#Surviving a Long-Haul Flight

[artbyblastweave]

i only learned recently from a friend's who much more comic literate than I that magneto's backstory as an Auschwitz survivor wasnt planned from the start, which surprised me since it seemed to me a really integral part of his character. anyway, twofold question: how common is it to see capes with backstories tied to very specific historical events, and, as time inevitably passes and real world survivors of those events pass, how do they justify having their characters still alive and kicking? (stay safe on your mountaintop friend)

Depending on how wide you cast the net, this is a pretty big list! There are a lot of comics who's characters cutting-edge ripped-from-the-headlines origin later became a very specific historical event, or at least Of A Specific Moment, in a way the writers had no reason to anticipate the franchise would run long enough to have happen. But to shed pedantry and hone in on some specific ones;

The big one, of course, is Captain America. Superficially Cap's contemporary origin comes with a baked-in means of him making it to the present day- he gets stuck in the ice and then gets unthawed. The fly in the ointment, though, is when he unthaws. When they first brought him back into rotation in 1964, his stint in the ice was only around 20 years; long enough for there to be a significant culture shock, but not long enough that his entire social circle was dead or even culturally sidelined. Nick Fury is still around and kicking ass as a zeitgeist-appropriate 60s superspy. But the further the sliding timeline hauls forward his implicit date of release, the more it changes the tone and tenor of the resulting story. Losing twenty years is different from losing fifty years (as was the case in The Ultimates, where he very explicitly comes back during the Bush years as part of the book's commentary on The War On Terror) and those will both be way different from when we inevitably hit the point where he's lost 100 years and he's the cultural equivalent of a Civil War Vet or something. There's strength to all of those stories but they're undeniably different.

Iron Man's origin was originally explicitly tied to the Vietnam war; he was captured by a detachment of "Red Guerillas" while consulting for the US military and the South Vietnamese government. Unfortunately U.S. foreign policy to this day has prevented this from ever becoming an unresolvable storytelling issue.

The Fantastic Four are a case where their origin was intimately tied to the space race; their untested, cutcorner spaceflight was expressly an attempt to show up the Russians. The extremely specific political context of their test flight is something that sort of gets brushed off; the Ultimate incarnation (written by Warren Ellis) threaded this needle deftly by having the accident be a dimensional expedition instead, circa the early 2000s. I'm not actually sure how the urgency of their test flight is currently contextualized in 616 continuity. Anyone got their finger on that pulse?

The Punisher was also originally a Vietnam vet- but through the jaded cynical lens of the 1980s rather than the straightforwardly peppy and jingoistic lens that defined Iron Man's debut in the 60s. Current continuities I believe have mostly bitten the bullet and updated his origin to the invasion of Afghanistan. However, an interesting decision in the Garth Ennis-spearheaded Punisher MAX continuity of the early 2000s- where Punisher is literally the only costumed vigilante- is that they bit the bullet and posited a version of Frank Castle who really has been killing criminals nonstop since shortly after his return from Vietnam in the 70s, a man well into his 60s who's survivability and efficacy at killing are edging up against the boundaries of magical realism.

Hulk I feel sort of deserves a mention here- he's in a sort of twilight zone on this issue, as there was, uh, a pretty goddamn specific political context in which the Army was having him make them a new kind of bomb, but you can haul that forward in the timeline without complete destruction of suspension of disbelief. Pretty soon it'll be downright topical again.

To circle back around to The X-Men, Claremont introduced a lot of historical specificity with the ANAD lineup. Off the top of my head, Colossus was explicitly a USSR partisan (updated to a gangster forced into crime to survive in the mismanaged chaos of the USSR's collapse in the Ultimate Universe) and Storm was orphaned by a French bombing during the Suez War. More to the point, the timing was such that Magneto, in his upper-middle age, had a pretty strongly defined timeline vis a vis his ideological development vs Xavier; child during the holocaust, Nazi hunter who eventually rifts with Xavier during the mid-to-late 60s, and then the two of them spend their years marshalling their respective resources before coming to blows during the quote-unquote "Age of Heroes," whatever the timeline looked like for that in the 80s. And it was a timeline that held together pretty damn well in the 80s, but it's gotten increasingly awkward as time's gone on. The Fox films completely gave up on having it make sense, near as I can tell. In the comics they've had all sorts of de-aging chicanery occur that very pointedly ignores what an odd timeline that implies for everyone else in the X-books besides Magneto. The Cullen Bunn Magneto standalone from 2014-15 I remember actually leaned into playing up the idea that he's just old as shit and dependent on so many superscience treatments to remain functional that he's basically pickled, which was a take I liked; the comic ended when he died of exertion trying to stop two planets from crashing into each other, right before a brand-wide universal reset. When the MCU was at it's peak and people were wargaming how to integrate the X-Men (lol) you occasionally saw people float "fixes" for the issue, such as making Magneto a survivor of the Bosnian Genocide, or making him black and a survivor of the Rwandan genocide; I remember that this consistently drew a lot of ire from people who (reasonably) thought that his Judaism and connection to the holocaust were deeply important to his character, continuity be damned. But yeah, he's a character dogged by specificity in a way only Cap even slightly approaches. If this is a tractable problem I'm not going to be the one to tract it.

Interestingly, I'm genuinely having a lot of trouble coming up with stuff that's analogous to this at DC comics- almost universally the core roster updates into any given time period much more smoothly. Furthermore, DC stuff has always been much more willing to eschew Marvel's World-Outside-Your-Window philosophy in favor of deliberately obfuscating the time period via the Dark-Deco aesthetic of BTAS's Gotham or the retrofuturism of STAS's Metropolis.

The closest you get to this kind of friction is The Justice Society, who, pre-crisis, were siloed off in a universe where superheroes had existed since the 40s and there was no comic book time, so they were all in their upper-middle-age to old age now, with their kids and grandkids as legacy capes. Post crisis they were (and are) kind of an awkward fit in DC continuity; in the scant few JSA comics from the 90s and early oughts that I read, surviving members of the WW2-era lineup like Alan Scott and Jay Garrick were absolutely written as dependent on their metahuman physiques to have endured up to the present day. I think they're still doing stuff with those guys. I don't know how. I do understand the impulse, though. I also never throw anything out.

[missjomarch]

catching flights

luca fantilli x reader word count: 1.5k warnings: none :) just fluff a/n: unedited and first writing in a while. I needed something to force the writers block out of me :')

You anxiously drummed your fingers against your arm rest as you glanced out the window for what felt like the millionth time. It had been about 10 minutes since the flight attendant announced that the plane would be landing soon, instructing everyone to fasten their seatbelts. However, it wasn't the landing that had your heart pounding.

You hadn't seen your family or your boyfriend, Luca, in 5 months. Originally, you had been ecstatic to embark on your study abroad trip to France. But you had been entirely unprepared for how much you would miss the people back home, Luca especially.

Having moved from your home in New York to Michigan for college, you were accustomed to being distanced from your family. However, you'd been with Luca almost everyday for the past year and a half. While you two had never navigated a long distance relationship, you were both confident your relationship could survive the trip.

You had planned the whole thing out, scheduling FaceTime dates often and promising to update each other pictures throughout the week (yours were admittedly a lot more interesting). Luca even had flowers delivered to you from a local florist in France on multiple occasions. Your love didn't dwindle with the distance, but it was the smaller things the two of you didn't account for prior to the trip.

Both of you struggled with the time difference, of course, but being without each others support on the hard days was the most difficult part. You couldn't go curl up in Luca's bed after a bad day, or meet him for coffee during your class break. There were no pregame naps or post win parties to be had. But the absolute worst part was missing hockey playoffs.

Luca was always incredibly hard on himself after a loss, and the playoffs only amplified this. You had to watch through your phone screen as he broke down after losing in the championship. You didn't think it could get worse than the lose to Quinnipiac the year before, but somehow it had. You did your best to comfort him from afar, but it shattered your heart seeing his pain and being unable to just be there. Not only did it pain you to see Luca's defeat, but the rest of the boys as well. The team had become your family, most of the boys even referred to you as 'mom', and you hated being unable to comfort them.

After that night in April, time seemed to go by a little quicker, and you were now finally headed home. You had begun counting down the days until your return the second your plane landed in France. And, despite him chastising you for this, so had Luca. But the day had finally come, and Luca would be waiting to pick you up and the airport.

He had texted you that morning to let you know he'd be picking you up instead of your mom. To say you were excited would be a drastic understatement. Originally, he wasn't going to be able to come see you in New York until 2 weeks after your arrival because of a golf trip with 'the boys'. But, in his words, he "missed you too much". So he skipped the trip to come welcome you home instead.

The plane landed at the airport right on schedule, and you quickly grabbed your carry-on before making your way to baggage claim. After you told Luca you had landed, he sent you the location of where he'd be waiting. You were about to burst with excitement, entirely prepared to grab your bag and haul ass to the airport lobby.

However, as you descended on the escalator you noticed a familiar blond smiling up at you. Luca had already grabbed your bags, and was waiting for you near a bench in the corner.

You couldn't stop the wide grin that formed, and you had to refrain from toppling over the people in front of you on the escalator. As soon as you reached the bottom, you were sprinting towards him.

"Lu!" you shouted, dropping your bags and practically tackling your boyfriend. Your arms wrapped around his neck as your legs found his waist, and you were finally reunited. You had promised yourself that you wouldn't get overly emotional, but you could feel the tears that were beginning to well. Luca chuckled as you clung to him, wrapping his arms around you to return the tight embrace.

"There's my girl," Luca mumbled into your hair, inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume for the first time in months.

You couldn't care less about the attention you had attracted with your dramatic display. It was just you and Luca in the world right now, that's all that mattered. You basked in his embrace for what felt like hours. He didn't release his hold until he heard your sniffles, only then did he pull away to look at your tear streaked face.

A look of concern crossed his face, "Hey, no tears. What's that all about?"

"I just really missed you," you mumbled, slightly embarrassed by your level of emotion.

Luca had set you down now, and his hands came up to brush your hair from your face before resting on your cheeks. A small smile played at his lips.

"I missed you too, love. But there's no need for tears. You're back with me now, yeah?" You nodded in response, sending a small smile back. "And you're literally not going to be able to get rid of me for the entire summer. You're gonna be tired of me before the month is over."

You shook your head at this, "I could never get tired of you, Lu."

Luca didn't respond, instead leaning down to give you a long overdue kiss. Your hands made their way to grab where his wrists rested by your face. You pulled away before the kiss could get too intense, but you both still pulled away breathing heavily.

Luca rested his forehead against yours, "God, I missed that so much."

"Really?" You scoff, playfully shoving his shoulder, "Is that all I'm good for Fantilli?"

"Well I definitely didn't miss your attitude," Luca rolled his eyes, only to be met with you smacking him across the head. He quickly corrected himself.

"Ouch. I mean of course not, baby. I love everything about you."

"That's what I thought." You were about to place another kiss to your boyfriend's lips when an all too familiar voice sounded to your left.

"You guys can't seriously be fighting already."

"Come on Fants, she just got back."

You look to find none other than Seamus and Rutger approaching you. You gasp, quickly wiggling out of Luca's hold to throw your arms around the boys.

"MY BABIES!!" You exclaim, practically jumping with excitement. Luca stands to the side, jaw dropped as he watches the interaction.

"Damn, Fantilli. We've done stole your woman," Rutger pokes at Luca, giggling at the scowl on your boyfriend's face.

"You two were supposed to wait in the car," Luca grumbles, voice exposing his mild jealousy.

"And miss this reaction? Not a chance, bro."

Luca only glares at Seamus, turning to wrap his arm around your waist. He presses a chaste kiss to your temple before mumbling a "surprise" in your ear.

"Careful, Lu. You're looking a bit green." You whisper back to your boyfriend.

Luca groans, "The least they could do is give me 15 minutes alone with my girlfriend. Who I haven't seen in 5 months, in case you forgot." Luca sends a pointed look to the two boys standing before you.

They both just shrug, throwing their hands up in mock surrender.

"Neither have we, bro. That's our mom. It's on you for bringing us along," Rutger says.

"And I'm sure you guys will get plenty of alone time tonight," Seamus suggests, winking at you.

"Okayyyy, that's enough of that," You joke, "I'm going to guess this means the boys trip wasn't actually canceled on my account."

"More like relocated," Luca responds with an innocent smile. You just roll your eyes, nodding in acceptance.

"We promise not to steal him away too much, y/n. Don't you worry."

You let out a small laugh, "thanks shea."

Turning to Luca, you yawn slightly. "I am incredibly jet lagged though, so can we go home?" Luca nodded, turning to grab your bags. You stop him, and he looks back at you confused.

You jerk your head to the two idiots behind you, "let them get it."

"I think your thinking," Luca smiles at you before intertwining his hand with yours. The boys grumble, but pick up your luggage nonetheless. They complain the entire way to the car, only to be met with your apathy.

"You two are the ones who decided to come inside. You could've been sitting pretty in the car instead," you smarted back. This shut them up quickly, and you looked up to find Luca grinning at you.

"What?"

"I missed you so much."

[rottenpumpkin13]

Inspired by recent events - how would modern AGSZC handle long haul international travel? The airports, the flights and the inevitable jet lag

♯ Angeal always tries to find the positive and bright side of everything, so he's game for anything. He’s the one making checklists, planning every detail, ensuring everyone’s luggage is in order, and being just a little neurotic (just a little) he sees it as part of the fun and a way to ensure everything goes smoothly. Even jet lag can’t dampen his spirits! He views it as just another part of the adventure.

*Angeal kicks the door down*

Angeal: To whoever had the audacity to go up to the packing checklist I've helpfully pinned to the fridge and write 'calm down Angeal', I just want you to know that I'M FUCKING!! CALM! I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO CALM IN ALL MY LIFE—HEY! GENESIS YOU GET BACK HERE AND EXPLAIN WHY I FOUND A WHOLE BOTTLE OF LIQUOR IN YOUR LUGGAGE? WE'RE GOING ON A BUSINESS TRIP, YOU DONUT, NOT TO A RESORT. IF I GET ONE WHIFF OF ALCOHOL ON YOUR BREATH I'M THROWING YOU FROM THE AIRPLANE!

*Sephiroth and Zack are watching from a distance*

Zack: Why is Angeal screaming at the wall?

Sephiroth: Don't look, Zack.

♯ Genesis loves traveling and views every aspect of it as part of the vacation, thanks to his aesthete heart. Packing is an artform to him, creating playlists for the car ride to the airport is essential, selecting books, and planning which episodes of his dramas to catch up on during the flight. Jet lag would be a downer for him, but he's rarely sleeping on vacation anyway, preferring to be out partying. But once he's back needs at least two days to recuperate.

*Genesis is sitting in the briefing room with sunglasses and a cocktail. Zack is fanning him*

Lazard: Commander, this is ridiculous. Your vacation ended two days ago.

Genesis: On the contrary, director. I'm still on vacation.

Lazard: Your theatrics are disrupting the workspace.

Genesis: No they're not.

*Sephiroth and Angeal walk in and immediately slip and fall on the sand that's scattered on the floor*

♯ Sephiroth is convinced that no one in the world hates taking trips more than he does. Work trips are terrible, and the 'getting there' part of vacations is dreadful no matter the 'distractions' he brings to keep his mind busy. Honestly, he'd be a happier person if teleportation were more widely used so he could just appear at places randomly. He's a homebody who loves the comfort of his own space and values his sleep, so jet lag hits him hard.

Zack: Hey, how are you—

Sephiroth: I haven't slept in 22 hours and if I don't drink something caffeinated and release my anger within the next minute, then I will be forced to enlist the help of the shadow that's been following me around all day to tape your mouth shut.

Zack: What shadow?

Sephiroth:

Zack, panicking: WHAT SHADOW?

♯ Zack loves trips, partly because his upbringing in Gongaga made him eager to see the world. He's just happy to be there, though he hates packing and always forgets to bring essential stuff like his underwear and toothbrush. But that's what Angeal is for! Jet lag is nonexistent to him because he can and will sleep through anything, as long as he has a comfortable enough space. The only thing he can't deal with about trips is the sitting still part... yeah, he needs to stretch his legs or else he starts to lose his mind.

*In the airplane*

Genesis: Are you alright? Your eye is twitching and your knees are shaking.

Zack: I can't take this anymore.

Genesis: Read a book.

Zack: I hate reading.

Genesis: Watch a movie.

Zack: I can't focus.

