as Ptilopsis was the one to sip the bitterness.

“Ifrit said to me,” Ptilopsis began. “That I should spend more time with you when you need it.”

“She did?”

Ptilopsis looked away, “Ifrit also said that Dr. Silence enjoyed our alone time together—umm, Dr. Silence, are you okay? Ptilopsis detected a sudden intake of breath.”

“I’m, I’m good. Please continue.”

Ptilopsis looked over, searching her eyes behind the glasses. Silence lowered her coffee can to the space between them. Following the orange contemplative gaze, Silence closed her lips. When Ptilopsis is like this—brows furrowed, face’s a controlled mask—it became even harder to predict.

She might be her patient, Oripathy might have robbed her to her most ability to express herself, and then again Silence knows personally when the sky is unpredictable.

“Ifrit said that you’re not alone,” She continued. “You have Ifrit, Saria, Doctor, other Oripathy researchers,” their gaze unbroken. Silence didn’t recall when their fingers laced there, beside the coffee cans.

“And you have Ptilopsis.”

It is as though the nightmares she had ended a long time ago. Everything suddenly felt right, just for that moment. The scars from that day won’t disappear, but everyone is still here, they can do something, they can put an end to the things that they started.

 You have no longer need to suffer alone, Dr. Silence.

Silence couldn’t hide her smile. Ptilopsis tried to return it, it seems, but it was only forming as a small curve. Not to mention, her usually pale cheeks are darkening with red blush.

Oh.

“I see that you have calmed down, Dr. Silence. Shall we go back to rest?”

“I would love that, but …” Silence gestured to their joined hands. “I want to stay a bit longer to your company today.”

“Request accepted.”