#Mechtober2022

[heliophaestus]

day 9 - instrument

[ID: A digital lineless drawing of Nastya Rasputina from The Mechanisms. She is drawn from the waist up, and is shown playing her violin with a soft smile on her face. The background is white fading into navy blue, with stars. /End ID]

[artobotsrollout]

Transformers Inktober: Mechtober 2022

prompt list

If you want to join me tag your art as #mechtober2022

A favourite

Factions

Outlier

Continuity style swap

Speedster

New character

Grump

Shattered glass

Musical

Predacon

Hero

Never drawn before

Besties

Flier

Energon

Love to hate

Alt mode swap

Lovers

Zombiecon

Mechanimal alt

Dinobot

Character Redesign

Villain

Mad science

Obscure

Least favourite

Tank

A Prime

Dark Energon

Optics

Sparkeater

Feel free to interpret these how you want and use whatever medium you want. There ain't rules here!

Don't like a day? Skip it. Miss a day? Don't worry about it. ^w^

[monggay]

@mechtober2022 day 16: position on crew! sometimes bein the pilot just means keepin the sentient starship company when it gets rly boring during long rides

[kinglindwyrm]

@mechtober2022 day 12: favourite relationship

can a lost princess really fall in love with a spaceship... 😳 and they were both girls...? (ID in alt)

[legendary-dumpster-fire]

@mechtober2022 Day 6 - Mechanization

@ulysses-but-somehow-more-transer created this headcanon regarding Gunpowder Tim's eyes, and I took one look at it and was like "im going to recreate this bitch"

And I did.

This was my first time ever trying it, and it was all freehand. The metal plating is a bit messy, but thats okay. Im going to try this again someday, but actually put time into it and maybe do an entire cosplay? probably? im not sure.

[regicidal-defenestration]

Mechtober Day 22 - TBI

@mechtober2022

The Mechanisms were watching the Yggdrasil system die, camped out on a nameless asteroid that was "probably far away enough", according to Marius.

Planets split, turned inside out, folded over and over on themselves. Great shadows danced between them, twisting into shapes that hurt to look out directly. The star shone red, then black, then thousands of impossible colours, refracting and shattering its own light.

It might have all been beautiful, if you didn't know why.

"Still is beautiful, even when you do" Jonny said, reaching over Tim to grab another handful of popcorn.

This statement was met with groans from the other Mechanisms.

"Stop talking to the omniscient third person narrator!" Marius complained. "You'll give it another crisis."

Jonny sniped back what might have been a cutting remark, if his mouth hadn't been full and any of those words had been intelligible.

"Nope," Marius said, which seemed a pretty safe bet regardless.

"I said," Jonny tried again. "Bold words from the man with the- whatever the fuck your deal with that Lyfrassir was."

He swore as a piece of popcorn hit him square in the eye.

"Your change in topic has no relevance," Ivy said, throwing another piece at him for good measure.

“Anyway, watch out for the glass house as you throw stones.”

Jonny would have lunged at her, had Tim not grabbed him by the collar.

“Do you mind? Some of us are trying to watch as unknown things that have never felt before the light of stars destroy this sane reality.”

He hissed in response, and received more popcorn to the head for his troubles.

“Ivy,” Brian protested, in the voice of someone who didn’t especially care what was happening to Jonny, but would appreciate it if all the popcorn didn’t get wasted.

“You don’t even eat, shut up- no, Tim I will take a bite out of you if you do that,” Jonny interrupted himself, in an oddly calm voice.

Tim stopped, hand halfway to covering Jonny’s mouth. Experience had taught that Jonny would have exactly no qualms about doing just that. He muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath, but let the other man go.

“If you two have quite finished,” Marius said pointedly. “Can we watch the end of the world in peace?”

Jonny just leaned back, resting his head on Raphaella’s shoulder and grinning at him.

“We’ll get it out of you some day, Marius, don’t you worry. You two as well,” he added, pointing at Ivy and elbowing Raphaella, in case they had started feeling too comfortable.