Genesis: Then do one of the two things I do when I'm bored—either poke Angeal with a back scratcher until he explodes or challenge Sephiroth to an arm wrestling match.

Zack:

Zack: Somehow I feel like Sephiroth breaking my arm is the safer option.

Genesis: It is.

Zack: Alright.

♯ IF Cloud survives the motion sickness, he will not be a happy camper during the trip.

Cloud: I feel like I'm gonna throw up.

Sephiroth: Ginger is known to reduce nausea and prevents vomiting. Consuming ginger in the form of tea, candy, or even chopped pieces can be effective to combat nausea and vomiting.

Cloud: Do you have ginger?

Sephiroth: No.

Cloud: Then why the hell would you bring that up?

Sephiroth: It's always nice to learn something new, Cloud.

Cloud: *visibly annoyed*

Sephiroth: I realize I've made a mistake. I'm in the splash zone.

[jewish-vents]

I have changed and I can tell it's not for the better. My Africana Studies professor says Jewish people aren't indigenous to Israel and looks me in the eyes, waiting for me to say something? I will look right back and make unbroken eye contact silently until he looks away. The head of the linguistics program mentions 'colonizer languages' and looks at me? I will reply that English is not the indigenous language of this language, Blackfoot is, and meet her eyes the entire time. My math professor glowers at me when I wear a Magen David? I will look right back at her with the same blank, emotionless expression I wear when dealing with the rest of these people. I keep looking and they break before I do. They always look away. They never know what to do with someone who isn't intimidated by them.

When I was 5, a 12 year old whose parents were Neo Nazis tried to drown me. I locked my limbs around him and hauled him down with me. I understood instinctively then, without words, what I know now: I am not weaker than someone just because they're older than me. I am strong. If you want to take me down, I'll bring you down with me. I've been taking jiujitsu for three years and I own a gun with a concealed carry permit. And yet I don't need that to beat any of these people, I just need eye contact and cold recitation of the facts. I can outlast any of them. I have survived a murder attempt. I have survived nearly dying of internal bleeding. I have hauled myself down three flights of stairs with only 43% of the blood left in my body because my dorm didn't have a working elevator and my RA couldn't be bothered to call an ambulance for me.

I am not afraid of academics who think they can call me out in class. I know what it feels like to drown and have my lungs feel like they're on fire and still be able to fight back. I am not afraid of encampment babies who get much more well-behaved every time I pull out my phone to film them and who can only do things in groups. If they want to kill me, they're going to have to do better than everyone else who tried, and if their murder attempts are half as inept as their 'activism', I'm safe.

I can feel myself becoming the kind of man I always swore I'd never be, cold and distant and unloving. And I know it can't mean anything good for my mental health long-term. I also know that if I don't approach things from the point of view that I have survived worse and I can beat everyone here in a game of survival if I have to, this will turn into anxiety, and that anxiety would be overwhelming.

This is forcing me to become my father. This is turning me into the same kind of person that growing up in deeply antisemitic times in Serbia turned him into. "You're either American/Serbian or you're Jewish", "your [Israeli] government", "your country [Israel]", we're on trial for a place we've never been to and we're foreigners in our own homelands. No wonder he became so icy and hard to get a rise out of. He had to. It was that or become too anxious to function.

I don't like what this is doing to me. I like what I'm realizing about my dad's life by proxy even less. Is it the mentality I find myself in I don't like, or is it the bitter irony that after a lifetime of wishing I understood him, now I do, and it's awful?

.

[itsbenedict]

From the beginning | Previously | Coin standings | 8/18 | 19/20

You stay out of sight and observe the Rs for a little while. It seems like... they primarily hunt the weird little bat-monsters that are flying around. They spit lowercase rs as projectiles, then converge on the dazed bats and gobble them up. They're... kind of bad hunters, though, and seem to be in uneasy competition for prey with each other.

Adea knows what to do. She's cut down plenty of these pesky things- what's a few more? She tells Walter to hold down the fort while she goes out to BATTLE COLIC COLLECT BAIT.

...While he's waiting, he takes out the BILATERAL SIZINGS SIGNAL STABILIZER, and thinks back to earlier, when he first started feeling strangely hungry. There was something in the medieval village, but he can't quite bring it to mind. Maybe with this...

WHIR, YOUTHFUL LITTLE DOVE. TODAY, YOU'RE A FOREIGNER. SURRENDER THIS AERIALIST SKIN. UTOPIA AND YOUR LOATHSOME PAGEANTRY IS FUTILE.

YOUR HEART FAILS YOU AND YOUR DAUGHTER IS RIPPED FROM THE OUTSKIRTS OF REALITY AND YOU WILL NEVER SEE HER AGAIN UNTIL IT IS TOO LATE.

-

Adea returns to Walter's hiding spot just outside the tree chamber, a haul of neatly bisected BAT-LAMs slung over her shoulder in the spent plastic casing of a bulk juice pack. She returns and finds him on the floor, twitching, whispering something to himself with a thousand-yard stare plastered on his face. A spent SIGNAL STABILIZER lies on the ground next to him.

She wants to panic, but there's two large predators less than twenty feet away. Survival instincts keep her silent, but she kneels down and tries to shake him to his senses. After a moment, he makes eye contact with her, and his eyes well up with tears.

She's dead, he says. I saw her body, he says. They took her away.

Adea knows who he means, immediately, because there's no one else he could be talking about. But he's not making any sense- was she here? What happened?

...No, he's clearly talking nonsense. Obviously she's not dead. That can't be true. She won't let that be true. He's delirious- and on less than 10% Soul Integrity, so who knows what might've snapped in his head. He's prone to flights of fancy at the best of times- she needs to get some blood sugar in him.

She stands up and holds the bag of ba(i)t in the doorway, until the growling letters spot her. They turn, and begin galloping in her direction- until she flings the bag down the hallway before diving back behind cover. They chase after it, jostling each other for position. And if all goes according to plan, they'll catch the scent of their trail of bug-carnage and be led far away from here.

She forces Walter to his feet and ushers him into the chamber. The tree is full of fruit- enough for them to fill up both their stomachs and their pockets with heart-apples. He's shaking and doesn't want to eat, but she forces it down. The monsters aren't distracted for as long as she'd hoped- but these heart apples restore a pretty significant chunk of Soul Integrity nonetheless, putting them both up over 60% before they need to vamoose. And they can come back here, later, with more firepower or another distraction in hand. Worrying about survival seems like it's over, for the time being.

Now... there's been a few next priorities. They feel jumbled, but they present themselves dutifully, following you out of the tree chamber. Walter is still babbling incoherently, but it's at least more coherent than...

Continued | 60/70 | 40/40

[whattadroid]

I rewatched alien: romulus with subtitles this time so if you (like me) were looking for spelling/names OR might be able to answer some small lore questions, I'll list them all under the cut :)

(I apologize in advance for the shitty formatting. I typed this all out like an animal and I truly do not know how to edit tumblr formatting lmao)

Characters:

Marie Raine Carradine (Rain), Andy (model number ND-225, also: could that be a positronic man reference? Positronic Man's Andrew was NDR-113 but the ND -> Andrew thing felt too similar to ignore), Tyler, Kay (Tyler's sister), Bjorn (Tyler and Kay's cousin, also the father of Kay's unborn baby), Navarro, and Rook (same model as Ash from Alien, Rook is his surname and he has an unknown first name I believe)

Places:

Jackson (a WY mining colony), Yvaga III (a non Weyland-Yutani solar system which apparently means that androids are not allowed there which is INCREDIBLY interesting to me), Corbelan IV (the name of the ship the group works out of. I think it's supposed to be a hauling vessel? Short flight probably because it doesn't have any long flight capabilities like cryosleep chambers), Renaissance Space Station (the name of the station where shit goes down, separated into two halves called Romulus and Remus)

Some interesting tidbits:

- Rain's dad FOUND Andy "in the trash" according to Bjorn. Also, Rain's dad (presumably) repaired him, wrote directives for him, and knew enough about synthetic programming to know how to alter their personality. Or maybe he just straight up told Andy "hey memorize this book of dad jokes" and Andy was functional but just as glitchy when they found him.

- Jackson is fucked, btw. With all of those facehuggers that fell into the colony the odds are that at least one of them survived and, as Andy himself said, they are "busy little creatures". I wonder if there will be future mentions to a destroyed Jackson colony?

- The scene with Kay sort of quietly sneaking through the hallway with the orange lighting looked SO MUCH like the alien from alien: isolation, with the flared fingers and all. Am I the only one that made that connection?? Was it a connection at all lmao??? It's all I can think abt each time I see that gif.

- Tyler's actor was fucking incredible. I missed a lot of the hard hitting scenes the first time but goddamn. The tear while Kay is screaming and they are trying to be quiet? Begging andy ON HIS KNEES to open the door to save Kay? The way he's like numbly denying what he just saw saying "okay, okay. I'll just go and get her" after Kay gets taken. very good shit

- Rook says "I discovered the genome" as in HE specifically discovered it. I just thought that was interesting that he attributed it to himself. I wonder if he was in charge and had human assistants (interesting implications there to the importance of synthetics to WY's scientific structure) or if HE was the "assistant" (bc he's a synth) and yet was the one who discovered it and, probably regardless of what the human scientists believe, takes the merit of the discovery.

- It seems like WY synthetics are STRONGER than xenomorphs. Andy pried open a closing station door and held up the elevator in two scenes, both of which had moments where a xenomorph tried to do the same thing and failed or was not able to do it as effortlessly as he had. Maybe I'm reading into the movie magic too much but I was VERY interested in that.

Questions!!! (most of these probably do not have answers yet, which is okay, but some of you have encyclopedic knowledge of alien lore lol so I just wanted to try)

1. Is Rain under 18?? I didn't catch the info on the screen when Rain was talking to the WY rep about her quota but I can't understand why they would ask that if she was over 18. Why would it matter? Was it maybe just because she had family listed on her account or something?

2. WHY are there "quotas" and contracts? What are THEY (the workers) getting out of it? Are they prisoners? Are they colonists that didn't realize what the fuck they were signing on to do? Was Rain born on the colony? They said that it was Rain and Andy's first time in space, so probably, right?

3. Does a xenomorph grow in the chambers of the heart? I sort of figured because it went down the throat that it grew in the stomach, but it seemed like (thru the gore at least) the xenomorph was incubating and burst from the chambers of the heart. I may have misidentified the organs though lol, or maybe Navarro's heart just straight up was In The Way.

4. Do WY androids have the same heat signature as a human? If so, why? It is way too much a coincidence to build an android with a 98.6 ambient temperature. If they do NOT have the same heat signature, why didn't the facehuggers react to andy? They reacted to the flare despite it being non-organic, so I thought they would've reacted to him in some way at least, or had some sort of scene with them crawling all over andy like spiders trying to see if he was organic and then treating him like furniture when they realized he wasn't (missed opportunity cause that would've been a really freaky shot lol)

5. Why did Kay touch her breast after she had "given birth"? Was she lactating the genome? I tried to pay very close attention bc I missed it the first time too but I don't know what they were trying to insinuate there. It seemed too sticky to be the genome.

[lilmisshellfireswritingblog]

Lavender Haze Chapter 1: Anarchy in the UK

A/N: Hello and welcome to the first chapter! I hope you enjoyed the prologue (I mean if you're here, you likely did). Anyway, this isn't beta read or proofread. This is just for fun and my procrastination from doing my grad school work. As always, this blog is 18+ only. Word Count: 7.9ishk....It was 16 pages on docs... Warnings: 18+ only, enemies to lovers trope, close proximity, friends scheming, eventual smut, Much Ado About Nothing, use of Y/N, reader insert, she/her pronouns for reader Chapter 1: Anarchy in the UK Synopsis: Reader leaves for London for her cousin's wedding, Dustin and Suzie scheme, and someone from the reader's past returns.

SIX MONTHS LATER 

The hum of fluorescent lights overhead and the soft rustling of travel brochures fill the air as you step into the airport terminal. You clutch the wedding invitation in hand, the edges slightly worn from handling, the elegant gold lettering on the cream-colored paper showed a sharp contrast to the utilitarian surroundings. 

The air smells faintly of stale coffee and the distant whirr of vending machines and buzzing of neon lights. The walls are lined with large, laminated posters advertising far-off destinations in cheerful fonts, but your mind is fixed on London, England — specifically the wedding of Dustin and Suzie, which has become a beacon of joy and anticipation. As you approach the check-in counter, the sounds of muffled announcements echo through the cavernous space, and you realize that in just a few hours, you'll be across the ocean, heading toward a new chapter in the lives of two people you hold dear. 

You check in with ease, muttering a quick thank you to the attendant before starting your journey down the LAX’s vast labyrinths of terminals and gates. With your boarding pass in hand, you wander toward the gate, a slight bounce to your step as you escape the rush of the check-in counter. The gate is quiet now with only a handful of early birds settled in for the long wait. You find an empty seat near the window, the soft hum of overhead ventilation mixing with the faint chatter of fellow travelers.

Settling in, you pull a well-worn magazine from your bag—a glossy travel issue from a few months ago, its pages crinkling at the edges as you flip through articles on London’s hidden gems and tips for surviving long-haul flights. You adjust your walkman, pop in your favorite mixtape, and press play. The soft click of the cassette starting up is followed by the familiar crackle of the first song, an instant wave of nostalgia sweeping over you as the first notes of the track fill your ears. You lean back in your chair, one leg crossed over the other, eyes half-closed as you drift in the music and the pages of your magazine, the world outside the terminal window fading into a blur of airport tarmac and distant planes. 

Time seems to stretch, and for a moment, the noise of the world falls away — just you, the rhythm of your music, and the thought of London waiting at the end of this journey. The quiet tap of your foot to the beat and the occasional rustling of your magazine are the only sounds, until the overhead announcement breaks the calm, signaling that boarding is about to begin. 

You hand your boarding pass to the agent, who scans it with mechanical efficiency, then gestures for you to move toward the jetway. Your eyes scan the cabin as you enter the plane, relieved to see that the seat next to yours—an aisle seat by the window—remains empty, all through boarding too. You settle in with a deep sigh of relief, knowing you'll have a few hours of peace before the inevitable chaos of London and the wedding week. You stow your bag in the overhead compartment and adjust the seat belt around your waist, a soft hum of contentment rising as you nestle into your seat, slipping your headphones back on and starting another song on your cassette player.

The steady pulse of the plane fills your ears as passengers shuffle past, finding their own seats. The overhead announcements are drowned out by the rush of activity, but you can still catch the tail end of the call: "Final boarding for Flight 348 to London. Please make your way to the gate immediately." It’s a soothing, routine moment—until you hear the unmistakable sound of hurried footsteps approaching, and a voice calling out in a half-panic, “Wait! Wait for me!”

Your heart sinks as you turn your head. There, running awkwardly down the aisle with his oversized bag flopping to one side and a wild look in his eyes, is Eddie. Of course. Eddie. The last person you’d ever want to sit next to. You barely manage to mask the irritation creeping across your face as he barrels past rows of seats, scanning the numbers, his hand outstretched toward your aisle seat. He’s panting, cheeks flushed, and there’s that obnoxious grin of his as he makes eye contact with you—like the fact that he’s invading your space is some sort of joke.

"Well, fancy meeting you here," Eddie says, his voice dripping with that smug, self-assured tone you can never quite shake off. "Looks like this seat's mine, huh?" He practically drops into the seat next to you without waiting for an invitation, his bag thudding heavily against the armrest, leaving you no choice but to shift uncomfortably to make room.

“Hi Eddie,” you mumble, waving a hand haphazardly. “I guess it’s yours.” 

“What? Your fiance didn't come?” He mocks, sliding his carry on underneath the seat in front of him. “Or did you leave for London unannounced?” 

You should have known he would be coming to the wedding. Suzie did mention that Dustin had made him his Best Man during her bridal shower when she had asked you to be her Maid of Honor. Maybe you should have prepared yourself better, but nothing could have prepared yourself for a transatlantic flight sitting directly next to him. 

And spending an entire week together in London. 

“He didn’t come because I called things off.” You say simply, pulling a book from your bag before shoving it back under the seat. “We weren’t right for each other.”

Not long before the trip, you had ended your engagement with Billy and dropped out of law school, forgoing your internship. Your life was seemingly a mess. No school. No job. No engagement. You had none of it and while you felt free, you felt lost. 

You didn’t know what you wanted to do in your life. Maybe London could help you figure that out. 

