#and the last panel is them surrounded by animals. i think they filled the ship with animals.

[lesbiangiratina]

… there are 2 testament centric chapters id love to scan even just for my own enjoyment but the thought of taking these books apart makes me sad. Maybe if i just. Squish it down hard enough itll look okay. I just want to have new testament images

[star-killer-md]

Dream a Little Dream of Me Pt. 6

Hi, so I’m just gonna leave this here and pretend it didn’t take me for fucking ever to get this done. Also like real talk, my classes are starting up soon and I’m working multiple jobs so updates from here on out might get a little sparse. I AM BY NO MEANS GOING TO STOP WRITING IT. Just like, it’s gonna take me awhile or the chapters might be shorter, who knows (not me). Anyway, I hope you enjoy this shit show and if you have any theories about where the hell this is going or critiques or just general explicit thoughts about Kylo please hit me up! I love you all, I hope you’re staying safe and healthy <3333

AO3 Mirror

Part 5

Warnings: nsfw, mirror sex, male masturbation, unconscious reader so not dub-con but just so you know, Kylo’s POV in some parts, I threw in some size kink if you squint cause he’s a big boy, possessive Kylo, slight boot kink, I think that’s it?

Ship: Kylo Ren x Negotiator!reader

Word count: 9.4k (god I’m so sorry this really got away from me)

He was looking at you.

Really looking at you.

Hadn’t until now.

But that wasn’t completely true. Of course he’d looked at you—noticed you, heard all the dagger sharp curses you threw his way like a child put in the corner impertinent and prideful and intoxicating in a way that pain often is. So, yes of course he’d looked, but you hadn’t been important.

And that was not to say that you were important now, just that—

Just that the sea was churning behind him, crashing against the shoreline and the Force was stirring. It was a wild thing, and sung like the insects hiding in the nearby treeline. He could feel the pull of it, like a chain that swung in the small space between your bodies. Connecting your throats—growing every shorter—rubbing him raw and bloody.

It was in you, whatever it was that tethered him like a boat to the harbor.

He was inside you too

“No one will ever feel like I do.”  

That’s what you’d said.

You were right, as much as he was loath to admit it, no one had ever felt the way you did clenching around him.

There was something primal that made him ravenous to pour himself into you. He was always too much too full to angryangryangry every waking second. Now, finally, it all had some place to go. Some well to fill—a space for all his extra self to belong.

For once, he found there was nothing more than the sound of the sea inside his head.

He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that revelation.

Who were you? What were you hiding and where was it buried?

Kylo needed to know and you were there, already limp and pliant with no jumbled slur of raging thoughts to cloud his path.

He found that slipping into your mind was one of the easiest things he’d ever done, like following the current of flowing water. Drifting in as if carried by the waves.

Flashes of memories rushed past him, mostly just amalgamations of indecipherable emotion—fathoms of pent up aggression Kylo was forced to wade through in order to reach the black depths of your head. At every turn he was met with his own face staring back at him.

He saw his saber, swinging in a red arch into durasteel paneling, saw himself through your eyes. Felt your awe, felt the stirring in your chest at the sight. He pushed on.

Past shots of offices he’d never seen, a barrage of falsely smiling faces, teeth gnashing, always hungry. He was walking down an endless grey hallway lined with First Order uniforms all towering over him—you—looking down, casting judgement like arrows in his back. Frustration morphed and twisted into a thick sludge of resentment that bubbled and clung to his feet.

With every pop a voice escaped, shouting “everything, everything, everything” in a sick, distorted roar.

And then he found it, the source of the muck that caked his path. A pit, deep and black as pitch that spit up it’s roiling contents and dragged him tumbling down, down, down.

He could barely make it out at first, but as he fell the dim red glow grew bright, crackling and electric and throwing sparks. At the bottom of the well the light bloomed like a pyre, some flaming effigy of pure potential. The heat of it licked at his skin, tracing the edges of every scar like it knew them.

Maybe it did.

Something like a shockwave rolled out through the Force, and he backed away from the raging flames. Back, back, back until he was kneeling again on the shoreline, your cooling body still pressed firmly to his chest.

The feeling of your weight, not cold and dead, but with life still in your limbs was alien to him. Kylo battled internally with the instinct to throw you off him to the ground. He could leave you here, go and wait or never come back at all.

It would be easy.

He could see it now:

Your face twisted, lips pulled back and teeth bared like you weren’t half his size. Like he couldn’t snap your neck with a wave of his hand. He imagined you naked, covered in dried blood and bruises bursting onto your balcony, tits on full display and your finger in his chest, vitriol spewing from your mouth.