And they would tell the story about what had happened in Yggdrasil, what they had heard of Odin, and what had happened during their 60 year stint in jail; whether through incessant needling or through the ever present need to put on a performance, the others would find out.

Marius very deliberately ignored all that for now though, shifting to get comfortable as he lay down on the rocky ground. It was a problem for future him, which meant present him had absolutely no need to be concerned.

They lapsed into silence and, above them all, the sky bled rainbows.

[nonbinarylowkey]

(mechtober day 15 - high noon over camelot)

for day 15 of @mechtober2022.

Summary: It had been a spur of the moment decision to invite the Pendragons over—a decision Mordred’s trying hard not to regret.

-----------------

"We ain't gonna disappear if you look away." Arthur sips his tea—a gift from Lancelot—and stares at Mordred through the steam. His voice is casual, his shoulders relaxed. He looks like he hadn't caught Mordred staring, save the slight upward pull of the corner of his mouth.

Mordred forces his eyes to his own mug. The tea smells of flowers. He does not drink it. Relearning life in the light has been a slow process. He's still not used to others really seeing him, even after two years in Camelot.

"Not much for tea?" Guinevere asks. She runs a finger along the rim. One foot is propped up on her chair, knee tucked under her chin. She's smiling, too. 

For a moment, Mordred is lost in a memory—Guinevere, finished with her morning exercises, coming to sit across from him at the breakfast table, one foot on the chair, knee tucked under her chin like so; Arthur next to Mordred, Excalibur in pieces before him, carefully and painstakingly cleaning each component before putting it all back again; Lancelot on his other side, one arm slung casually across the back of Mordred’s chair, quiet, reassuring; and Mordred himself as a child, leaning over the table to better watch the process of reconstructing Excalibur, nearly knocking over and spilling the tea Lance set down in front of him.

The strum of Dinadan's guitar pulls Mordred back to the present. 

Lance is not at the table now. He's still stood at Mordred's gun rack, examining each and every piece Mordred's collected since he got to Camelot. Lamorak is with him, telling the stories he knows about their origins. Some are run of the mill, nothing special. But there's more among 'em that are rarer, diamonds in the rough that the average gunslinger might not give a second thought, 'cept that Mordred was taught almost from birth how to spot a quality firearm and how to restore what needed restoring. And then there's more still with no roughness about 'em at all—fine pieces that'd get more than a couple gallons of water easy if Mordred were inclined to sell. He ain't. If he can't shoot well enough to impress the Pendragons, he can at least collect well enough for it.

He forces himself to sip the tea, to not choke on the taste of home.

Arthur taps one finger against the table to bring Mordred's attention back.

"Were your parents collectors?" Arthur asks. 

"We moved around too much," Mordred shrugs. He feels comfortable saying that much. Most Wastelander families lived the same way. Then, because he feels the irresistible need for recognition, he decides to test the waters and adds: 

"We couldn't carry a collection with us, but my father had one antique he never parted with." Relic is the word Arthur had always used when Mordred was growing up. It's on the tip of his tongue, too, but he bites it back. Not many things can be rightly described as relics s'far as Mordred is aware. Unless he fully commits to revealing himself, it's best he minds his words.

Arthur leans back in his seat, head tipped toward the ceiling. One hand falls to his side, brushing over Excalibur. 

Mordred wonders what he's thinking about. Is he remembering his promise that they'd figure out the proper technique for making Excalibur's bullets so one day, down the line, it could be passed from father to child without worry its ammo would run dry long beforehand? Is he remembering coming home from the flooded sector, only letting go of his hard won prize for the first time since he'd laid hands on it to clutch his newborn to his chest? 

Mordred sips his tea.

"What happened to it? The antique." Arthur speaks to the ceiling. His tone is inscrutable.

Maybe Arthur is thinking about sitting around a table with his family, Excalibur laid out in pieces, and watching his kid attempt to put it back together from memory alone. 

Mordred had been so determined to prove he didn't need his parents to hold his hand all the time—that he could be as good at building as Gawain was at brawling and Gareth was at shooting and Agravaine was at complaining.