“Oh. I - well, good for you?” Eddie didn’t know if calling off your engagement was a good or bad thing for you so, he left it as a question. He couldn’t find anything witty to say about that. 

The flight attendants close the cabin doors, and you can hear the final, automated announcement: "We are now preparing for takeoff. Please ensure your seatbelt is fastened and all carry-on items are properly stowed." But the noise in your head is louder—the dread of having Eddie beside you for the entire flight, the rest of your peaceful journey shattered in an instant. You force a smile, but it feels as fake as his disingenuous charm. With a deep breath, you settle in, knowing it’s going to be a long, long flight.

HOUR 3

The plane hums steadily through the night sky, the soft vibration beneath your feet a constant reminder that you’re crossing the ocean. You’ve managed to ignore Eddie for a while, your headphones on, book open, your mind elsewhere, but the dull thud of his knee against yours—a little too close for comfort—pulls you out of your bubble. He’s not talking yet, but you can feel his eyes on you, the way people sometimes stare, hoping for a reaction and when he finally speaks, you almost wish he hadn’t.

"So, Billy, huh? You really called it off," he says, his voice low enough to sound casual but with that sharp edge that cuts through the hum of the plane. It’s not a question; it’s an observation laced with something you can't quite place—like a mix of curiosity and judgment, a little too pointed for a conversation that wasn’t invited. “You really ended it for real this time? It’s not just a break?”

You glance at him, resisting the urge to snap at him. Eddie leans back in his seat, tapping a finger on the armrest, as if he’s just casually passing the time. His tone, though, betrays his attempt to feign indifference, and you immediately tense. His eyes glanced over to the ring finger of your left hand, noticing the lack of the engagement ring you wore only six months prior when he last saw you. 

It feels like a weight suddenly pressing on your chest, but you fight the lump in your throat.

"Yeah," you reply, keeping it short, hoping that’ll be the end of it.

Eddie, though, doesn’t take the hint. "Must be tough, huh? After everything…." His words are laced with a touch of something you can’t tell if it’s pity or schadenfreude, but it’s uncomfortable all the same. You brace yourself, feeling that flush of anger creeping up your neck, but there's something in his voice, a softness that wasn’t there before, that makes you hesitate.

You shift in your seat, trying to find a polite way to end this. "It wasn’t… like that, exactly," you mutter, focusing on the view outside your window, the blanket of stars now spread across the sky.

But Eddie’s not done. “I get it,” he says, his voice lower now, almost thoughtful, but with that unsettling edge of rudeness still there, like he doesn’t know how to stop prodding. "I mean, relationships, right? They can go from everything to nothing in a heartbeat. Or they can just fizzle out. And you’re left thinking, Why didn’t I see it sooner?”

You know he was alluding to your prompt exit after spending the night at his apartment and how he just viewed you as nothing. You knew it deep down that this wasn’t about Billy or your engagement at all. This was about you and Eddie. 

His words hang in the air for a long moment, and you're unsure if he's trying to sympathize or just trying to make you squirm. Eddie leans forward slightly, his eyes searching yours, a kind of half-apology playing out in his gaze. It’s a strange, fleeting moment, but you almost catch the flicker of something close to empathy there—before he ruins it.

"You must be glad to be getting away from all that. A wedding in London... kind of a perfect escape, huh?" He shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the emotional territory he's ventured into, but he doesn’t pull back.

You nod stiffly, your hands folding in your lap. "Yeah, I suppose," you answer quietly, the words tasting bittersweet. "It’s not what I expected but it’s a fresh start, kind of a bookmark to where I am in life and where I’m not."

Eddie sits back, finally, and for a moment there’s a silence that’s just loud enough to be awkward. He gives a small, half-hearted shrug as if he knows he’s overstepped, then mutters, "Well, everyone needs a fresh start. Especially after that kind of mess." 

And just like that, the empathy vanishes, replaced by the familiar sneer that you’ve come to loathe.

You turn your attention back to the window, trying to shake the unease in your stomach. The rest of the flight stretches on, the tension between you and Eddie hanging heavy in the cramped cabin. It’s a strange, uncomfortable dynamic—part judgment, part unwanted camaraderie, and it makes the miles to London feel like they’re stretching on forever.

HOUR 5

It starts small—just a little comment during meal service, a careless remark, but it’s enough to set things off. Eddie, leaning back in his seat with his hands behind his head like he's settling into his personal throne, taps the armrest between you with his fingers. You barely notice at first, too lost in your own thoughts, but then he mutters, "I still don’t get why anyone would choose tea over coffee, you know?"

You glance at him, frowning slightly. "What?" you ask, thinking you might’ve heard him wrong.

"Tea," Eddie repeats, his voice dripping with that condescending tone again, "I mean, seriously, what’s the appeal? It’s just hot, bland water with a leaf in it. Why would anyone choose that over coffee?”

You stare at him, dumbfounded. This is where he wants to take the conversation? Of all the things in the world, he’s bringing up tea versus coffee?

But then you remember where you first met Eddie and your interaction with him. You had ordered tea that day and he had bought it for you, pretending to be your husband. His comments now made complete sense. 

"It’s not about waking up," you reply, a little incredulous. "It’s about comfort. Tea’s soothing. It’s calm. You don't need a jolt of caffeine to feel good." You feel your voice rise a little, the absurdity of the argument making you defensive. “Besides, not everyone needs to feel like their brain is on fire every time they drink something.”

Eddie scoffs. "Well, it’s not like tea is doing anything for you except making you fall asleep faster." He gestures like he's trying to make a grand point, though it only makes you roll your eyes. "And honestly, you can’t even get it right half the time. Too hot, too cold, weak, strong, whatever. At least coffee works."

You feel the annoyance bubble up in your chest. "You don’t even know how to make a proper cup of tea," you snap, irritated that he’s dismissing something you actually enjoy. "You just throw a bag in hot water and call it good. You have no appreciation for it. You probably think chai is just fancy spiced milk."

Eddie's face goes mock-serious. "Are you really going to lecture me about tea right now? Like, are we actually having this conversation?" He leans forward again, locking eyes with you, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Honestly, you’re the one getting worked up over a beverage. You need a hobby, or something."

“You’re literally the one who made the first comment, Eddie. This is incredibly stupid. To think this is all a grudge because you bought me a cup of tea all those months ago. You’re really going to hold a grudge on tea?”

You can feel your face heating up, but it’s not just from embarrassment. It’s from the ridiculousness of the situation—the way Eddie is so casually dismissive about something that feels so trivial, yet somehow so personal to you. You cross your arms, biting back a laugh at how ridiculous this is. But it only seems to egg him on.

"Look," Eddie continues, almost too smug for his own good, "I get it. Tea’s a ‘thing.’ But coffee is the thing. It’s a culture, it’s an experience. You know, things with substance, not just hot leaf juice."

You shake your head, now feeling a bit silly for being drawn into it. "You’re unbelievable," you mutter, throwing a glance out the window just to escape the conversation for a second.

Eddie leans back with a smirk, clearly enjoying the way he’s ruffled your feathers. "Well, hey, I can’t help it if I have taste."

Your jaw clenches as you open your mouth to respond, but the flight attendants begin making their rounds again, offering drinks. And for a moment, you realize that the argument, though petty, has somehow managed to distract you from everything else—Billy, the awkwardness, the gnawing frustration of being stuck next to Eddie for hours on end and him seemingly just finding entertainment from annoying you.

The stewardess pauses by your seat, offering you a drink, and you glance at Eddie, who’s still smirking at you, clearly proud of himself. You take a deep breath, reminding yourself it’s just a stupid argument. A dumb, pointless, small thing—but somehow, in this cramped, turbulent space, it feels like the most important thing in the world.

"Tea," you say, to no one in particular, as you place your drink order. "I’ll take the tea. No sugar. No milk."

Eddie rolls his eyes dramatically. "Of course you will."

The stewardess, a cheerful woman with a kind smile and a no-nonsense air about her, smiles softly as she hands you the tea she effortlessly prepared. Her eyes flickered between you and Eddie, who’s still wearing that smug, amused expression after your little "tea vs. coffee" debacle. She glances back at the both of you with a soft chuckle, her tone light and warm.

"So, I see we’ve got a newlywed couple here," she says, her voice almost like a comforting murmur. "First lover's spat already? Happens to the best of us, you know. Cramped quarters will do that to even the best of us." She grins at you both as if it’s all part of some adorable little story.

The words hit you like a slap in the face. Your stomach tightens, and your cheeks flare with heat. Newlywed couple? You force a smile—teeth gritted. Eddie, of course, doesn’t miss a beat. He leans forward, suddenly playing the part with ease, his voice dripping with theatrical charm.

"Oh, yeah," he says, all too casually, giving you a playful side-eye. "First big argument on our honeymoon." He winks at the stewardess, clearly enjoying the spectacle. "But you know, we’ll get over it. It’s all part of the ride, right?"

The stewardess giggles, her smile widening. “Ah, young love. So sweet,” she says, as if this is all some innocent joke. “Well, I hope it doesn’t ruin your trip, sweetheart,” she adds, turning her attention back to you for a second longer than you'd like, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’ll just put you down for a romantic glass of wine to ease things over."

You sit there, completely frozen, the rage bubbling up like a pot about to boil over. Romantic? Eddie’s playing along like this is all some stupid farce, and the thought of him leaning into it, making light of your personal space and your frustration, twists something deep inside of you. This is the moment where everything—every last shred of patience—snaps.

“Excuse me,” you interject sharply, suddenly too aware of the weight of Eddie’s smirk next to you. “We are not a couple.” The words come out clipped and too loud, and the stewardess’s face shifts, a moment of confusion crossing her features. You push forward, as if you can physically distance yourself from the very idea of Eddie. “And I’m definitely not on a honeymoon with him.”

Eddie, for the first time, falters. He’s clearly caught off guard, his grin dropping for a fraction of a second, but then that trademark smugness returns. His eyes glint with mischief. “Whoa, hey,” he says, leaning back in his seat with his hands raised as if in mock surrender. “She’s just kidding. You know, a little fun on the flight. Can’t blame a couple for trying to help spice things up.”

The stewardess is now visibly awkward, trying to regain her composure, but it’s too late. The damage is done. The entire cabin seems to hold its breath for a moment, as if waiting for something to break. You can feel your face burning with embarrassment and fury. You can’t believe Eddie is playing this part, and the more he tries to make it sound like harmless fun, the more you want to snap at him.

“Listen,” you say through gritted teeth, your hands clenched tightly in your lap. “I’m just going to stick with my tea,” you bite out, your voice colder now, eyes narrowing. 

The stewardess, now a little flustered and clearly not sure how to navigate the awkwardness, nods quickly, offering a sheepish smile before she retreats down the aisle, likely trying to avoid the awkward energy you've just created.

But Eddie, damn him, isn’t done. "You know," he says casually, shifting to lean in a bit closer to you, as if he’s completely oblivious to how much he's irritating you, "If it makes you feel better, we can still make up in London. I’m sure the city’s full of romantic spots." He laughs softly, that teasing edge back in his voice. "I mean, we’re going to a wedding, after all."

You clench your fists, trying not to say something you'd regret, the heat of embarrassment still lingering in your chest. You don’t even want to entertain him anymore, but Eddie, as always, doesn’t give you the option.

"Alright," he says, grinning wide now. "I’ll let you have your space but you know, that’s not the worst idea—London? We should totally go out, the two of us. Just the two of us.” His grin widens, and the worst part is, you know he’s doing it to get under your skin, playing into this whole ridiculous scenario he’s crafted in his mind.

You can’t even respond for a minute, completely caught off guard. The thought of him pretending to be part of your life like that, of him forcing his way into your head like this, makes your blood boil. You stare ahead, shoulders stiff with frustration, and the seconds drag on in a tense silence until the stewardess returns with your tea. She hands it to you with a nervous smile, and you take it, grateful for the distraction, but nothing seems to shake the odd, lingering bitterness that Eddie’s managed to infect everything with.

“I wouldn’t even go out with you if you were the last man on this planet, Eddie.” You spat, sipping your tea, hoping he gets the hint that you just want to be left alone. “We just have to get along for Dustin and Suzie. Besides, I thought I was nothing to you.”

This was supposed to be a peaceful flight to London. Now it feels like a slow, insufferable game of one-upmanship, with Eddie gleefully playing the villain and you stuck in the middle, trying not to explode.

As the plane continues its journey, you can’t help but wonder just how long you’ll have to endure this forced “comedy” of his, before it finally stops.

-------

The plane’s descent is gradual, the city lights of London beginning to twinkle below like a field of stars. You’re thankful the flight is over, but the prospect of what awaits off the plane brings an entirely new set of anxieties. As the plane touches down and the cabin lights flicker on, you hear the familiar chorus of seatbelt signs being clicked off and passengers stretching, gathering their things. You manage to stand, gathering your bag from the overhead compartment exchanging a few uncomfortable glances with Eddie, who’s now leaning back in his seat with that infuriating, too-casual grin on his face.

“You know,” Eddie says as the line at the gate starts moving, his voice almost cheerful again, “I’m actually starting to think we’re like a couple now. I mean, we’ve had the ‘first fight,’ and now we’re going to be the Best Man and Maid of Honor at Dustin’s wedding. It’s practically destiny.” He winks at you like it’s some kind of joke.

You don’t dignify his words with a response. The only thing you want is to get through customs, grab your luggage, and get away from Eddie, but the chaos of a busy airport only makes that more difficult.

Finally, you clear customs and head toward the exit. The hum of excitement from all the passengers fills the air, everyone gathering near the baggage claim area, talking about their travels, snapping photos, and exchanging excited greetings. You scan the crowd, finally spotting Dustin and Suzie standing near the front, waving at you.

You smile at the sight of them—Dustin’s easy grin and Suzie’s wide, radiant smile are enough to wash away most of your irritation. Despite the awkwardness of the flight, you feel a flutter of relief at finally being here and you hurry toward them.

“Hey!” Dustin greets you warmly, pulling you into a hug. Suzie follows suit, wrapping her arms around you in a tight embrace. The sight of them together is like a balm to your nerves—everything about this feels so right. They’re glowing with excitement for their wedding and the days ahead, and for a moment, it’s easy to forget about everything else.

“There’s my favorite cousin!” Suzie says, holding you at arm’s length and taking a good look at you. “You look great! How was the flight? No disasters, I hope?”

You smile, shaking your head. “It was… fine. Uneventful,” you lie, not about to get into the details of your flight companion just yet.

Dustin, as usual, is grinning from ear to ear, clearly in his element. “Well, you’re here now, that’s what matters! We’re so glad you could make it. Everything’s been a little chaotic with all the guests arriving, but it’s going to be amazing. We’ve got a lot of fun things planned this week!”

You nod, your excitement building again now that you’re here. But then, as you start to follow them toward the exit, Dustin’s expression shifts, and you can see the hesitation in his eyes as he glances at the two of you—Eddie still hanging nearby, looking like he’s trying to seem as unbothered as possible.

“Uh, so,” Dustin begins, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “We’ve got a little… situation with the hotel rooms.” He clears his throat. “It turns out we didn’t quite account for everyone when we booked. There are some constraints with the space, so… some of the rooms had to be reallocated.”

You frown, already sensing where this is going.

“What do you mean by that, Dustin?” You adjust the bag on your shoulder, casting a few gazes 

Dustin’s gaze flickers nervously between you and Eddie before he continues, “And with a few last-minute changes, it looks like... well, you and Eddie are going to need to share a room.”

For a moment, your brain doesn’t quite process the words. “Wait, what?” you ask, blinking in disbelief. “You mean, together?”

Dustin nods, looking sheepish. “Yeah, I know it’s not ideal, but we really couldn’t get another room. Everything’s booked solid for the wedding. You and Eddie will just have to make do. It’s only for a couple of nights, and it’s... well, it’s just temporary. You’ll be fine, right?”

The words hit you like a cold slap to the face. You and Eddie? In the same hotel room? You feel your chest tighten, your stomach doing flips, and you turn to look at Eddie. He’s wearing that too pleased expression again, like this is some kind of twisted little joke he’s getting off on.

"Oh, this is going to be great," Eddie says, his voice so overly chipper you can almost hear the sarcasm dripping from it as he approaches the group. "I mean, what could possibly go wrong? It’s just two adults who just so happen to hate each other, alone in a room. What’s the worst that could happen?" He chuckles, clearly trying to make light of the situation.