It was comical really, how you puffed up like an animal threatened, small but vicious.

Yet even as he considered the scene, his aching knees were unlocking and shifting you, soft cock slipping out in a gush of your combined releases. Kylo swung your legs easily over one arm and climbed back up the beach towards your room.

The sun was starting to rise over the sea, casting gilded strips along its surface when he laid your limp form on the bed. Your skin was marbled with the evidence of your coupling and shone in the light.

Kylo stood silently above you, the ocean breeze occasionally ruffling his damp hair as he brought a hesitant hand to his jaw. The skin was swollen from when you’d raised your hand to him. His fingers dug into the bruise, and the stinging ache of it made his cock twitch. Your face, twisted and snarling and so defiant, so foolish, inches from his before your palm cracked across his cheek.

He dropped a hand down, stroking his half hard length and remembering how your thighs felt crushing his ribcage between them. His hips twitched up into his hand in slow, languid thrusts, precum and your residual slick easing the slide of his palm.

You weren’t afraid to fight back.

Kylo’s teeth tore at his bottom lip as he pumped his cock in earnest now.

You weren’t afraid of him , he realized. But you should be.

Especially now with how his mind was supplying all the numerous ways he could beat you into submission—fuck you into submission. God he’d love to watch you crack, it would truly be a feat worthy of celebration to break the will of a creature such as yourself.

But he couldn’t deny—certainly not while he’s jerking himself faster thinking of how delicious your wet cunt felt around him—that he liked when you bit back.  

His name rolling off your tongue was ricocheting around in his brain and he was sure it was the most erotic thing he’d ever heard in his life, that he would never get enough of it. He’d known that since the very first time he heard it, when you opened yourself up to him and came in his mouth, on his fingers.

A familiar warmth was building in his stomach as he thought of all the ways he could make you say it again. Thought of dipping into your head and erasing everything else but that. So it was the only word you knew.

That sent him, made him spill over his hand, white ropes of his cum painting your breasts. You looked good like that, he thought as he worked himself through his orgasm, breath rasping in his chest.

When he was well and truly spent, he let his overstimulated cock settle back against his thigh and dropped a hand to your chest. His palm spanned nearly the entire width of you, fingers swirling in the mess of his release and rubbing it into your abused skin until you were perfectly glazed in him. The sheen of it glinted in the light, a reminder that you’d been marked and would never know how completely he coated every inch of your body.

Even as the darkness whispered into his mind that this was potential, this was uncharted, this was the dragon that hid in the corners of ancient maps filled with unknown stars, Kylo didn’t tear his eyes away. Didn’t pull his hand from your breast where his fingers dug into the flesh and made their home.

Not until the sun had fully risen and you began to stir from the Force induced sleep he’d buried you under.

Not until the very last moment.

***

You woke to the sound of rushing water. It was dim though, out of focus like an echo nearly faded away. Your eyes were lead in your skull, struggling against opening to the soft light filtering into—

Well into where you weren’t exactly sure.

Thoughts were elusive and seemed to slip from your grasp or sit constantly out of reach. Details stood blurry behind a layer of foggy confusion. It was as if your brain had been frozen and restarted like one of the old monitors on the Bridge, leaving important documents to close improperly. You pushed incessantly against the film that seemed to separate you from full awareness until, finally, it popped and the world came flooding in.

Light, bright and all encompassing was stinging your eyes through the open balcony doors. The smell of salt and sand and sweat was everywhere. You were laying on your bed, the spot next to you cold and vacant—never occupied. Your chest and bare thighs were sticky as you peeled them apart and tried to sit up, feeling the uncomfortable squelch of something leaking from you onto the sheets.

And then you ached.  

The deep kind of pain that extends past your muscles and sent nerves misfiring with every movement. There was not a single inch of you free from the pulsating burn of it. You laid out flat on the mattress, moving your head as slowly as possible to take stock of the damages. Bruises littered you, mottled you in painful stripes. With every new mark catalogued another memory drifted to the surface:

Hips, his hands surrounding your waist to lift you clear off the ground, his cock slipping ever deeper inside.

Breasts, where the Force and his fingers had cupped and palmed and rolled pleasure into your flesh.

Chest, his bitten nails that scratched large welts which stung when you breathed in.

Legs, how he’d ripped you through the churning water and pressed deep into the meat of your thighs.

Neck, you could feel the dull throb of where he’d bitten into the skin, sucked hard and marked you with a small supernova of broken capillaries.

But the sting between your legs topped the rest. He truly had split you in half, his cock massive and leaving you clenching to your very core in its absence. His cum still dripped out of you in a slow stream. If this was the recompense you bore, there was no telling what he must look like.