"Still with him, I'd guess. Wherever he is." He keeps his eyes fixed on the tea. He hopes the truth isn't written on his face. He hopes it is and his parents will confront him with it; that they'll force him to reveal everything so they can either reject or accept him instead of whatever it is Mordred’s got them doing now.

Lancelot, Dinadan, and Lamorak make their way to the table. Mordred breathes easier with Lamorak and Dinadan around. He made the right choice asking them to be here for this, rather than ask Gawain or Agravaine. He knows his brothers will give him an earful for hanging around people they hate, but they’ll have to deal with it. Less pressure from two people with whom he's got no familial relationship. Neither of them give a shit about Mordred coming clean to his parents 'cept as far as they care that Mordred is happy with his decisions.

And they're decent enough not to publicly question him when it's clear he isn't.

"And you still don't want help finding him?" Lance takes the seat to Arthur's right.

Mordred holds the mug tighter. The heat stings his fingertips. He shakes his head. "No."

Do you need help finding your kid? and I already know where he is; he's sitting right in front of me and if he wants me in his life, he can find me and I'm not ready for him to know the truth all run though his mind. ‘Course he can't say any of it; wouldn't do any good.

The Pendragons share a look that Mordred ignores, even though they're open enough with it he wonders if they want him to say something. Not for the first time, Mordred wonders if they all really do know the truth and they're—himself included—just too stubborn to be the first to acknowledge it. Dread and hope fill him in equal measure at that thought.

"Well," Arthur starts, holding Mordred's gaze. "You ever change your mind, you know where to find us."

Mordred nods and finds himself unwilling to look away until Lance cuts in—

"Come off it, Art. The kid said no." He nudges his shoulder against Arthur's; to Mordred he nods, deferential. "You’re packing some impressive heat, for a man who hates using it. You ever need someone to help fix ‘em up or test ‘em, you just holler.”

There's some part of Mordred that knows exactly what Dinadan is going to say before Mordred even sees the look on his face. It's the sort of corny joke Dinadan would never pass up when the opportunity arises, but Mordred's head is still so stuck on memories and emotion he can't react fast enough to stop Dinadan from drawling,

"If you think that's impressive, you should see what else he's packing."

Beside Mordred, Lamorak is unashamedly cracking up. “I think he’s been waiting to use that one for a while.”

Across the table, Gwen’s got tea coming out of her nose and Lance looks half a second from joining Lamorak. Arthur’s got his mug held up to his face again, looking very much like he’s trying and failing to play the calm and collected sheriff. It’s—nice. And despite the mortification worrying at the back of his mind, when Mordred meets Arthur’s gaze through the steam this time, he feels something he hasn’t felt in years.

He feels like he’s come home.

[nammikisulora]

Mechanisation

For @mechtober2022's 6th daily prompt, "Mechanization", Ivy learns the truth of how Marius was mech'd. This one draws inspiration from Gu's wonderful take on the event, as depicted in their Mech/Whump/Goretober series here (CW blood and self-surgery).

On AO3 here, as well as below the cut. CW for non-graphic reference to self-surgery.

---

It’s easy to understand why the crew jumps to the conclusion they do. Marius and Raphaella joined the crew together after all, and there’s no doubt that she’s the science savvy one of them. In those early days, Marius hadn't even started calling himself a doctor yet, so why would they think anything else?

A few years pass before anyone actually asks. Marius doesn’t really mind; it’s not something he likes thinking about, how he got his arm. It’s in fact quite high on the list of things he’d rather forget having experienced, but since the evidence is rather hard to ignore, he doesn’t find it very likely that he will. So he mostly just avoids talking and thinking about it as much as he can, which means that he’s completely unprepared when the question finally pops up.

“So how come Raphaella mechanised you?” Ivy asks one evening when he’s helping her catalogue books. Marius freezes, and the pen he’s holding snaps in two.

“She didn’t”, he says and glances up at Ivy, who frowns at him, clearly confused.

“But –”

“Yeah, I know, it seemed to be the most probable option, didn’t it?”

“Yes.” Ivy stares at him with an intensity she usually reserves for only the rarest books, and Marius squirms under the scrutiny.