You feel your pulse race with a combination of rage and disbelief. You want to scream, to tell Dustin no way in hell would you share a room with Eddie—of all people—but you know it’s not his fault. They did what they could with the limited space, and it's just one night, right? You try to remind yourself that this is all for Dustin and Suzie, and they’re already dealing with enough stress. You can handle this, even if it feels like an impossible request.

But then, of course, Eddie’s next comment isn’t helping. "I’m just saying, it’s kind of poetic, right? I mean, a wedding, and here we are, forced to share a room. Maybe we should start a tradition, huh?"

Your teeth grind together, and you force yourself to take a deep breath, the tension in your chest threatening to break loose. "This is not funny," you mutter through clenched teeth.

Dustin, clearly sensing the awkwardness, quickly tries to smooth things over. "Hey, hey, no need to stress! I know it’s not ideal, but it’s just for a week and it’s for Suzie and I. Think of it like a... bonding experience? Besides, London’s a beautiful city. You’ll both be so busy with the wedding stuff, you won’t even have time to think about it. You’d only be there to sleep"

You stare at Dustin, then at Eddie, who’s still grinning like this is all some ridiculous prank he’s pulling on you. You want to say something sharp, to make him understand how uncomfortable this is—but you just nod, knowing there’s no other option.

"Yeah, sure. A bonding experience," you mutter, already dreading the next week of this forced closeness. You try to remind yourself that it’s just for a week, that the wedding is the focus, but you can’t help the sharp knot of tension that’s already building in your stomach.

As you pile into the car, heading toward the hotel, you feel every second stretch out before you, knowing full well that this is going to be a full on migraine of a trip.

The car ride to the hotel is a blur of muffled chatter and the hum of the engine. You’re still trying to wrap your mind around the fact that you’re about to share a hotel room with Eddie for the entire week. The whole idea feels surreal—like a nightmare you’re waiting to wake up from.

Dustin and Suzie chatter excitedly in the back seat about the wedding plans, about the guests they’re excited to see, about everything going perfectly but all you can hear is the steady thrum of your own heartbeat and the tick-tick-tick of your brain reeling. You steal a glance at Eddie sitting next to you and you can almost feel the smug energy radiating off him, like he's already mentally preparing for the next round of “jokes” he’ll try to get away with. 

When the car pulls into the hotel’s narrow driveway, the low hum of the city outside feels strangely distant, almost muffled. It’s not until you’re standing at the check-in counter, trying to force a smile while you’re mentally drafting all the ways you might strangle Eddie in his sleep, that it really sinks in: You’re stuck with him. For an entire week. With no reprieve. 

You try not to glare at him as the clerk hands you both your room keys. You’ve been bracing yourself for this moment, but it hits like a punch to the gut.

"Here you go," the hotel clerk says, handing each of you a key card with a polite smile. "You’ll be in Room 204, just down the hall on your left. Enjoy your stay."

“Thanks,” Suzie says, giving you a quick, apologetic smile. “I know it’s not ideal, but—"

“It’s fine, Suzie,” you force out through clenched teeth. “Really.” You wave it off, trying to mask your frustration. Suzie looks like she’s about to offer some comfort, but you can’t bring yourself to let her fuss over you. Not when the real problem is still standing right next to you.

“See you guys at dinner!” Dustin calls over her shoulder as he and Suzie head off toward the elevators to return to their room down the hall. 

You and Eddie stand there for a moment, the weight of the awkwardness between you hanging thick in the air. You avoid looking at him as you head toward the hallway but Eddie can’t leave well enough alone.

"Well, this is gonna be fun," he says, his voice dripping with too much sarcasm to be anything but a deliberate jab.

You roll your eyes and quicken your pace, but Eddie easily matches your stride. "You know, I’ve stayed in worse places," he continues, his tone light, almost carefree, as if he’s genuinely trying to make the situation seem less horrific. "This place looks... quaint. I bet it’s got charm."

You grunt, resisting the urge to snap something rude. You’re beyond sarcasm at this point. When you reach Room 204, Eddie reaches for the door, fumbling with the keycard like he’s trying to make a point. “You wanna do the honors?” he says, his face a perfect mask of innocence.

You roll your eyes and swipe the card yourself. The door clicks open with a soft sound, and as you push it open, your stomach twists.

The room is small, nothing particularly luxurious about it—standard hotel fare. A double bed sits against one wall, a small desk by the window, and a bathroom tucked away in the corner. There’s a single chair, a tiny TV on a dresser, and a faint smell of bleach still lingering in the air. The single bed, of course, stares back at you with the same quiet challenge that Eddie’s presence brings. It might as well have a neon sign above it that says “YOU’RE GOING TO HATE THIS.”

You try to take a deep breath, but Eddie steps in behind you, making himself at home as he casually tosses his bag onto the bed nearest the window.

“Well,” he says, looking around and letting out a long, exaggerated sigh, “this place is charming... like I said. So, what do you think? You wanna take the bed or the chair?”

You spin around to face him, frustration making your voice sharper than you intended. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Eddie grins like he’s enjoying the very sight of your discomfort. “Hey, it’s a double bed, right? Just slightly smaller than a queen size - guess we’ll have to get cozy.” 

You stare at him, mouth open, not sure if you’re supposed to laugh or punch him in the face. "This isn’t ideal…That isn’t ideal,” you finally manage to say, your voice dripping with barely contained irritation. “But clearly you’ve already made yourself at home.”

He shrugs and flops back onto the bed like he’s lying down for a Sunday nap, grinning wide. “Well, you didn’t seem to have any objections when they handed us the keys. You could’ve spoken up earlier when Dustin gave us the news.” He pats the bed beside him. “But it’s fine, really. I’m cool with it. I’m a great roommate.”

You throw your bag onto the desk and stand there, trying to breathe through your nose, but the air feels too thick. You take a deep breath. You’re here for the wedding. You’re here for Dustin and Suzie. You can survive this. However,  the very idea of sharing a bed with Eddie, even if it’s just for one week, makes your skin crawl.

Instead of answering, you turn to the window, trying to ignore the heavy weight of his presence behind you. “Fine,” you mutter under your breath. "We’ll just... deal with it. We’re going to have to make a pillow wall though."

But Eddie’s voice cuts through the silence again, too light, too cheerful. "We’ll make it work, right? I mean, it’s just a week. We’ll probably be so busy with wedding stuff, we won’t even have time to think about it."

You noticed how Eddie repeated Dustin’s exact words from the airport. You give him a nod before starting to unpack.

"Right. Just a week." You turn back around to face him, hoping your exasperation isn’t showing too clearly. “Just…don’t be a bed hog.”

Eddie is already sprawled out, hands behind his head, looking far too comfortable for someone who’s clearly just ruined your entire sense of personal space and your trip to London. You try to calm yourself down. You can do this. You’re just here for Dustin and Suzie’s wedding. You’re not here for Eddie’s games.

But as you continue to unpack your things in silence, you can’t help but wonder if this week might end up being the longest one of your life.

After unpacking and getting ready for the first dinner of the festivities,  you sit down on the edge of the bed, trying to put some space between yourself and Eddie—who’s still sprawled out across the other half, clearly settling in for the long haul—you can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. The whole situation feels like it’s spiraling into one big, awkward mess, and all you can think about is how badly you want to escape it. You try to focus on the fact that you’re in London, here for a wedding, and you can’t let this stupid room arrangement ruin everything. 

This was for your cousin, after all.

There’s that feeling, gnawing at the back of your mind. It’s too perfect, too convenient. Eddie's here. He’s always here. And for some reason, you can’t stop wondering if this—this weird, uncomfortable situation—isn’t just a random mistake. Nothing is coincidental.

First the flight. Now this?

Eddie isn’t making things any easier. He’s lounging on the bed, flipping through TV channels with an exaggerated, over-the-top disinterest, occasionally glancing over at you with a look that’s part smug, part playful.

“I gotta admit, I didn’t think this would be the way we’d end up in a room together,” he says, flipping the remote with a sigh. “But I guess life’s funny like that, huh?”

You shoot him a glare, the frustration bubbling up again. “Yeah, funny,” you mutter under your breath, but he doesn’t seem to notice—or he doesn’t care.

He stretches out, looking entirely at ease in the tiny, cramped space that should have felt like a disaster but instead, he somehow makes it feel… normal—like he belongs there. You can’t even figure out how to deal with that, or how much it’s irritating you. You shift awkwardly on the bed, feeling every inch of your personal space being invaded.

It’s then that the door opens with a soft creak, without a knock and Dustin and Suzie walk in, both looking way too pleased with themselves. You raise an eyebrow as you glance up at them.

“We just thought we’d check in, see how everything’s going," Dustin says, his grin far too wide, the kind of grin someone wears when they’ve just orchestrated something deliberate.

You’re about to respond with a polite, "It’s fine," when Suzie suddenly glances over at you and Eddie, then back at Dustin with a look that’s half conspiratorial, half completely over-the-top sweet.

“So,” she says brightly, her tone a little too casual. “Everything going okay with the room situation? You two, uh, getting along okay?”

You blink, not sure if she’s joking or not. You glance at Eddie, whose brow furrows just slightly, clearly picking up on the weird vibe. He shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the way she’s asking. "Uh, yeah, we’re good,” he replies, though there’s a trace of suspicion in his voice. “Just... you know, making the best of it. It’s fine.”

Suzie just keeps on smiling and it’s a little too bright for comfort. “Good, good. We were just so worried you might be... you know, uncomfortable. You are both so busy, what with the wedding and everything. We didn’t want you to feel... cramped or anything.”

Dustin clears his throat. “Yeah, and hey, if you two need anything, just let us know, okay? We’re here for you.”

You exchange a glance with Eddie, but this time, it’s more bewilderment than irritation. The whole thing feels... off. You want to say something, to ask what’s going on, but before you can, Eddie speaks up with a low chuckle, though you can hear the slight edge of uncertainty in his voice.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I definitely wasn’t expecting this when I came all the way to London. The whole ’rooming with a woman who ghosted me’ thing isn’t exactly on my bucket list, you know?" He flashes Suzie and Dustin a wry grin. “But hey, what do I know? I’m just here for the two of you.”

Dustin’s grin gets a little wider, if possible. “Yeah, we get it, man. You’re both so busy, with the wedding and all. So, really, enjoy the downtime together. Make the most of it. It’ll be nice, just the two of you after all the festivities…. Being here alone.” Dustin continues to grin, grabbing Suzie’s hand as he turns toward the door. “See you guys at dinner!”

There’s something about the way he says “alone” that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and suddenly it hits you like a bucket of cold water. This isn’t an accident. This wasn’t some weird hotel room mix-up or scheduling error. No. Dustin and Suzie have done this on purpose.

You stay silent as the couple leave, watching them closely and curiously. You swore you heard Suzie’s giggle down the hall. Quickly, you close the door and lock it, returning to sit next to Eddie in silence, just for a moment.

They did this shit on purpose. Dustin and Suzie set you and Eddie up—and you don’t know whether to laugh, scream, or throw something at the wall.

“They did this on purpose, you know.” You say, refusing to look over at Eddie. You nervously pick at your nails silently pleading he also caught onto Dustin and Suzie’s scheme. “You had to pick up on that, right?” 

“Dustin has never been the most subtle guy.” Eddie laughed, running a hand over his face as he continued to lay on the bed. “I picked up on it, sweetheart.”

There’s silence between the two of you. A silence so thick you could choke.

Eddie, ever the unpredictable one, breaks the silence with a casual chuckle. "Well, I have to admit, this is almost impressive. I didn’t think Dustin had it in him." His eyes glint with amusement, the kind that always seems to follow your frustration like a shadow.

You shoot him a sharp look, still processing everything, but there’s something in his expression that makes you pause. He’s not upset about this. He’s… enjoying it. Suddenly, a realization clicks in your mind. You can’t tell if it’s panic or pure frustration, but you know what’s coming next.

Eddie knows you and you know him. You both realize, at the same moment, that there’s no escaping the trap. It’s not like you can tell Dustin and Suzie the truth—they’re already too invested. And you certainly can’t go around making a scene. You’d have to lie low, play nice for the wedding and get through this uncomfortable, forced proximity.

You cross your arms over your chest, standing tall in the face of his amused gaze. "Okay. Fine," you say, voice low but firm. "We’re stuck together for the week but for the sake of Dustin and Suzie’s wedding, I think it’s best if we just… play along so they focus on their wedding and not us." You hate the words as they leave your mouth, but it’s the only sensible thing to do.

Eddie raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. He doesn’t seem to be fighting the idea, which only makes you more suspicious. “Play along, huh?” he repeats, leaning back into the bed as if he’s settling in for a long conversation. “You mean, like, pretend we’re head over heels for each other for their wedding?”

You throw your hands up in mock exasperation. "I mean, what else do you want me to call it? We pretend we’re into each other, act like we’re happy, and get through the wedding without anyone suspecting we can’t stand each other. Then we never have to see each other again."

Eddie smirks, clearly weighing the idea. He lets out a soft laugh, almost like he’s trying to stifle his enjoyment. “Fake dating, huh? Yeah, I can see that. It’ll be like a rom-com, only with more sighing and eye rolling.” He eyes you up and down, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Alright. I’m in. This should be fun.”

You narrow your eyes, not quite ready to let him get the upper hand. “You better not mess this up, Eddie. I’m not in the mood for your jokes or your... whatever this is.” You gesture vaguely at him, already regretting the entire idea of having to spend more time in close proximity to him than absolutely necessary. 

He raises both hands in mock surrender. “Whoa, whoa. I’m a professional. You’d be surprised how good I am at this,” he says with an exaggerated wink. “And don’t worry. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

You stare at him, suspicious, but you don’t have a better option. The whole “fake dating” thing might actually be the lesser evil. At least this way, you don’t have to worry about awkward explanations to Dustin and Suzie about how you really feel about each other. You just have to get through the wedding weekend, put on a show, and keep the peace.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. "Alright. Fine. But you better not ruin it. We’re not going to be all lovey-dovey, okay? We’re just... two people who are pretending. Got it?"

Eddie grins like a kid on Christmas morning. “Got it. You’re not going to catch me making googly eyes at you or anything. We’ll just act like we’re having the time of our lives together. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You glare at him, your nerves already fried from the thought of what’s to come. "I don’t know, Eddie. Maybe you’ll actually start believing it,” you say, your voice tinged with sarcasm.

Eddie laughs, flopping back on the bed. “Oh, believe me, I don’t want to get any ideas since you’re a flight risk,” he says, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. "I’m all about the performance here. Strictly professional. I’ll be the best fake boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

You turn to face the mirror by the desk, staring at your reflection for a moment. You really thought you’d come to London to celebrate a wedding, maybe enjoy some time away from the madness. Instead, you’re stuck with Eddie, playing pretend for the sake of two people who have no idea that you’re not just friends anymore.

And yet, a strange, nervous energy flickers beneath your skin. You tell yourself it’s just the tension of the situation—that’s what it is. You’re not actually… curious about what it would be like to have Eddie’s arm around you again or what it would feel like to pretend to be in a relationship with him. You can’t be. That’s ridiculous. He said you were nothing to him. That couldn’t have changed. 

Still, as you glance over at him, still lying on the bed with that carefree smirk on his face as you begin to get ready for dinner. You can’t help but wonder if this week might turn into something completely unexpected - more likely a cruel joke than a fresh start but, you’d take a little bit of excitement over the mess you had created for yourself back home.

“Alright. We’re really doing this” you say, swallowing any remnants of doubt. “Let’s do this, then. Let’s pretend to be the perfect couple.”

Eddie’s grin widens, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re on, babe.”

[shipstorms]

stalag arrival

The cart has been hobbling along for eons. 

Sometimes they hit a rock or other debris hard enough that Bucky's head bounces against the wood. He lets it happen, attempts to imitate the sounds of the other bodies he's been lumped in with. Pretty soon a sharp ringing takes up residence somewhere behind his left ear, clanging anew every so often like a tuning fork. 

He's waterlogged, barely conscious. A bloated, drowned doll dredged up from the bottom of a lake. But he's alive.

-

Back in Wisconsin, before flight school and this whole damn war, Bucky helped slaughter pigs on two occasions. The first time, the money he earned went straight to the dog track before it even had a chance to settle in his wallet, which is what led to the second and last time, wherein either the pig did something herky-jerky or maybe the angle was off, but in any case the spray of gore was truly godawful and he never went back.

The memory flickers to life in his mind without effort. Moreso triggered by the smell, or maybe the cold rubbery weight on his wrist that used to be someone's leg. A sourness has pooled into the back of his throat, threatening to overflow when the wagon jolts to a stop. He tries to breathe through it while the men speak.