You recalled the sole of your foot connecting with muscle and bone, the crack of your palm on his sculpted cheeks.

The way his mouth tasted, the fullness of his lips and how warm he was pressed against you with no space in between. The desperation for him, the sweet sting of him moving inside you, sinking into you, the fullness, the absolution. The presence of him not just in your body but in your mind, in your being, the relief of it—like the first breath after years of asphyxiation.

You could feel him still, you realized, a tingle at the back of your neck. A soft, comforting thump when you closed your eyes. Like a heartbeat. Kylo Ren’s heartbeat, faint but present, evidence of mortal flesh and blood. Your head on his chest, his voice a hush under the roaring sea.

“You aren’t going to die.”

It felt like a promise, and maybe it was.

But really, how long could you expect him to keep it?

And that was just the first of many questions. So many questions.

The sound of water was not the ocean, but the shower you realized and it filled the room with a hazy steam from the crack in the door. You thought about joining him for just a second, indulged in the idea of seeing him bare. Seeing the wounds he bore, the ones he let you put there.

But there was no time for that now, unfortunate though it was.

Instead, you tumbled out of bed onto shaky knees that nearly gave way as you looked around for something to cover yourself with, grabbing the first piece of clothing available. It was Kylo’s, you noticed as you tugged the massive black shirt over your head and watched it fall well past your thighs.

It smelled like him. You tried not to think about it too much.

You sifted through the mess of clothing on the floor and finally located your bag and datapad, tripping over yourself to crawl back onto the mattress. New messages flashed on the screen, although strangely none originating from the First Order. Each one another of Gahl’s staff asking you for speech revisions to be approved by the advisory committee and the last one a reminder of the day’s worth of meetings with campaign staff.

You shuddered at the thought. It wasn’t really the meetings themselves that bothered you, that was routine, muscle memory at this point. But it was harder now, harder to sit still and spit out pretty fake chuckles to every pompous politician's horrid sense of humor, harder to slip in silent ultimatums when there was a knife positioned squarely at your back. When you could never truly tell who would be the one to twist the blade or at what point you would have outlasted your usefulness.

At what point it was your turn to become the next example of what pride does to the body.

No amount of whispered half covenants would be able to stop that, regardless of which masked, saber-wielding commander they came from.

Sighing, you tried to quell the constriction in your throat and typed away quick, formulaic responses. A few minutes passed until you heard the shower putter out and the soft sounds of the Commander dressing. He didn’t look at you when he pulled the door open and stepped into the room, shirtless this time and sporting a dark purple starburst that dipped below the waistband of his pants and circled over the ‘v’ of his hips.

You tensed at the memory of your bodies twisting in the surf and glanced away as he silently dug through his discarded clothes.

“That looks like it hurts,” you said, just to break the uncomfortable quiet.

Kylo regarded you in your seat by the headboard, eyes narrowing just a bit when he straightened and crossed the room. He stood by your side, taking the hem of his shirt between his fingers for just a second.

You felt him hum in your head, not nearly as loud as it was the night before, but still there—a pleasant weight in your chest. He liked the look of you drowning in his clothes. Liked the way you disappeared into them. Liked the reminder of how you fit well in the space he left behind. Felt his hand rip away like it had been burned.

“It doesn’t,” he said and turned his back to you.

As if you could hurt him.

You felt yourself flush at his response, electing to simply watch as he plucked another top from one of the piles and tugged it over his head. You lamented silently at the loss, earning you a sharp glare from the man in question. Well, at least he was giving you some indication now that he heard you.

“Yes,” he sighed, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed. “You’re incredibly loud.”

Crossing your legs, you sat the datapad aside and leaned back against the headboard.

“Oh, well my apologies,” you rolled your eyes, “I’m not exactly familiar with how this works.”

He scoffed at your hand gesturing between the two of you, “I’m well aware.”

“Is being as aggravating as possible a personal goal of yours or something?”

Kylo’s hand shot out, grabbing your ankle and yanking you down the bed. Before you had the chance to register the stab of pain that accompanied the sudden movement, you were situated firmly on his lap, thighs spread uncomfortably on either side of his hips.

“Is being a defiant little brat one of yours?” he retorted, one hand gripping hard on your jaw.

You tensed your legs against the searing ache and dug one of your knees into the bruise on his side, “Only for you, sir.”

The hand on your jaw slipped down to wrap around your throat, clamping down on the vein there and you felt the surge of blood that rushed to his dick at the memory those words elicited. He liked them in your mouth, he couldn’t hide that anymore and it frustrated him, enraged him that you smiled at the thought. Stars, you supposed if you kept mouthing off like that Atreus would have to speed things up before Ren killed you for him.