She’s going to ask, he thinks, his chest constricting with sudden panic. She’s going to ask, she’s Ivy, she needs to catalogue the information, she’s –

“I did it myself”, he blurts when she opens her mouth. She immediately snaps it shut, but keeps watching intently. Marius swallows, and goes on. “My – my flesh arm got crushed and I was d-dying, but I didn’t want to die, so I – You remember what I told you about my planet, the war and the mechas and how I was a pilot, and – The airfield had been bombed so it was closed, but the chemist’s shop wasn’t too badly damaged, so I stole painkillers and a first aid kit, and then I found this torn-off robot arm and –” He sniffs, digging his metal fingers hard into the wrist of his flesh arm.

“I don’t remember all of it”, he whispers, looking away. “I was in bad shape, but somehow I managed to dope myself up and sew the robot arm in place, and then it’s just… blank. For days, I think. Raph tells me that I must’ve died, and then somehow I couldn’t. You know how it is.” He tries to smile, but Ivy doesn’t return it. Instead she looks completely blank, like she doesn’t even see him anymore. “Um… hello? Ivy?”

“I am recalibrating my data bank regarding you”, she says tonelessly. “Thank you, Marius, for correcting my previous incorrect assumption.”

“Um…” Unable to take it anymore, Marius flees. Maybe it’s time to borrow a page out of Jonny’s book instead, and get drunk about the whole thing.

Then maybe he should tell the rest of them the truth, just to get it over with.

[smalldistortion]

Mechtober, Day 30, Free Space!!

I haven’t done anything for mechtober which was really upsetting to me, I wanted to write but so much happened I missed it so, here is my contribution, please ignore my bad grammar!!! (im gonna try to make an ao3 story with prompts for each day sometime soon)

@mechtober2022

Instead of taking the Suits job, Ariadne decided to have a different idea at fixing her families legacy.

Ariadne stared at herself in mirror, dressed in a silvery white wedding dress. She sighed, a bit somberly. An older nymph, dressed in a blue and white gown appeared and put Ariadne’s veil in her hair, which was pulled up into a bun.

“Why do you look so sad, Miss?” The nymph asked, staring into the mirror. 

“I just, I can’t believe I’m marrying him, why did it have to come to this.” She looked down and turned away from the mirror.

“Why did that asshole of a “hero” leave me to rot!” she said, undertones of rage hidden in her voice. The nymph embraced her, pulling her close. “My dear Ari, let us not talk about Theseus on today of all days.” 

Ariadne rolled her eyes and walked over to the window, looking out over the uppermost level of The City. She was rarely up here anynmore, unlike when she was a child. The skyscrapers hung in the dim; smog filled sky. 

“I was one who should have got the credit, I’m the one that should be famous, and yet it failed. Now, I’ve resorted to marrying one of my business partners.” 

The nymph sighed and slowly made her way next to Ariadne, putting her hand on Ariadne’s shoulder. “My dear, do you even love Dionysus?” 

Ariadne looked up at the nymph, meeting her eyes. She was slightly taken aback and had to seriously think for a second. She did love Dionysus, and through business from Zeus through her own grandfather, Helios. She slowly began to appreciate Dionysus. But she only loved him as a friend, and only ever saw him as a friend

“I mean, it’s hard to explain. He is one of my closet’s companions. He took me in after Theseus publicly rejected me and took me in after I had run out of money. I love him, I’m just not in love with him.”

A buzzer went off on an intercom, “Miss Ariadne, it’s time,” Ariadne and the nymph looked at each other. Ariadne took a deep breath and sucked in any tears she had. “It’s time for me to redeem my family.” She grabbed her bouquet of fake flowers and made her way to the elevator with the nymph following behind.

~~

Dionysus stood at the metal alter. His satyrs, all dressed in black and purple suits. Opposite of him was all the bridesmaids, his favorite nymphs and closest Maenads. The audience sat the Olympians, their spouses and kids and other nymphs. Dionysus psychiatrist was also there, slightly bouncing in his seat. 