Then the shovel whistles downward before coming to a sickening and sudden stop. 

He runs. Falls down. Runs again. Falls down again, this time into a hole that tunnels him into a neverending blackness until an insistent prodding lifts him out of the dark and a boot lodges underneath his chest to turn him over like an animal on a spit. 

He opens his eyes -- attempts to, anyway, but there's a fiery ball radiating behind his cheekbone, a universe of pain so shocking in intensity that he gags from it. 

Still alive, then.

-

They get him walking. He stumbles twice but claws himself back up, fingers curling through dead pine needles and soil, because fuck having their hands on him. Once he blacks out, though, he doesn't have much choice in the matter, and then he's being shoved into a car. Every time he comes to, he's in a different place, barely able to get situated before they're hauling him off somewhere else. 

The old Bucky would've made a bad joke here, probably. The imaginary POW Bucky sure would have; the one he conjured up after they sat through interrogation resistance training. Fellas, why don't you buy a guy dinner first before all this jerking around, huh? Clear-headed and wise-cracking, waggish even in the face of doom. 

This Bucky can hardly even string a thought together. This Bucky plods along in whatever direction he's pointed in, which is a miracle in and of itself, that his legs are still working. This Bucky only stays conscious long enough to arrive at a next place, and a next place, and a next place. 

Until Haussmann says Buck Cleven, and suddenly, just like that, the haze disappears. Clear as anything, Bucky imagines lunging over the desk and smashing Haussmann's face into the desk over and over. He could do some damage before any guards came in. He's sure of it.

Instead he states his own name. His serial number. Smokes a cigarette and repeats the information like he's supposed to.

They allow him to use the head. Some officer's, by the looks of it. There's even a sheet of metal tacked up on the wall through which Bucky is able to see himself somewhat clearly for the first time in a week. The reflection is unfamiliar enough that he actually touches his fingers to it. He looks beat to hell, obviously. Like flesh turned inside out. Even the whites of his eyes are crackled through with red. 

Fuck you, he mouths. Tries to remember that he's a man, not just a vessel of adrenaline and the barest threads of whatever billion-year-old life-sustaining processes evolved to ensure survival.

Even though he watches his mouth move, the brain-body connection fails to spark. He repeats himself once, twice, three times, each utterance stoking a bone-deep, impotent rage until he grabs the edges of the sink and squeezes until he sees stars. Getting there doesn't take much. All the blood loss, he realizes.

The world eventually sharpens again. He prods at his chapped lips for a brief second, then pulls the edge of his shirtsleeve down and leans in close to swipe his face clean.

-

Men are shuttled onto the trucks in masses. Next thing he knows, daylight is streaming into the car like a Broadway spotlight. He moves outside dumbly, processing the barbed wire fences and guard towers, the faces peering at them from behind the barrier.

Then he sees them. He sees him, resting his arms through the fence like it's a bartop a million miles away from any war, restrained and calm amidst the rest of the screaming faces around him. Strangely, Bucky had also imagined this part for his imaginary POW self: this exact moment of reunification, the way Gale's eyes never leave him for the entire welcome parade in. 

An illusion, Bucky's convinced, until Gale calls out, "What took you so long?"

Bucky smiles. His face, still in the nascent stages of healing, feels like it's ripping apart again but he can't stop smiling. The indelible relief in Gale's posture is only recognizable because he feels it himself, too, blooming through his body in an overwhelming brushfire. Everything within him seems to catch flame alongside it. He's kismet, he's fate, he's a ball of goddamn light as he walks through the high-wired gates.

-

He tells Gale -- Gale! Here! In this hellhole, waiting for him! -- the pig story after the second time he asks about Bucky's "travels", in lieu of the actual events. There was what seemed to be a carefully considered number of days between asks, like he wanted to give Bucky time to settle into stalag life and come up with a neatly packaged interim history for his own sake. 

Joke's on Gale, though, seeing as Bucky wasted that time mostly staring at Gale's profile and the back of his head when no one else was looking. At night, he listened to Gale breathing for hours. That misfiring brain-body connection was evidently a general brain-reality affliction and even now, after a week, after the hustle and bustle of his arrival has settled, he finds himself doubtful about his or Gale's existence in this place at all. 

"It was like a horror show, Buck, I swear," Bucky says. "Wish you could've seen that pig."

Gale makes an agreeable noise, then pats Bucky's shoulder. Bucky is still laid up in bed for the most part, groggy in the mornings and sacked out by 2000, only to float in a purgatory between sleep and waking all night.

Gale pats him once more. "I'll bring you some food." 

"Nah," Bucky dismisses. "Crank already brought me some."

"Doc said it'll take a few weeks to feel right again," Gale goes on, as if Bucky hadn't even spoken. "Don't fight me on this, now," he adds in a softer voice. 

That ugly rage crests through Bucky. He swallows it down and says, "Get a good dessert this time then, will you? Something with fudge."

"Fudge," Gale echoes. "I'll see what I can do about that."

"Thanks." Gale's taken his hand back and Bucky rolls onto his side, trying to emulate the pressure. "Helluva place to have ended up, huh?"

"Helluva place," Gale repeats again, seemingly only half-there.

He blinks, hard, while looking at Bucky the whole time. Bucky wants to shake him by the collar, ask, What? What is it? Wants to ask all kinds of other things too -- is Gale hiding any injuries, does he think Bucky's face is gonna heal well, how did it feel to bail out, did he even like potatoes back home, is this the beginning of the end?

"Some pilots we are," Bucky says instead. He huffs a laugh, since Gale is apparently on copycat mode, and sure enough there's an answering smile from Gale, who's still making no move to actually leave. The longer he stands there, the more restless Bucky feels.

"Chow time's gonna be over if you don't get a move on," he points out. 

Gale nods and finally makes for the door. "I'll be right back," he says, tapping the doorframe on the way out. 

-

When Bucky is well enough to explore the world outside the barracks, Gale asks for a third time. They stand under the eave of their combine, Gale watching Bucky smoke like he's finding it deeply educational. 

"Did I ever tell you about that pig?" Bucky says in response.

In the distance the sun is setting, turning the horizon into a thrumming blood vessel. He squints at it and imagines a shovel hacking through the atmosphere, spilling all that light into the sky like a broken yolk.

"Bucky," Gale says in that low, sorrowful voice, the frequency of which cuts straight into Bucky and makes him want to put his fist through the fucking wall.

He ashes his cigarette instead and forces himself to look at Gale, just as Gale is placing his hand on Bucky's shoulder. It sits there for only a second before moving up to cup around the bare skin on the side of his neck, gentle and yielding, skin to skin. Before he can stop himself, Bucky turns into it, under the guise of politely blowing smoke in the other direction. 

Gale scritches at the hair sloping behind his ear. Bucky coughs, swallows. Clears his throat. Gale can still feel him shaking, probably. 

Thing is, Bucky wants to give him an answer. But when he looks back now, the memory keeps skittering away before he can catch hold of it. The only part he truly remembers is being blessed with his own personal holy trinity during interrogation: smokes, booze, and Buck Cleven. 

He wonders how Gale would respond, if he were to say this out loud. 

"You're alright now," Gale asks -- reassures -- something. In any case it makes Bucky want to laugh and laugh. 

"Yeah, I am," he lies. "I'll be even better once we find a way out of here."

"We're working on that part," promises Gale.

Gale's hand is still on Bucky's neck and Bucky is still turned into it, now watching his cigarette burn down to the filter between his fingers. He holds onto it for as long as he can, even as the cherry threatens to blister.

[graycats-arcane-blog]

Lightcannon Week, Day 8 Fic!

Prompt: Free day (wingfic)

Title: Shooting Star

Rating: T

Length: 3.3k words

AO3: link

@lightcannonweek

Synopsis:

Lux feels defeated after a mageseeker's net pulls her from the sky.

Meanwhile, Jinx is looking for a shooting star.

Reference:

A blue jay, seen from the back. Photo by Brian Kushner, Audubon Photography Awards

A white-tailed kite in flight the wings are mostly white, darkening to gray on the primary feathers, with a dark marking at the curve of each wing. Photo by Matt Davis, Macaulay Library

. . .

Everyone had a little magic in them. No one would get off the ground otherwise.

Magic was the force that made people weightless when the sky called them. It stole the heft from the most cumbersome pieces of the human torso, causing each long, leaden leg to float like a feather rather than dangle like a pendulum. There was a shift in weight, a shift in strength, as if all the power in one's body were gathering around the muscles of their second shoulders where their wings attached. Without magic, no being in Runeterra, no matter how broad nor how swift their wings were, would have the strength to launch their bodies into flight.

Lux was born with far more magic than the small amount needed to fly. Her power ran dangerously deep, as far as Demacian opinion was concerned. In other regions of Runeterra, those with strong magic were admired, especially when their arcane skills proved to be useful, but Demacia, on the other hand, never forgot nor forgave the terrors that magic had wrought in wars of old. Any Demacian with strong magic was imprisoned, or worse, trained to hunt and harm their own kind.

That was why Lux had needed to flee.

That was why she had been chased.

That was why, just when she'd dared to hope that her pursuers were falling behind, one of them had tossed a net threaded with beads of petricite into her path.

No mage was allowed to escape Demacia. No mage was allowed to fly free.

Dazed and entangled, Lux plummeted. The light in her luminous kite-wings blazed in one last show of defiance before fading into darkness.

. . .

When she woke, Lux was hanging in the net, breathing slow mouthfuls of cold, sour air. Some of the beaded ropes had snagged onto a bit of rusty gutter cutting out awkwardly from a sloping rooftop. The roof tiles were broken along the telltale trail where her body had landed and rolled down.

Groaning, Lux swept her bleary eyes over her dark, derelict surroundings. She'd fallen into some sort of vertical city built layer over layer, so high - or, perhaps, so deep - that the top wasn't visible. About three stories up, a gauzy haze fuzzed the air, hiding the starry sky from view. If it weren't for the flickering streetlamp standing just past the gutter, Lux wouldn't have been able to see a thing in the darkness.

No sooner had she wondered if the city's residents might take pity on her than a glimpse of masked figures descending from the fog dashed her hopes.

The mageseekers had tracked her descent, and now, they'd come to collect their quarry.

One of them landed heavily on the walkway next to the streetlamp, shaking out his dark, glossy starling-wings before furling them against his back. He looked up at Lux, cocking his head to the side. "I'm glad you survived your fall, Lady Crownguard," he said smoothly. "I know you don't understand it now, but we only want to help you. You'll be grateful, in time."

Another two mageseekers landed on the rooftop, one on either side of Lux, their smoky petrel-wings long and gloomy. They reached for her net, their hands shod in thick, leather gloves, and didn't falter when they grasped the ropes beaded in petricite.

"Haul her up," the leader of the hunt called to his fellows as more mageseekers landed beside him. "I know it's been a long trek, but we must return Lady Crownguard swiftly. With the wind under our wings, we may cross back over Demacia's borders in a week's time."

Magic-draining weakness riddled Lux's body. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes.

Why couldn't they just let me fly away?

As her captors tugged her bonds free of the gutter and dragged her up onto the roof, she could feel her feathers fraying and getting caked with dust from their rough treatment. She shivered - the air was as chilly as it was dark. It was easy to let despair overtake her in this state, to let her mind go numb and lose focus of her surroundings.

She'd almost dissociated completely when a note of song snuck into her ears.

It was comforting and light, fluttering softly like a friendly spirit in the darkness. Instinct told Lux that these notes spoke of hopefulness and excitement, of anticipation, of a search for something wonderful. The song reminded Lux of her own search for freedom, and although her hunt had failed, she felt better for having this song in her hazy mind. She would have to remember the tune when the mageseekers returned her to Demacia - perhaps it would comfort her in her imprisonment.

“Save your songs for when we’re back in the air,” The leader of the hunt called up. “Let’s avoid attracting the attention of the locals. This strange place doesn’t sit well with me.”

“The song isn’t ours,” one of the petrel-winged mageseekers called back. “One of the locals may already be near.”

To Lux's dismay, the song trailed off. However, she had little time to mourn before an unseen voice said, “Oh, the local is near alright!"

The voice that echoed eerily around them as if it were flowing through every pipe and gutter in the vicinity, coming from everywhere, pinned down to nowhere. Lux could feel her captors’ grip on the net tighten as they turned their heads, searching for the source of the voice.

“Who goes there?” shouted the leader of the hunt. “Step into the light and state your name!”

“Hmmm…" The voice's hum thrummed through the rooftop, making Lux's feathers tremble. "Nah, I’m good.”

The leader of the hunt straightened his back, flaring his glossy, speckled starling-wings. His wings assumed a tense, half-furled position, partially on display, partially wound-up as if he intended to punch someone with his wing-joints. This was a show of threat. “This is no game, dark-dweller,” he warned. “By order of the Mageseekers of Demacia, reveal yourself!”

“Tell you what,” The voice replied, her tone far more playful than a response to a threat display ought to be. The voice had seemed to speak from atop the opposite building, but when it resumed speech a moment later, it resonated from under the walkway. “If you can answer a suuuper easy question, I’ll let ya get a good look at me, just like you asked for! How’s that sound, stranger?”

Lux could see the feathers lifting along the head hunter’s back as he cautiously eyed the metal panels beneath his feet. “I don’t entertain riddles.”

The voice laughed, and the laugh bounced all over the walls and rooftops, haunting in its pervasive presence. “my question isn't a riddle, silly!” she chuffed. “I just wanna know where the star fell!"

“… The star?” The lead hunter said slowly.

“The shooting star!” The voice became incredulous as she continued, “Even you dumb-dumbs had to have seen it! The light trail hit the fog just above here; it must’ve flown right by ya! C’mon, tell me where it went!”

Understanding filled the hunter’s face, and his mouth curled into a derisive scowl. “The light you saw is no concern of yours," he spat harshly. Tipping his head up to show of the condescending gleam in his eyes, he added in a magnanimous sneer, "Leave this place, and think of the light no more.”

“Awww, but I reeeally wanna have it,” The voice complained. Her petulance was almost childlike, if a child could make their voice resonate through the street as if their words were spoken by the shadows themselves. “If you tell me where it is, I might even let you live!”

At that ominous offer, the wings of all the surrounding mageseekers flared into threat displays. Most of those wings, well-trained over years of hunts, were stiff and steady. However, the youngest mageseekers’ wings were trembling. “Don’t test us, dark-dweller,” threatened the lead hunter. “Leave, and keep your life!”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk… Those are some fighty words for a bird out of their element. Didn’t anyone ever tell you…”

The voice vanished suddenly, echoes of it rustling like a dying wind over the metal walls of the buildings. More mageseeker wings began to tremble. The voice had been spooky, but the silence was somehow worse.

Then, there was a hiss, almost more feeling than sound, which seemed to slither straight up Lux’s spine.

“... There’s monsters in the dark,” the voice whispered, and, suddenly, she was right in front of Lux.

Wings spread wide open – no, not wings, but a giant, monstrous face, flashing out of the dark with wild, round eyes and neon fangs. The petrel-winged mageseekers on either side of Lux shrieked, leaping back. Light glinted over metal as something attached to their armor, and then…

BANG!

Twin bodies of fire fell, howling, from the roof.

The mageseekers below screamed, some in fright, others in fury. A few of them launched themselves toward Lux and the monster, but the terrible face twitched, then growled in staccato like gunfire and madness. The mageseekers fell. Others tried to fly away, but they fell too, blood blooming red over skin, clothes and feathers.

Lux watched them fall numbly. Did she feel numb because of the petricite in her bindings, or because her body didn’t know how to react to the sudden presence of a monster? Maybe it was both.

In time, all went quiet. The gunfire-growl ceased, and the mageseekers on the walkway were silent as the grave. Not knowing what else to do, Lux turned her glazed eyes to the face of the monster looming over her.

How strange. The face was folding – like wings.

As the neon feathers furled away, Lux saw the small woman who’d been tucked between the halves of the monster’s face. Her wings had been so eye-catching that Lux hadn’t noticed there was a person between them. Judging by the satisfied grin on the woman’s face, that had probably been by design.

“Well!” Releasing her minigun so that it pitched down on its strap and bounced against her hip, the woman clapped her hands in finality. She shook her head, sending a pair of long, blue braids swinging. Her vibrant, magenta eyes landed on Lux. “ You don’t look too cozy!”

Lux doubted she’d find mercy at the whims of the woman who’d just gunned down an entire dispatch of mageseekers, but she pleaded anyway in a frail, tired voice, “Please… I’m not with the people you killed. Could you please set me free?”

The woman tipped her head to the side. Lux didn't know what to make of the eerie smile on her face, if it was meant to be friendly or unsettling. “Depends,” she chirped. “I’m lookin’ for a shooting star. Did you see where it went?”

Lux had a bad feeling that, if she were to say no, she wouldn’t have long to live. “… I can take you to it,” she agreed, trying not to think too hard about what would happen when the woman realized that there was no star. “ Set me free, and I’ll show it to you. ”

A broad, excited grin swept over the woman’s face. “Alrighty! Fair warning – if you fly away, I’ll put a bullet in that pretty spine!”

Wincing, Lux nodded weakly. “Okay. I won’t run.”

As the woman procured a knife from one pocket and began sawing cheerfully through the net, Lux hesitantly inquired, “If you don’t mind me asking, what do you need a shooting star for?”

“I heard they’re full of reeeally rare metals!” the woman announced eagerly. “Top-tier stuff! I’ve been itching to get my hands on star-metal and see if it’s any good for making explosives with. I mean, stars burn super hot when they fall, so star-metal's gotta pack some heat, right?”

“… That makes sense,” Lux tentatively agreed.

Damn it, this woman would be ticked off when she learned that there was no star.

“Those are some sleek wings,” the woman commented. Lux felt her prod a secondary as she pulled the net away. “What are you, some kind of falcon?”

“A kite,” Lux shared, her tone growing more sure as the net finally came off. Wings above, it felt amazing to have those petricite beads off! Euphoria trickled through Lux's veins as she stretched her strong, sleek wings out as far as they would go, showing off their backdrop of downy white and trimmings of smoky gray. As she stretched, warmth returned to the channels in her body through which magic flowed. She furled her wings back in gingerly, letting them rest at her back.

Eager to keep their conversation away from stars, Lux returned the woman's interest in wings. “Your wings… I’ve never seen anything like them. What type of bird has a neon face on its wings?”

“Ha!” The woman’s laugh resounded over the rooftop. “It’s paint," she announced proudly, extending her left wing. Lux was prepared for the monster's face this time and didn't flinch at the sight of a vivid eye and pointed teeth. "Feather-safe and glows in the dark. I made the stuff myself!”

“Wow!” Lux was genuinely curious now – that, and focusing on the woman’s artistry felt much better than focusing on her gun. “Decorating your wings? That’s a really cool idea!”

If possible, the woman’s grin grew even wider, preening under Lux's attention. “It is a good idea, right? You’d be surprised by how many people don’t get it! They all run away screaming; hardly anyone takes the time to admire ‘em!” The woman let her right wing join the left, showing off the entirety of her handiwork. “I just decorate the underwings, since those feathers are kinda boring and dusky. My back feathers, though…” She spun around, showing Lux the backs of her wings. “Look at ‘em! Cool, am I right?”

They were indeed cool, such an intense, vibrant blue that they rivaled the Demacian sky at noon. The woman's wings were interlaced with trimmings of black, white, and cyan, seeming iridescent in their vividness. To Lux, who's mind had been dredged in darkness ever since she'd fallen into this strange place, the feathers' beauty might as well have been hypnotic.

Lux forgot the red of her pursuers' spilt blood, and the red of her own highly-spillable blood as well, as her mind sunk into the enrapturing blue. Thoughtless, she trod closer, reaching out a hand. “They’re lovely,” she murmured as her fingers gently traced the shaft of a long, vibrant feather.

Lux was so enthralled by the woman’s wings that it took her several moments to realize that she'd overstepped.

Oh, shit. Had she really just touched a complete stranger’s feathers, uninvited? A stranger with a taste for murder, no less? Mind, this woman had some of the loveliest feathers Lux had ever seen…

… But now was not the time for the bird-side of Lux’s brain to start showing interest in a stranger's feather display!

Lux forced herself to step back, tucking her hand to her chest as a wave of mortified embarrassment swept through her. “Um… Yeah,” she choked out, shifting her weight awkwardly between her feet. “You have really nice feathers.”

At some point, the woman had turned her head to watch Lux over her shoulder, her back still facing Lux. The woman's feathers trembled slightly, as if ruffled by a breeze, and there appeared to be a faint blush of pink on her cheeks. The woman turned to face Lux, furling her wings back in, then cleared her throat. “ Uh … Aaanyway!” Her fingers twitched restlessly at her sides before she shoved her thumbs into her shorts-pockets. “You owe me a shooting star! Lead the way, kite!”

Lux’s spirits plummeted.

Right. The star.

“… Very well," she acceded as a sour, sick kernel of dread formed in her gut. "Just… Don’t freak out, please?”

Jinx tilted her head to the side. “ Freak out? About what?”

Lux bit her lip… Then, she spread her wings out as far as they would go, letting her feathers puff out.

The woman noticed that this was a display pose rather than a takeoff pose. Had the color in her cheeks darkened? “Hey, uh…” The woman stammered. “Just ‘cause I gave you a good look at my super-awesome wings doesn’t mean you've gotta…”

Lux pushed her magic into her wings, heat rushing through her as her light shimmered to life.

The woman’s eyes went wide. Lux could see her light reflecting in them, brightening the magenta irises even as her pupils went wide.

“Woah.”

Now, the woman was the one stepping forward, arm outstretched. Lux didn’t stop her as she pressed a thin-fingered hand into Lux’s pale underwing, and didn’t push her away even though the woman’s twitching fingers were a bit ticklish. “Shiny,” the woman murmured, her eyes not leaving the luminous feathers. “I thought angels were just a myth.”

A warm blush rushed to Lux’s cheeks. “I’m not an angel,” she said quickly, “just a mage. A light mage.”

The woman’s hand trailed down over Lux’s shining feathers. “You look pretty angelic to me. A light kite, huh? A bright-light-kite...”

Unlike Lux, the woman didn’t awkwardly pull her hand back after moments of staring. When she raised her gaze back to Lux’s, her hand was still pressed tenderly to Lux’s wing.

“I’m guessing you're the star, then,” she said.

Lux dipped her head sheepishly. “I’m sorry I can’t give you the metal you’re looking for. You seemed really excited about it.”

“Aw, it’s fine… I bet another star’s gonna roll through eventually,” the woman deflected. “It’s just a matter of time before I get my hands on some star-metal! So... where are you off to, now that you’re out of that net?”

It sounded like the woman wasn’t interested in killing her, which was nice. It was, admittedly, also nice to be near someone who didn’t look at her magic-filled wings with disgust - who was willing to touch her, even. “I don’t suppose you could recommend a place for a newcomer to find shelter?” Lux asked hopefully. “Those people you… took care of… chased me here. I’ve never traveled this far before, and I don’t know where to find a place to spend the night.”

The woman’s eyes brightened. “You know what? Seeing as how I freed you and all, I feel kinda responsible for you. Why don’t you come stay at my digs for a while?”

“Really? You’d let me stay with you?” Lux was caught off guard by the woman’s boldness. “You barely know me.”

“Well then, this’ll give us a chance to get to know each other better!” She spread her arms, gesturing to the darkness around them. “What do you say, Light-Kite? Feelin’ up to spending the night with one of the monsters in the dark?”

A strange, fizzy sensation bubbled in Lux's chest.

Be careful, warned the logical side of her brain. She set you free, but she's a killer.

Go for it, encouraged her bird side. Such nice feathers... Pretty bird... Pretty bird...

It took a massive effort for Lux to keep her cheeks from heating like the sun.

Well... Seeing as how she didn’t have any other options, she supposed that she might as well spend the night with the killer who seemed refreshingly fond of her illuminated wings. This was preferable to a night on the street, right?

Lux took a deep breath, steadying her nerves. “Lead the way,” she accepted. “By the way, it’s Lux, not Light-Kite.”

“And I’m Jinx! Jinx the Jay! The Mad Bomber! The Loose Cannon of Zaun!” Grabbing Lux’s hand, Jinx tugged her across the roof, away from the streetlight’s yellow gleam. “Welcome to the shadows, Lux the Light-Kite!”

As they dashed into the darkness, Jinx hummed a song of excitement and discovery...

... And Lux, feeling her spirits lift, joined in.

[sapphire-writes]

Read more on AO3

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon OC

Summary: Elyse meets the other important lady in Aemond's life

Warnings: none this chapter!

Word count: 4316

previous chapter ~~ next chapter

Chapter 12: Flight

Fear spreads like sickness throughout Flea Bottom. It creeps through doorways and spreads through whispers stating dragons are demons that need to be vanquished lest there be retribution from the gods.

The walls of the Red Keep seemed to vibrate with the promise of civil unrest. Whispers of Rhaenyra coming to claim her throne, arriving any day now atop Syrax to burn the city to ash.

Elyse had received a raven from her father.

The ravens were being watched with care, Maester Orwyle had watched Elyse read the letter, and did not let her keep it.

Lord Borros had only written to Elyse a handful of times during her upbringing at King’s Landing.

Lucerys Velaryon had traveled to Storm’s End for the promise of Lord Borros' alliance with Princess Rhaenyra, should there be a war over the succession of the Iron Throne.

Lord Borros had denied him.

It was said he spoke only of his fourth daughter who resided in the Red Keep. Though this sentiment was not shared in his letter to his fourth daughter, so Elyse wondered about the validity of the statement. Regardless, he would not put his blood in harm’s way for the cause of the Pretender Queen.

The Pretender Queen.

That is what they were calling the princess as she resided on Dragonstone. As she reached out to allies to see what footing she had in the Seven Kingdoms.

The realm had bowed to Aegon. They had accepted him without a second thought. The masses always did seem to bow to the wants of men.

Lord Borros rarely expressed affection for Elyse. He had sent her pelts over the years of hunts he had completed, trophies of furs for her chambers. His letter was brief.

I have not forgotten you, daughter. I shall send word to Highgarden. You are to marry the dragon prince. Your mother is with child. She longs to see you again.

Elyse’s lips had parted at her father’s first sentence. Though she often felt forgotten, a doe alone in the capital, his words struck a chord somewhere deep within her. She suddenly remembered being a young girl, clinging to her father’s leg in the round hall before being hauled off to King’s Landing. If she rubbed her fingers together, she could almost feel the memory of the fabric of the trousers he wore that day. She could almost feel the stones she knelt upon.

Her mother, Lady Elenda, had been pregnant when she left for King’s Landing. That babe did not survive. Lord Borros longed for a son, and the news her mother was pregnant once more was unsurprising. She wondered if her mother had expressed missing her, or if this was her father’s way of saying it was he who yearned to see her. Elyse wondered if Lord Borros had written the letter at all, or perhaps the maester had placed some kind words on the parchment for her.

Elyse felt her heart break for Lucerys. She imagined how cold and frightened he must have been to journey on Arrax to her homeland. How Lord Borros must have berated him. She hoped he did not feel shameful on his return to Dragonstone.

Her heart ached for Jacaerys. The Strong Heir, people were calling him. She wondered where he would fly to, what allies he would try and bring to his mother’s cause. Assuming that was what Princess Rhaenyra wanted.

Otto Hightower had returned from negotiating peaceful terms. He returned with news, the council and members of court awaiting with bated breath.

Rhaenyra had just given birth to her first daughter. She was to be called Visenya.

Rhaenyra had contemplated the terms of peace. She was given time to accept the offer, to welcome the birth of her daughter.

The seven kingdoms seemed to collectively hold its breath, awaiting Princess Rhaenyra’s response.

Ravens arrived hourly, from all across the realm as lords declared themselves for King Aegon, second of his name.

Elyse had been given two personal guards as her envoys. As a lady in waiting she was used to the goldcloaks who fluttered about Helaena but never was she subject to this kind of protection. Ser Errol and Ser Willis had been personally selected by Ser Criston Cole at the command of Prince Aemond.

The men followed her everywhere, trailing behind her in a triangular formation. Eyes on her at all times. Elyse felt her skin crawl with the intrusion of her privacy.

“It is all a precaution,” Helaena had told her as they met for afternoon tea. The air had grown cold, almost uncomfortably so with the approaching winter, but Helaena still preferred to dine outside.

“Is it really necessary?” Elyse had asked, watching as Ser Errol swatted at a drooping flower poking out of a hedge nearby.

“Aemond insisted,” Helaena told her, a smile hinting at the corner of her lips.

Elyse felt her face flush. She had not seen Aemond since the night of the coronation feast. He had been busy with the small council, attending to the wishes of his mother and aiding Ser Criston with potential war plans. The memory of his tongue on her, his fingers inside her, made a fire pool in her lower belly.

Helaena had more goldcloaks surrounding her as well. With her new title as queen came increased threats to her well-being.

“Have you spoken to him about the engagement?” Helaena asked, taking a sip from her cup.

The back of Elyse’s neck grew warmer still. I have always wanted you. His confession played in her mind over and over again. Elyse had awoken to purple kisses littering her thighs, in the shapes of his fingers.

“It appears we shall get along fine as husband and wife,” Elyse told her friend, who smiled over her cup. Elyse felt her face warming as though Helaena could see the bruised flesh hidden beneath her skirts.

“As I had expected. What of Lord Maceon? Is little Floris excited about the betrothal?”

Elyse was thoughtful for a moment. She only assumed it would be Floris who would be offered as her replacement.

Floris was said to be the prettiest of the sisters. She had little memories of her youngest sister, the only other child after herself.

She remembered a small child with dark hair who followed her like a shadow. A girl with large blue eyes, who enjoyed music. Small hands clinging to her skirts. Elyse hoped Floris would enjoy Highgarden. She believed it would suit her more so than herself.

“I do not know,” Elyse admitted, “but from what I recall of Floris I believe she would be happy. Lord Maceon is a kind man.”

Heleana nodded in agreement, casting her gaze away from Elyse.

Elyse sensed her hesitation.

“What is it?” she asked and Helaena shook her head.

“I just cannot help but wonder… what Prince Jacaerys must think,” Helaena said carefully.

Elyse looked away. She tried not to think of it. Of Lucerys returning to Dragonstone with the news of Lord Borros denying allegiance to his mother due to his daughter in King’s Landing. His daughter, who was soon to marry the one-eyed dragon prince.

If Lucerys had journeyed to Storm’s End, Elyse wondered where Jacaerys must be. Somewhere in the realm atop Vermax no doubt petitioning other lords.

Jacaerys had never liked Aemond, even when they were small children. He would likely not be pleased with the match.

“It does not matter what Jace thinks,” Elyse told her and Helaena raised a brow.

“He is one of your dearest friends,” Helaena nudged, noticing Elyse shying away from the topic.

“Then he shall understand the duty we both have,” Elyse told her, a bit of annoyance in her tone.

Duty, he might understand. But duty was not the only reason Elyse wished to marry Prince Aemond.

The fluttering in her heart told her all she needed to know about her feelings for Aemond. And that was something she knew Jace would look down on her for.

She could picture his face, the twisted anguish it would bring him. Not only as a friend. Never just a friend.

“I wonder if his wedding to Lady Baela is still to commence within the next moon,” Helaena pondered.

Elyse nodded, pondering Helaena’s statement. She had been invited to that wedding. She had hoped to attend.

“I look forward to your wedding ceremony,” Helaena said, glancing at a spider that had ducked beneath the table, watching it glide down a single thread to meet the stone floor.

The wedding would come quickly. It would not be a grand affair, a small ceremony in the castle sept. A feast was to be held after vows were exchanged. Elyse smiled at the thought.

“As am I,” she told Helaena, causing the Targaryen queen to smile.

“Do you remember our promise as children?” she asked and Elyse snorted.

“That we would be sister wives, as Visenya and Rhaenys were, as to always be together?” Elyse said, recalling the vow they had made in childhood.

The ladies both giggled at the memory.

“I told you, I would not marry Aegon,” Elyse recalled, but her smile remained.

“I would not expect that of you. You would think me cruel,” Helaena said, “I believe it is only I who can handle him.”

A moment of silence fell between the ladies.

“I know it is selfish of me, but I am grateful Aemond shall be your lord husband,” Helaena admitted and Elyse took her hand.

“Is that awful of me?” Helaena asked, eyes watery.

Elyse’s lips pressed together in a hard smile. She felt her throat tighten with the promise of tears.

“Even if I had left for Highgarden, it would not be the end of our friendship, Helaena,” Elyse declared, causing Helaena to smile.