 Everyone stood up as the music started to get louder. Ariadne made her way to down the aisle, the nymph making her way next to another nymph, who she held her hand as she sat down. Ariadne quietly observed everyone, her face resting and slightly cold. She made her way to the alter and looks up at Dionysus. 

He reeked of alcohol and was a bit untidy, dirty blonde hair slicked back with a very large beard. He was tall and big, with a gut. But he had a sort of warmness to him, that always made me very approachable. He fixed his tie a bit, staring at Ariadne.

The only thoughts and Ariadnes mind were ones that raced and panicked. Some screamed for her to run while others told her to stay silent. She had almost zoned out before the vows took place. Dionysus held her hand and pulled out a piece of parchment. He cleared his throat and began to ready his vows off it. His voice slightly boomed and all the Maenads seems to stare at him, almost swooning. Then something hit Ariadne like a brick. 

“My beautiful Ariadne, from the moment I met you, you have had a powerful aura too you that my brain has not been able to wrap around, but when I took you in, I knew I loved you.” 

Awes filled the audience as Ariadne’s stomach just seemed to twist more. Eventually he finished and everyone clapped. Ariadne was next. She pulled out a small piece of parchment. 

“First off, Dionysus I feel like I must apologies for my vows are short and simple. Dionysus, since the day I have met you, and you have been nothing but sweet and kind to me. You’ve been accepting of me and caring. You’ve gave me shelter, you helped to give my parents a respectful funeral to the Acheron and so much more. I can only wonder how my life will improve with you, as I know you will love me. I hope to spend the rest of our lives together.” 

Claps filled from the audience as Ariadne looked around to see smiles before looking back at Dionysus. He was smiling, and Ariadne smiled back at him. She put the paper away after the applause slowly died down. Faster to Ariadne’s dismay, an “I do,” came out of Dionysus mouth. 

“And do you, Ariadne, take this man to be you husband, through sickness and through health, til death do you part?”

Ariadne took a deep breath and an “I do,” came out of her mouth.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife; you may kiss the bride.”

Dionysus leaned in and Ariadne closed her eyes tight and kissed him, pulling back, quicker than Dionysus expected. He fixed himself and they walked down the aisle together.

~~

Ariadne and Dionysus sat at a table together. Dionysus was talking to Poseidon. Ariadne observed the festivities. Zeus danced with Hera, but it was clear he was staring at the nymphs and other women there. Polyphemus danced with an older man and a young nymph, wearing a different eyepatch than usual. Athena was talking to Artemis. Even scary loner Hades and their supposed wife, Persephone, were talking to Dionysus doctor. Eventually Poseidon left, and Ariadne pulled on Dionysus’s sleeve to get his attention. 

“Yes, my dear?” Dionysus spoke. 

“Can I talk to you, privately, sir?” she said, kind of cowering.

“You don’t need to call me sir anymore my dear, we are married!” he boomed. Ariadne flinched at the word married.

“I know, it just really important, and I’d rather do it alone.” she pleaded. Dionysus nodded and they got up and went to the hallway next to dining hall. 

Ariadne looked around a bit, making sure they were alone. 

“What is it you want to tell me my dear?” Dionysus looked down at her, she appeared...distant, her eyes staring to the side.

“I’m sorry Dionysus, I lied to you.” 

He was puzzled at the statement.

“What do you mean you lied?”

Ariadne took a deep breath and met his eyes.

“I don’t love you. At least not romantically. I did this so my family’s name could be saved. I love you, but only as a friend. All the dates, the proposal, everything, all lies...I’m sorry sir...” her voice was cold and blunt; a couple tears fell down her face as she looked down again.

Dionysus was silent, staring at her. 

He suddenly grabbed her hands, holding them both gently. She looked up at him, shocked he wasn’t screaming, or crying. In a soft quiet voice, he spoke, “My beautiful Ariadne, I love you with all my heart. I want you to live happily, for seeing you happy makes me happy. And even though you may not love me now, who’s to say you won’t ever. But I want you to be happy and if making your family’s name right then okay. I love you and being married to you, even if it’s a marriage for money, I don’t care, being near you fills me with joy no matter what.” he cupped her cheek with one of his hands. 