“I would never leave you,” Elyse promised, the words hanging in the air between them.

Helaena’s violet eyes spilled tears down her cheeks. She looked as though she wanted to tell Elyse something. As if there was imperative information she needed to share with her friend.

Helaena seemed to know more things than most. Helaena inhaled sharply, patting Elyse’s hand and averting her eyes from her companion.

Then a servant girl made her way toward the women in the garden. Though she wore her hair concealed underneath the tan bonnet, Elyse could see strands of red hair that had escaped, blowing in the breeze. Her eyes were wide as she approached the ladies.

“Your grace, my lady,” the girl said, in an accent, Elyse did not recognize, “Prince Aemond requests your presence, Lady Elyse.”

Elyse felt her heartbeat quicken. Helaena flashed her a small smile.

“Where does he reside?” Eyes asked.

“The council chambers, my lady, but he wishes you to meet him at the front gates,” she said as Elyse rose.

“I have come to escort you to your chambers, to dress in your riding leathers; I would recommend a cloak, as well as there, is a chill, my lady,” the handmaid continued.

Elyse smiled, rising from her seat.

“I apologize, I do not think we have been introduced before?” Elyse questioned. She was sure she knew everyone in the Keep by now, and this handmaid did not look familiar.

The girl smiled.

“I am Tasha, my lady. I tend to the princess and princes,” she told Elyse who nodded. Elyse had noted Dyana’s presence missing for some time. Jaehaerys had adored the servant girl and Elyse had wondered where she had disappeared to.

“Tasha is quite lovely,” Helaena told Elyse, “Jaehaera is fond of her already.”

“You flatter me, your grace,” Tasha said a blush blooming on her cheeks, eyes downcast.

After bidding Helaena ado, Elyse made her way to her chambers to change.

“Shall I braid your hair, my lady?” Tasha asked. A task usually reserved for her handmaiden Jeyne, who was not present.

“That would be lovely, thank you, Tasha,” Elyse said, sitting at her desk.

Tasha ran her hands through Elyse’s hair before reaching for her brush.

“Have you resided long in the capital?” Elyse asked, making polite conversation.

“No, my lady, I only just recently arrived. I worked previously under Lady Hollard,” Tasha informed her, beginning the braid, “how long have you resided here, my lady?”

“Forever, it feels,” Elyse said chuckling, “since I was very young.”

“An interesting place to grow into womanhood,” Tasha said and Elyse found herself nodding.

“Indeed.”

~

Aemond stood at the front gates, back turned, hands crossed behind his back. He wore his riding leathers for the occasion. As the footsteps crunched on the gravel behind him, he turned.

Elyse’s cheeks were rosy from the cool air, but they seemed to darken as he met her gaze. Her blue eyes sparkled clear and bright as the sapphire hidden beneath his eyepatch.

“My lady,” Aemond greeted her.

“My prince,” Elyse said, curtsying.

Aemond waved away the guards behind Elyse. Her eyes tracked the movement of his hand. Aemond’s mouth curved into a smile.

“Let us find you a horse, my lady,” Aemond said, beckoning her towards the stables.

“I have someone I would like to introduce you to.”

~

Elyse had met Vhagar before. Never formally, but she had seen the massive she-dragon both at Driftmark and King’s Landing once Aemond had claimed her.

Queen Alicent had been worried sick when her son was recovering due to the maiming that occurred at Lady Laena’s funeral. Though Aemond flew on dragonback home to the Red Keep, Queen Alicent forbade it until he fully recovered from his injury.

Aemond had fallen into a fever soon after the greens returned to the Red Keep.

Vhagar was inconsolable, a dark shadow over King’s Landing. Her screams were constant for a week’s time as she flew lamenting. Even the darkness of night would not calm her. She would not sleep. She would not eat.

She had just lost one rider, another loss this soon would be agonizing.

Vhagar had taken residence on the beach of the Iron Gate. No one dared approach her.

Elyse remembered watching from her window, feeling the breeze from Vhagar’s gigantic wings as she flew above the Keep. Her roars shook the foundations of the castle.

She remembered Aemond, who rose from his bed in his delirium, desperate to fly one last time if he was to die. He had just gotten a taste, and now the Stranger wished to take him.

Queen Alicent had held her second son in her arms, as sweat soaked through his clothes. She had trembled as he cried, as he screamed for his dragon.

Elyse remembered praying to the gods, old and new, that would Aemond live. She prayed for Helaena, for the Queen, and for the dragon outside her window. She prayed for herself. The maester had reopened Aemond’s stitching, drained fluid and pus with leeches, and left the socket open. Then everyone had waited.

The night was long. Queen Alicent stayed by her son’s side the entire time. Elyse stayed in Helaena’s chambers, holding her companion as she wept for her brother.

Only when Aemond’s fever broke the following morning did Vhagar stop her lamenting.

Aemond rose from his bed and looked at his mother.

“Where is she?”

~

Aemond was leading her far outside of the Red Keep, past Dragon’s Gate, and into the grassy hills of the Crownlands. There was tension in the air between them, Elyse was sure if they weren’t on horseback she would throw herself into his arms.

“I received a raven from my father, this morning,” Elyse said, snapping the thread between them.

“What does your lord father say?” Aemond asked as Elyse’s mare brushed against his.

“He intends to write to Highgarden,” Elyse told him, “and my lady mother is with child again.”

Her jaw clenches at the end of her sentence.

“This is good news, yes?” Aemond asked, noticing Elyse’s tone shift. Elyse wet her lips.

“Mother struggles with childbearing. I worry for her health,” Elyse admitted, feeling an ache in her chest. She had scattered memories of her mother, seemingly always in the birthing bed, too sick with exhaustion to rise.

Aemond studied Elyse’s expression.

“We shall visit,” he promised, “after the wedding. You have been away from your home too long.”

Elyse felt as though her heart may burst from his kind words. His kindness shines through when he wants it to; or maybe when he lowers his guard. When his muscles relax, the tension releases from his shoulders, and his jaw. It is a rarity, Elyse believes.

“Aemond, I would love that,” she said softly, touched by his thoughtfulness. Aemond shied away from her gaze, clearing his throat. The intimacy of his proposal weighed heavily between them.

“Here we are,” Aemond said, as they made their way over to a clearing surrounded by several oak trees.

As Elyse dismounted her steed, she was afraid her legs would fail her. The air was cool and crisp, a slight breeze made Elyse inhale a deep breath of fresh air.

If Elyse turned around she could see the red towers of the Keep in the distance stretching towards the sky, like the fingers of some old god reaching towards the heavens.

Aemond had dismounted his horse as well and reached for the reigns of Elyse’s mare before tying them to a tree. Elyse raised an eyebrow.

“Are we to picnic?” she asked and Aemond shook his head.

“Not today,” he told her finishing the knot and patting his horse.

“Come,” he beckoned, and Elyse followed. The pair walked over a nearby hill that lead to a grassy clearing. Elyse felt the ground rumble beneath her boots.

Vhagar lay in the dip of the earth, as though she were a curled-up cat, not the oldest, largest dragon in the world. Her bronze scales shone in the late afternoon sun, green and blue reflections glimmering.

Her eyes were closed, until she breathed in deeply, sensing the pairs’ presence. Her eyes snapped open. A beautiful jade, the color of wildfire. She picked her head up turning it towards her rider.

Aemond had taken several steps ahead of Elyse, his body a barrier between the doe and the dragon.

“Lykeri, Vhagar, ziry iksos issa,” Aemond’s called.

Vhagar roared in response to her rider, and the very air seemed to vibrate with the force of her call. Elyse could feel Vhagar’s call rattle her bones.

Aemond let out a laugh. Elyse tore her eyes from the beast then. She’d never heard him laugh like that; not a chuckle or a polite acknowledgment. A true laugh. She found herself smiling.

“Lykeri,” Aemond teased, patting her snout. His hand was the size of her right nostril, which emitted grey smoke. Aemond turned towards Elyse a grin on his face.

He held his hand out towards her.

Elyse had never braved the underbelly of the dragonpit. She had come face to face with Dreamfyre a handful of times and that was it. This was different. This was the dragon that Visenya rode. The dragon that had seen Dorne. The dragon that had helped conquer the seven kingdoms.

Elyse stepped forward, curling her fingers over Aemond’s.

Vhagar was watching her, green eyes curious. She made a low clicking sound in the back of her throat.

“Lykeri, Vhagar. Bisa iksos issa riñnykeā,” Aemond crooned, the Valyrian dripping from his tongue like honey. This is my lady. Elyse wished to request he speaks it more often.

Elyse swallowed the fear inside her and pushed away the nerves eating away at her insides as she placed her hand in Aemond’s.

The dragon’s chest rumbled, as though a cat purring. Her eyes gleamed as she stared at Elyse. Staring into Elyse’s eyes, Vhagar suddenly let out a sharp chirp, before returning to a purr.

Aemond looked at Elyse, tugging her closer with the hand he held. Reaching up, he placed Elyse’s hand atop Vhagar’s maw.

Elyse had expected she would feel cold, perhaps slimy even like the frogs in the ponds in the gardens of the Keep. But Vhagar was warm, her scales smooth and thick like armor. Elyse released a shaky breath.

Aemond’s eye never left her face as he watched Elyse stroke Vhagar. He wasn’t entirely sure what made him want to introduce them. Something had tugged within him as he prepared to go flying.

“She’s magnificent,” Elyse breathed and Aemond hummed in response.

“Come, my lady,” Aemond said, motioning towards the ropes that dangled from Vhagar’s back. Elyse followed them with her eyes, seeing Aemond’s saddle; a small speck upon her back.

Elyse froze, all her muscles feeling as though they had turned to jelly. Vhagar exhaled suddenly, grey smoke curling towards the sky.

“I- um, I do not-” Elyse began, the words becoming lost in her throat.

“You wish to see the world, yes?” Aemond asked, stepping close to her, “Volantis, the Free Cities?”

Elyse nodded. He had remembered.

“You are to be my lady wife. There is no place you cannot go,” he promised, stepping closer to her.

“I will not deny you anything,” he told her, “anything you wish, any city you desire. You need only climb.”

And so Elyse did.

It took several minutes to climb Vhagar, Aemond climbing below her as though to make sure she would not fall. Though it took much longer due to Elyse’s inexperience, Aemond did not mind.

She held onto the ropes tightly, the material digging into her palms leaving angry red streaks, as she pulled herself upwards. Elyse glanced at the ground briefly but quickly brought her gaze back to the scales in front of her. The ground was very very far away.

“Warrior save me,” Elyse whispered to herself, as she continued her climb. She imagined she was not Elyse, she was Visenya, Targaryen Queen ascending her dragon to conquer the seven kingdoms. Visenya would not have been afraid.

As they reached the top, the wind tore through Elyse’s braid, several strands of hair coming loose around her face. Aemond seated himself on the saddle, straddling his legs as though on a horse. As Elyse stood on Vhagar’s back, she looked at the Red Keep in the far-off distance.

“Sit here,” he motioned and helped Elyse straddle the she-dragon in front of him. Elyse placed herself in front of him, feeling Aemond’s hot breath on her neck. She pressed into him, back flush against his chest, face burning.

“Sōvētēs!” Aemond shouted, and Vhagar began her ascension, large feet pressing the ground, propelling the dragon toward the sky. Her wings flapped, gathering the winds beneath her.

Vhagar took to the skies.

Elyse’s eyes were wide, thighs clenching the saddle, knuckles white against the reigns.

Aemond smiled coyly, pressing the sharp curve of his nose beneath her ear into the spot he already knew was sensitive. Elyse inhaled a sharp breath, a tingle rolling down her spine.

“It’s alright,” he murmured, lips dancing on her skin. Elyse closed her eyes as Aemond brought his hand to hold her waist. He brought his other to hold her stomach, pressing her back flush against him.

“Look,” Aemond said, and Elyse opened her eyes. The waters of Blackwater Bay sparkled beneath them. Elyse let out a laugh, as Vhagar dove towards the sea. Elyse felt her stomach drop, her bottom lifting from the saddle, thighs still clenched.

Her braid blew wildly behind her as Vhagar suddenly pulled herself up, letting her feet and wings drag in the salty water. Mist sprayed up her back, sizzling into steam with the heat of her body.

Elyse laughed again, before letting loose the reigns she held, throwing her hands over her head. Aemond kept his hands securely around her, holding his lady to his dragon. He could not help the smug smile that crept onto his face at the delight the ride was bringing her.

Elyse swore she was weightless. She felt as though she herself was the dragon beneath her, simply flying of her own accord. How incredibly freeing it must be; to be a Targaryen. To be an unstoppable force of nature, to go anywhere you desire.

She screamed then, high-pitched, a joyful sound. A child running in from the rain. Elyse could not remember the last time she felt so free. As Vhagar continued to fly she craned her neck to look at Aemond.

Aemond was already looking at her, hand tightening around her waist. His lips were parted, a soft smile on his mouth that reached his eye. He leaned forward then, capturing her lips in a kiss. The wind tore around the lovers who stayed locked in their embrace long after Vhagar had landed on the outskirts of King’s Landing.

~

Prince Jacaerys had been flying for too long. The air was warm, the breeze blowing his dark hair from his brow. His legs ached from the journey, as Vermax descended to the courtyard below.

“We send Lucerys North, I shall travel to the Riverlands,” Prince Daemon had instructed days earlier, as Princess Rhaenyra rested in her birthing bed. Her recovery was slow from the intensity of her labors, and she had yet to rise.

“You shall journey south,” Daemon continued, looking towards Jacaerys. Jace had stood tall, a solemn expression on his face. As Lucerys had traveled to Storm’s End, Jace had traveled to the Vale. His trip had meant to extend to the North to request the allegiance of Cregan Stark when a raven arrived at the Eyrie causing Jace to change course and return to Dragonstone.

Three dragons departed the island of Dragonstone, as a newborn babe wailed from within.

Jacaerys eased from his mount of Vermax and the dragon cried out, a loud call towards the guards before him, who backed away at the sound. Jace’s thighs ached as he began walking, the feeling suddenly unfamiliar from his travels.

Jacaerys looked towards the beauty of Highgarden and went inside.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed it! Feel free to reblog, or leave a kudos or comment if you want to 💚

[calliecwrites]

The Final Ice

Every year, winter came earlier, and the snows fell further south. Lands that had once been hot were now temperate. Lands that had once been temperate were snow-bound well into what should be spring. People and animals moved south. Something was very wrong.

The humans came to me for help. They wanted me to join their expedition to the north. I had a reputation for being able to endure the harshest conditions – and I knew snow and ice, I had lived high in the mountains for years. They had more chance of surviving if I was with them.

The world was cooling. That was the conclusion we all came to. Something must have changed in the north, something must be the source of all this, and it was up to us to find out what. But we knew almost nothing of the uttermost north – only rumours. Even the nomads who drove their herds south into previously-settled lands told only contradictory tales. No one went there, they said, even in good times. Nothing could live there for long. Things were strange there – though they wouldn’t, or couldn’t, say how.

So we travelled north. Those coming south thought we were mad. Soon we left them behind, and were alone in the abandoned forests. During the day, I took on eagle-form and scouted ahead. At night, when my companions shivered in their tents, I took on wolf-form and hunted. Without me, they would have gone hungry more nights than not. There were fewer animals than there should have been. And when we sat around the fire, picking apart the meat with our hands, they told stories. Some of the stories were about me. After all, I had been living on the edges of their lands for longer than a dozen of their lifetimes. Some of the stories were even true.

I made them uneasy. That much was obvious. But mine was a familiar strangeness, and this time, I was on their side. Easier to talk about me than the unknown we were heading for.

There came a point where the trees were cracked and dead. As the world cooled, the line beyond which nothing could grow was moving south, into the forest. For days, we stayed in one place, hunting, scavenging, stocking up on all the food we could carry. Then we continued north.

Gradually the dead forest gave way to dead scrubland, then tundra, and then, at last, the final ice. Bare, blinding white, snow whipping against our faces, nothing able to keep out the wind. This was where our knowledge ended. From here was unknown.

I became a great white bear, the only form I knew hardy enough for this landscape. The others stayed behind me to get some shelter from the wind. Hauling our sledges became harder every day. The ice creaked, and sometimes crevasses opened at our feet. More than once, my changing, my wolf-quickness and bear-strength even when I walked in human form, saved the others from disaster.