“Dionysus...I... I don’t want you to be in a loveless marriage...” Ariadne choked out.

“Love comes in many different forms...I love you, you love me, just in different ways.” he kissed the top of her head.

Ariadne wiped her tears best she could and hugged Dionysus. “You are the best person I could have asked for.” she cried into his chest.

They embraced a little longer before heading back to the hall. 

Maybe marriage to Dionysus wouldn’t be so bad after all.

[mechanismszine]

Unfortunately we don't have a mechtober list this year, so take a look at our friends @mechtober2022 !

Happy to announce two Mechtober prompt lists for this October!

These have been made so that participants can choose between focusing on one prompt each week or on one each day, both lists are encouraged to be used and switching between the two is completely acceptable. You are not required to finish every prompt, and don't have to start on the first day. Join when you like, finish when you like, and do what you feel comfortable with.

Other guidelines are to keep the content ratings to about 16+ at most, violence/gore and swearing are all allowed but if excessive please tag appropriately! This account will be trying to reblog all contributions, so please make sure to tag work under #mechtober 2022 (you can also @ us). If a day has gone by and it still hasn't been reblogged, dm this account with your post and it will be added.

[ID: Two prompt lists. The first is sepia-toned with gears and wheels in the background, the second has a galaxy background. The first is labelled "Mechtober 2022 - Daily" and the prompts are as follows:

Once Upon A Time (In Space)

2. Origin Stories

3. Favorite Performance

4. The Sevens

5. Tied by Fate

6. Mechanization

7. Immortality/Mortality

8. Ulysses Dies At Dawn

9. Instruments

10. Octokittens

11. The Suits

12. Favorite Relationship (Romantic or Not)

13. Storytelling/Shanties

14. Myth

15. High Noon Over Camelot

16. Position on Crew

17. Acheron

18. The Pendragons

19. Crossover

20. Frankenstein

21. Weapons

22. The Bifrost Incident

23. The Aurora

24. Tarot

25. The Asgardians

26. Favorite Headcanon

27. Outfit Swap

28. Family/Domestic

29. Tales To be Told

30. Death/Endings

31. Free Space!

The second is labelled "Mechtober 2022 - Weekly" and the prompts are as follows:

(1st - 7th)

Swap/Crossover

2. (8th - 14th)

Fire/Death

3. (15th - 21st)

Immortality/Space and Void

4. (22nd - 31st)

First Meetings/Goodbyes

/End ID]

[heliophaestus]

the hanged man rusts... day 15: high noon over camelot

[ID: A lineless digital drawing of Drumbot Brian as The Hanged Man/Merlin in High Noon Over Camelot. He is hanging upside down, held up by a red rope tied to his ankle. Behind him is words that move outwards in a spiral shape, they are lyrics of The Hanged Man Rusts that are his lines in the song. Layered over the words are wavy yellow lines that move outwards in the same spiral shape. /End ID]

[monggay]

@mechtober2022 day 2: origin stories! lol tryin to catch up a bit on the other prompts! this one was i think based off of a yt comment i saw once that was like 'in one eyed jacks i cant stop imagining the part after jonny kills his dad and then does a part on the harmonica as jonny just whipping out a harmonica and jamming out on top of his fathers corpse' lmao

[kinglindwyrm]

@mechtober2022 day 2: origin stories

back on my bertie bullshit... (ID in alt)

[legendary-dumpster-fire]

mine:

That one section of Dog Days are over: "run fast for your mother, fast for your father

"You are poor/you are poor/what you need you cant afford" from Underworld Blues, but i have this specific run i do one the second "poor" thats fun as hell to sing

i mimic random sounds i hear (same key and everything)

there may be more?

this is what i mean by that second one (im going to post the full section for #mechtober2022)

Reblog with your vocal stims! I love hearing them and love hearing you!

I'll go first with my most common

meowing

"kerchow!"

baby crocodile noises

[legendary-dumpster-fire]

@mechtober2022 Day 22 - The Bifrost Incident

Sigyn deserved better send tweet

[regicidal-defenestration]

Mechtober Day 30 - Death/Endings

@mechtober2022

"Captain Reeve of the SS Ursa Major speaking, log number 43, standard date 30/2/97.