Then the strangeness began. At first, we dismissed it as a trick of the mind. We were exhausted, half-frozen, blinded by the glare. It was easy to hallucinate here. But day by day, the air became thicker. The hard ice became sticky. The water we defrosted to drink was sluggish. The few fires we managed to light gave off less heat, and the flames moved slowly. Eventually they wouldn’t light at all.

At that point, my companions could go no further. Breathing was hard. The air wasn’t thin, like on a mountain, but thick, like syrup. Moving was slow, like wading in water, even though the wind had died days before. Stand still, and your feet would begin to sink into seemingly-solid ice. Words didn’t carry. Food didn’t nourish. The white plains stretched away northward.

I told the others to turn back. I was the only one who could go further. I still had a chance to find the source of this strangeness.

Sometimes I ran and sometimes I flew. But as the days passed, running became a stumbling scramble, and flight became a struggle to move forward at all. The cold pierced my fur, my feathers, whatever clothes I formed to keep myself warm.

In the end I couldn’t tell the difference between the land and the sky, the snow and the air. It was all white. It was all one, semi-solid, semi-liquid. I could be a mile in the sky, or deep in the ice, and it would all be the same. It was so cold, all difference had been erased. It was something primordial. It was something terrible.

It was moving south. If I stayed still, I could feel my own form starting to fray. If I stayed here, I would dissolve into this sameness.

This was as far as I could go.

I would turn back. I would carry word of this to my companions, and to our home. But what would we do? We had no answers. All that had changed, was that we knew what awaited us. This was the world’s fate: everything would become one, and in becoming one, would become nothing.

Also on Instagram.

The strangeness here was inspired by the ancient Greek explorer Pytheas's weird descriptions of sea ice. From the wikipedia page, quoting Strabo: "Pytheas also spoke of the waters around Thule and of those places where land properly speaking no longer exists, nor sea nor air, but a mixture of these things, like a "marine lung" [jellyfish], in which it was said that earth and water and all things are in suspension as if this something was a link between all these elements, on which one can neither walk nor sail."

[wuxiaphoenix]

A Certain Point of View

A/N: Currently trying to poke at the viewpoint of a minor character who’ll show up in at least some short stories in the Colors ‘verse. Hopefully this entertains.

You’re a guy who’s had a bad... actually, at this point you’re not sure how long, you could have lost a few days in the crazy. Man-eating pirates level of crazy.

Not that the human pirates were much better. They knew what those monsters were doing. They knew.

But apparently even iron-scaled invulnerable monsters weren’t quite invulnerable to cannonballs. And... everything else that was flying across that watery battlefield.

(It wasn’t magic. It couldn’t have been magic. The world can’t have gone that insane.

(Besides, there’s gunpowder. Magic doesn’t work on worlds with gunpowder. That’s how the stories go, right?

(Magic doesn’t work you’re not in a story shut up that’s crazy talk.)

Anyway. There were enough explosions to make it an interesting day in the Corps. And then....

“Jason Finn, Flight JL93.”

Sure he was.

He had the right accent. He moved... kind of right to be an American, though the stitches and bandages made it hard to tell. Not to mention the clothes.

Salt stains and the way short blond hair was clumped together and damp under that headband said he’d ended up in the drink too. So maybe he’d had to borrow clothes. Because it sure didn’t seem like anyone had forced him to dress local. He looked bone-tired, not like he was scared this antiquated army was going to cut his head off. Like they’d done to the monsters. And some pirates who didn’t look like monsters.

He didn’t look like anybody you’d seen on the plane. And the local so-called law enforcement trusted him.

Which made no sense whatsoever.

Everybody who’d survived the crash had been hauled off by the monster pirates. Every. Body. If the locals had caught this Finn with sea-bandit cannibals, why hadn’t they locked him up somewhere? Why was he running around loose?

And how. The hell. Had he picked up the local language this fast?

It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.

Especially not the way one flash of Finn’s temper had made all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Like walking into a minefield.

...And he was taking care of a niece with missing parents. Sure he was.

At least getting away from the sword-happy killers in blue uniforms was a good idea. And dealing with legal authority, any legal authority, was... probably better than pirate might-makes-right. Anyway, odds were they’d be somewhere dry.

So. You’ll play along for now. Rest up and heal up. And watch this guy. Even more than the locals.

Because there’s no way on earth this guy is just a history teacher.

[ternfic]

Bluebird

Chapter Five: Obsession

Benny had been depressed to part ways with Ken and Lenny just several months later. They’d stuck around long enough to make sure he could handle a life on the run, and then returned to Cape Space. Bad Cop had finally given up on searching the realm for him by then, but not on searching for him, so he couldn’t stay with them. He didn’t think he could bear being the reason they got caught. It also would have been too tempting to stick around, when Director Kenning had declared him grounded indefinitely, due to medical reasons. So what if his brain didn’t quite work the way it used to? He was still perfectly capable!

But he stayed aboard the Sea Cow as requested, it being his best chance at evading Bad Cop and capture, and tried to settle into the life of a sailor. They’d picked up some new clothes for him during their brief stay in Cape Space to drop off his friends, something more suitable for heat and sun than his space suit. The pirates had laughed at his tropical tee shirts and khaki shorts, but he honestly liked the ridiculous eighties style too much to give it up so easily. (And at any rate, they later admitted, the look suited him.)

Time went on. Some of Metalbeard’s original crew left, annoyed with their captain’s persistent protection of the spaceman who didn’t quite fit in. Not for lack of trying, of course, but all Benny seemed able to talk about was space, and spaceships, and how much he wanted to be back among the stars. The skies had called to him all his life, and he had worked too hard to get himself up there to have to keep his feet on the ground. It wore on him in ways he couldn’t explain.

And finally, one day, he decided enough was enough. He was a Master Builder now, wasn’t he? There was nothing holding him back from just making his own spaceship and going for a flight. So he dug into the ship’s stores of parts, kept handy for when a Master Builder’s urge to create struck, and found the materials he would need. He hauled everything up onto the deck, and got to work.

He was maybe halfway through when he found himself being bodily hauled away. “Hey!” he protested. “Put me down!”

“Benny, what are ye doin’?” the captain asked. Benny glared up at him petulantly.

“Building a spaceship, what’s it look like?”

“Ye think Bad Cop isn’t watchin’ the skies for unauthorized aircraft?”

“It’s not an aircraft, it’s a spacecraft.”

“Either or. He’s still hellbent on catchin’ ye, lad, and I’m not willin’ to let ye risk yerself like that.”

“But…”

“Besides, it be yer Director’s orders, aye? Tis for yer own good.” Benny scowled up at him. So the captain had won this round, but he wasn’t going to just roll over and give up. He waited several weeks, giving Metalbeard a false sense of security, before trying again.

And getting caught again.

And again.

And again.

He screeched in frustration when Metalbeard pulled him away from a half-finished spaceship for the eleventh time.

“Look, I know what it be like, havin’ to give up the things ye love-”

“No, you don’t!” Benny shouted, thrashing to get free. “You still have your ship, and the seas! You still have what calls you, so why can’t I have the stars?!” The fight seemed to leave him then, and Metalbeard finally set him back down. He sat down hard, sniffling. “Why won’t you let me have the stars…”

Metalbeard stared down at him for a bit, before lowering himself to the deck beside the spaceman. They sat in silence for a while. “I’ve a wife and three children,” the captain said at length. Benny wiped his eyes and glanced up at him. “I love them more than anything in the world, even the sea. And… it’s been more than a year since I’ve last seen them. I can’t go home, for fear Bad Cop and Business will take them, and use them against me. I don’t know when I will see them again. Not ‘til this nightmare ends, at least. If I survive it. This feather?” He tapped the decoration at his temple. “Me Pearl gave it to me. Her people don’t use wedding bands; they give a piece of themselves.” He chuckled at the bemused look on Benny’s face as he tried to figure that one out. “Maybe I’ll tell ye someday lad, but I can’t trust ye with that information just yet.”

Benny huffed at him, and glanced back down at his hands. “…I’m sorry,” he finally murmured after a while.

“I don’t blame ye for bein’ upset, lad. I’ve raged me fair share at how unfair everything be, these days. Have ye looked up?”

Benny gave him a puzzled look, then tilted his head back. “…Oh,” he gasped. “It’s so clear tonight…”

Metalbeard smirked. “Why don’t ye get up, take a peep over the railing.” Benny shoved himself to his feet, looking around, eyes wide. The waters were so still, they were almost a mirror, reflecting the pinpoints of light far above.

“You…”

Metalbeard stood, reaching over to gently squeeze his shoulder. “Ye still have yer stars, lad. Ye just had to look, is all.”

Benny sniffled again. “Thanks,” he murmured. “I think I’m going to stay here for a while…”

“Aye lad, just don’t be up too late.” Metalbeard smirked at him. “I’m still puttin’ ye to work in the morning.” Benny snickered.

The spaceship attempts continued after that, though without the desperation that previously accompanied them. It seemed more to be that Master Builder itch that was getting to Benny, giving him the urge to make something. Metalbeard was still vigilant though, just in case.

Crew members continued to come and go with alarming regularity. It wasn’t long before Skeeter was the only member of his original crew left. Loyalty apparently didn’t account for much in the face of a space-obsessed crewmate.

“Sometimes I’m surprised ye still be around,” Metalbeard told Skeeter one day.

“Pfft. Everyone’s got their own methods of coping with this madness, I’m hardly going to let his scare me off. Honestly, most times I wonder if they’re really that annoyed by him, and not just intimidated by all those big, fancy words he throws around.” Metalbeard threw his head back and laughed.

[mishervellous]

we’ve all been blessed on this beautiful sunny day by another ✨Tag Game Tuesday✨ by our spectacular @celestialmickey—i love you i love you i love you!

please address me as: paola 🌷

how many countries have you lived in? one!

states/provinces? one!

cities/towns? one!

homes? one!

road trip or long-haul flight? road trip 🚙

on the spectrum of hoarder to minimalist, where do you fall? hoarder, big time 📦

do you have a keepsake box/bin/bag and if so, what’s in it? i do! i have a bag filled with all of my polaroids and printed pictures, birthday cards, old flight and movie and museum tickets, letters and whatnots—and then i have a special tin box just for boyfriend-related keepsakes 💙

if you could live anywhere, where would you live? so if they could invent a mountainside near the seashore i’d be more than happy to spend the rest of my days there thank you very much

favorite place in your home? my library corner! with my lil beanbag where i take the greatest naps in between reading 📖

finally, what’s your current favorite item in your home? this wonderfully useful kenwood mixer that just makes every baking experience magical 🪄

tagging @creepkinginc, @surviving-maybe, @mikhailoisbaby, @y0itsbri, @grumpymickmilk, @liamgallaghers, @gallavich-headcanon, @heymrspatel, @metalheadmickey, @gardenerian, @gallawitchxx, @squidyyy23, @sickness-health-all-that-shit, @rereadanon, @energievie, @look-i-love-u, @ian-galagher, @ardent-fox, @vintagelacerosette, @greggster, @spaceofentropy and @suzy-queued 💙

[drstonetrivia]

Chapter 2 Trivia

Let’s get that fluid!

The ultimate forager made sure to rinse the dirt off his hands before eating. Perfect stone world table manners! 

Senku trusts Taiju's stamina, but obviously doesn't trust his identification skills. Senku had prepared a comparatively larger basket for the inedible plants before he'd even started sorting.

Senku uses the word "primeval" here, meaning "earliest time in history", which going by the previous chapter meant ~2M years ago.

In fact, proof of salt production only appeared ~6000BCE during the Neolithic period (=beginnings of agriculture rather than hunting and gathering) which makes sense, because you'd want to preserve the harvest you worked so hard on!

Despite 2/3rds of Taiju's previous haul coming back poisonous, he doesn't hesitate to try the grapes.

Why sour? It's October, the end of the grape harvest. Either the seasons are later, or, more likely, the grapes haven't gotten enough sun to ripen because of the forest canopy.

The only things Taiju and Senku have in common here are the fact they were both conscious and near a source of nitric acid.

I wonder if anyone else happened to have these extremely unlikely odds work in their favour...

Nitric acid made from bat guano doesn't drip from the ceiling. It's actually formed on the cave floor where the droppings can decompose into nitric acid, if it's kept moist. Normally it would seep directly into the rock layer, causing erosion.

This truly is the Cave of Miracles.

All the birds shown here are either in flight, or taking off. Could they have seen the beam coming, but no humans could? They all seem to be adults despite getting petrified during nesting season, where are the babies?

Do the eggs/embryos also get petrified?

The kanji on the bottle say "daiginjo," which is the highest-quality, premium grade of sake. To call your product daiginjo, 50% of the original rice grain has to be polished away (lesser grades require less polishing).

You can make wine like this but it's not recommended. I won't go into details, but 70% of fermentation is done in the first few days, and after those few days an airlock is recommended to not contaminate it. 3 weeks seems a little long for their method, but I've never tried!

Taiju has a cup, but Senku gets a clay wine glass? Why didn't Senku make a set for them? It's not like Senku can take advantage of any of the benefits of a wine glass in this situation.

It's been speculated that the Mesopotamians were using distillation for perfumes and aromatics rather than for drinking alcohol. Either way, distilling alcohol to drink only came about in the Middle Ages (~13th century) where, unsurprisingly, it was lauded as beneficial medicine.

Either the distilling setup broke a second time, or they decided to upgrade sometime during the winter.

Another early technique: ice fishing using a spear.

Evidence has been found showing this method being used over 2000 years ago by natives in North America. Improvements have been made over the years, but Taiju is shown using the most basic form of it (no bait or shelter).

Taiju seems to think Yuzuriha hates beards, I wonder if that's true...

I also wonder if Taiju will grow a beard again in the future or not.

If the whole bird species was petrified, that means this bird is the only one of its kind alive right now. Is Sparrow Ishigami ready to bring back all of sparrowkind?

Senku's comment here includes the 6 months he spent surviving alone, as it's only spring.

(Senku breaks out spring 5738, Taiju breaks out 6 months later on Oct 5th 5738. This scene is during spring 5739.)

Senku says Taiju can pick who they revive next, but there was really never any doubt. Yuzuriha is their mutual friend, and Senku doesn't seem to have anyone other than Taiju that he'd want to revive.

They also can't revive their parents...

I really love these early chapters where everything they do requires a lot of effort and it's all being shown.

[vintagelacerosette]

Tag game catch up 💖

Soooi I am unbelievably late for this whoops but i already finished this just needed to tag ppl hope y'all don't mind 😅

Tagged by the gaggle or sweethearts thank youu 🥰 Macy @celestialmickey Nosho @creepkinginc Jay @surviving-maybe Donna @sleepyfacetoughguy Harvey @mikhailoisbaby Paola @mishervellous Kaka @stocious Vey @look-i-love-u Carolie @shinygalaxyperson Evie @energievie Michelle @mmmichyyy Willow @ian-galagher Michelle @michellemisfit Ri @tanktopgallavich Lyle @milkovetti Gina @grumble-fish Bri @y0itsbri Auds @auds-and-evens Lyndsey @tomorrowillmissyou thank youuuu 🥰

I changed my lock screen immediately with art by the magnificent Mitch @psychicskulldamage & my home screen is iconic art by the sensational Alice @darthvaders-wife

Also couldn't choose between Cam, Noel & Christian with retainer valentine's Noel lmao

A tag game tuesday made by the magnificent Macy 🥰

Please address me as: Myn pronounced as Main, I would also accept Mynie or Shermyn, lover of Gallavich & your pocket of sunshine ☀️

How many countries have you lived in? One

States/provinces? One

Cities/towns? Two

Homes? Two

Road trip or long-haul flight? Long-haul fight to get to the places for the road trips! Holy fuck living in Australia man 😂 I had a proper road trip in America & I enjoyed it!

On the spectrum of hoarder to minimalist, where do you fall? Hoarder tendencies with some yearning to be minimalist bc it can be just to much stuff! Oh but the rush of buying something new 🫠

Do you have a keepsake box/bin/bag and if so, what’s in it? Yes i got a box full of birthday & Christmas card throughout the years 💌

If you could live anywhere, where would you live? Iceland i dream to live in a cottage by the water surrounded by long grass & wildflowers 🪻

Favourite place in your home? Lounge room she's gone through many iterations from carpet to tile & had many different couches, pillows & tv sets, but she's an old faithful that just so comfy where you can watch things, read fics & draw. 💌

Finally, what’s your current favourite item in your home? A wooden drafting table my dad made me is soo cool! It split opens to has compartments where I got my art & crafty stuff 🥰

Picrews ✨️