"All supplies are at good levels for our current progress, algae production is a little under quota but M. Jackson assures me we still have enough for our fuel. Various minor repairs have been carried out to moderate success, but the lights will actually switch on now so I'm not going to complain. Crew in better spirits than last week, or at least they're not threatening the food stasis chamber anymore. Reports of my joining in on the threats have, ah, probably been exaggerated but I can't say I'll be upset when we touch down planetside and finally get some fresh vegetables. Have tasked M. Ness with increasing the efficiency of the engine and that seems to be working at keeping xem out of trouble.

"Then there's the matter of our, uh, newest passenger, she's currently present as I record this. Joined us on 21/2/97, refer back to log number, uh, 41 it'll be.

"Crew have taken to calling her Borealis, from the system we found her in. Still hasn't spoken, though she evidently understands us since she communicates in other ways, albeit rarely I admit. Two days ago she agreed to Dr. Lora carrying out a full medical examination, results of which show a clean bill of health. Nothing out of the ordinary for a human in her later twenties.She will stay with us until we next touch down planetside or…"

Reeve pauses, rubbing his eyes. She glances up at the woman sitting opposite, the one the crew have call Borealis. 

Part of him reaches a decision.

"Skies- okay fuck it, I'm sorry, I can't keep up the professionalism anymore. And if some pencil pushing desk jockey is thinking of writing me up for this- well- just hear me out, okay?"

She looks over at Borealis, then motions to the voice recorder. Asking if Borealis wants to tell her own story.

Borealis just shakes her head, making what Reeve assumes is a you go on gesture. He takes another moment to gather his thoughts before continuing:

"Okay, yeah, alright, because the thing is, Borealis got a clean bill of health, yes? Great, good, we like not having medical emergencies on board. 

"But that leaves me to ask, how the fuck can someone float - entirely exposed! - in the vacuum of space, for however long it was before we picked her up, and come out of the other end perfectly healthy? And when I say perfectly healthy I, uh, would like to note that this is excluding the blood test results, which just showed mercury. Not, not mercury in her blood, I mean mercury instead of."

A heavy sigh. She's had to rethink a lot of her held beliefs about how the world works recently.

"Look- look okay yes, I know how this sounds. You're probably sat there at your little desk thinking “skies above, she's lost his mind, he needs to be removed from active duty before she fucks something up fatally”. But Lora's medical files are all here. Read them. Or, get someone with higher security clearance to read them, and ask really nicely for the summary.

"Because I am not even in the vicinity of fucking around right now. We have, on board, an otherwise perfectly normal, alive, human who has pure liquid mercury in her veins and survived in space for-"

"Nearly 78 years," Borealis interrupts.

Reeve yelps in surprise.

"Well fuck me! You can talk!"

Then she grimaces.

"Ah, sorry. You surprised me. Uh, so, for the benefit of the log, that's Borealis who just spoke. Wait- what's your name?"

"Nastya."

He offers B- no, Nastya- a smile he hopes is reassuring.

"Then it's nice to meet you properly, Nastya."

A pause.

"Can I, can I ask…?"

"You are wondering how I can survive, yes? You will have to content yourself with not knowing."

"But-" Reeve tries to protest. Nastya interrupts her before she can get any more out.

"No. Was it a mistake when Carmilla brought us back? My opinion changes still."

That last part was quiet, like Nastya had entirely forgotten Reeve was there. For a moment, there's a faraway look on her face, before she jolts back to the present.

"But I do know this - the secret of what she did should die with us. And I am dead, that is all you need to know."

Reeve blinks. 

Dead?, he thinks.

"Dead?", she says aloud. "But you're here, speaking, breathing, the all of it!" She gestures at Nastya. 

"You're - this is gonna sound so rude I do apologise - you're unnaturally alive."

She makes a maybe gesture.

“Yes. And no. I… felt my blood slow and solidify in my veins, and I knew I was dying. When we wrote ourselves immortal, the universe believed us, and when I wrote myself an ending it believed me then. I think, I think I believed myself too, for a bit.”

The pause lasts forever.

“So I took the last memory I had of my love, and I cast myself into the void. And there I floated, systems offline, until you found me. I am alive, I breathe, and yet - for all intents and purposes - I am dead.”

Either that was an elaborate metaphor - which Reeve never could get the hang of - or she was telling the truth, which would be exponentially worse.

"You faked your death?" he asks, not a bad guess considering. "You’re not on the run from the authorities or anything?"

“I’m definitely wanted by the authorities, but that is another point entirely."

Nastya laughs at his gobsmacked expression.

"Don't worry about it. Let’s say though: yes, I did fake my death. I lied to the universe in its entirety that I was dead, and got away whilst everyone was distracted.”

Huh.

It didn't make sense, per se. You couldn't get a fake death notice to trick the abstract concept of "the universe".

Then again, it was a big world out there. Skies only knew she'd seen some weird shit out in space.

"So you’re gonna just, what?, stay on the run? Will no-one notice that reports of your death were greatly exaggerated?"

Nastya's laugh is genuine.

“No. I’m going to find some forgotten corner on some backwater asteroid and camp out there.. If I live a quiet enough life, then there will be nothing to sing about. The universe will look over me in search of something more interesting.”

There's something unspoken there. A quiet life, a life alone. Lonely at the end of space, maybe to end when Nastya died, or maybe she never would now, and would keep living until the stars gave out.

It sounded nightmarish.

Didn't Nastya have someone though? Reeve is sure she mentioned-

"You- didn't you say you had a lover? Maybe if-"

“She's dead.”

There's grief in Nastya's voice, but a quiet acceptance too. It must have happened a long time ago.

Reeve makes a fist, pressing it to his heart.

"I’m sorry."

Nastya offers an almost-smile. When she speaks, her voice is small.

“She… she died one piece at a time, until one day I looked into her eyes and saw no trace of the one who I had loved. The bonds between us faded and broke one by one. It's a terrible thing to love someone like that. When the one now bearing her body and name is not the one you fell in love with."

She stops, wiping at her eyes with a sleeve.

"Sometimes I dream that I'll find her again, on the other side of the horizon. At the end of everything."

Nastya is deep in her memories now, saying nothing. Reeve reaches over, taking her hand in his and squeezing it gently.

It's as cold as the grave.

They sit there as the silence expands around them. Reeve wishes she could say something, but this is grief on a timescale he can't even begin to conceptualise.

Maybe it's a long time before Nastya next speaks, or maybe it only seemed like that. She squeezes Reeve's hand in return before taking hers back.

"Look at me," she says in a thick voice. "I'm sure you have more important things to do than listen to an old lady's sorrows."

Old? Reeve almost asks, but figured Nastya was right. She'd content herself with not knowing.

"Not too much, honestly," she says instead. "I'll finish this report log an-"

“Report?”

There's a sudden sharpness to Nastya's voice.

"Yeah, uh-"

"No. The music is broken, okay? There is no more music, no more story. There is no-one pulling my strings, there is no-one writing out my actions. I am dead, I have ended. The universe moves on without me and this is the freest I have ever been."

Desperation creeps in.

"Please, let me stay that way."

And Reeve wants to, skies he wants to. But lying to Central is unthinkable and not sending a report at all is even more so. Besides - it wouldn't just be his job on the line. Her entire crew could go down with her.

"I- Central- Central policy states I have to make these logs, twice a week minimum," he tries to explain. "Doctors reports, maintenance records, observations. I’m sorry, I don't know-"

A beat.

Then Nastya's pushing herself up and away from the desk, half-running out of the door. 

Reeve lets her go.

He sighs, burying her face in her hands.

"Yeah," she says quietly, in a way that doesn't make it all alright.

"Yeah…"

"I guess this is Captain Reeve signing-"

And that's when she cuts herself off. He watches the light on the recorder flash its steady rhythm. Waiting for her.

"Fuck it."

She almost laughs.

"Recorder, delete that entire log. Get up all of them since the 21st too, they need editing. Oh, and call in Lora too. There's something important we need to talk about."