Kylo’s fingers twitched around your neck, eyes flicking to the mark he’d left on the joining of your throat and shoulder which had slipped entirely from his shirt. He seemed to be debating with himself before dropping his head and sucking the abused skin back into his mouth.

Your fingers slipped instinctively into his hair. Whether you were trying to yank him off or push him closer, you weren’t sure but then his jagged teeth sunk into the worried flesh and you whined like something wild at the display of dominance and acknowledgment that last night had been more than just another dream.

When Kylo finished with you, he stayed soothing cool mint breaths into the sensitive skin under his lips. You wanted to ask him what it meant—the mark, the beach, the newly filled to the brim, shaking in your fingers feeling blooming into existence in the intercostal spaces of your ribs—but you knew he’d never answer that.

Luckily, the waiting game was your specialty. There was no one better than you at playing the long con. He’d crack eventually, they always did. So you hid your ace and plaid something a bit safer.

“How did I find you in the hall last night?”

The Commander huffed against you, lifting his head to nip sharply at your earlobe.

“Projecting,” he conceded.

“What does that mean?”

His hands drifted to your hips, digging in and forcing you off his lap and onto the floor. The wood dug into your knees and pressed valleys into the skin. Kylo motioned with a hand and his boots obediently floated over and settled in front of you kneeling between his legs. You frowned as he stared down at you blankly and his command dawned on you.

“Really?” you asked, unable to keep the incredulity off of your tongue.

He lifted his brows and rolled his lips together, and you found yourself understanding with terrifying clarity what that meant. If you were going to play games so would he, and Kylo’s preferred method always seemed to be humiliation in some form.

Jokes on him, you thought with a shrug. You had very little dignity left to be squashed under his boots which you ripped from the air by your head. His feet were massive, nearly the size of your thigh as you slipped one into the rough leather.

“Consciousness can be detached from the physical body,” Kylo explained.

His voice lacked any of its usual rasp or vitriol, he was simply saying the words, not forcing them out. You thought he’d make a good teacher if he wasn’t such an—

The boot in your lap ground down harshly into the especially sore spot between your thighs covered only by his thin black shirt. Your cunt ached as he pressed the toe of his boot into your clit. Gritting your teeth against the pain, you kept your mouth shut and nodded for him to continue, pulling taught all the laces from his ankle to calf. The muscles were impossibly hard under your fingers

“The Force can allow you to take advantage of that separation,” he continued, swapping feet when you’d finished the first, “so physically you remained here, and your consciousness was able to project elsewhere.”

Your hands guided his foot past the leather straps and hastened through the last few laces. When the last was tied off, you tried to knock his leg to the side, but he pressed it back between your legs, smearing you with rocky earth and grinding his heel once more on your slit.

“So everything we overheard then, that was real?” you continued, voice strained as you squirmed out of his reach. Shockingly, he let you.

Kylo shrugged examining your slick stain on the leather, “Projection involves a real place and time. Dreams are more abstract.”

You nodded, pulling the fabric tighter around your knees.

“What did he mean?” you asked quietly.

You were pushing your luck, pushing his buttons really but he should be expecting that by now. He owed you this, reparations for months of workplace abuse.

Kylo stared at you, his erection still obscenely on display from your view on the floor.

“Atreus, he said I was ‘in your head,’” you elaborated and Kylo nearly kicked your teeth in with how quickly he stood.

“That’s enough,” he grunted.

You watched on the ground as he walked out onto the balcony. The wind combed through the black waves on his head revealing whitecaps of pale, freckled profile to peek out. You decided to quit while you were ahead, letting him stew. This was the most he’d ever spoken to you in the years you’d worked as his one-woman political clean up crew. Maybe you’d celebrate when there wasn’t a hit out on you.

Stretching out, your eyes caught his mask staring at you dead and resolute from the small night stand. It was heavier than you expected, lined with deep ridges and scars just like the man who wore it.

Head wounds were almost always fatal. Just one blow to the soft flesh of the temple and that was it, end of discussion. They taught you that at the academy. Always aim for the head. You traced the cracks on its carbon black surface and tried to imagine all the people who’d aimed for the Commander’s head, aimed to land the killing blow and failed. You thought of his toothpaste sitting in the vanity in the bathroom. You thought of the bruises on his chest and the blood that had pooled under his pretty skin to cause them. You thought of Kylo Ren dying.

You put the helmet down, pulled yourself off the floor and left Ren to his thoughts.

The bathroom was still thick with steam when you started the shower running. You stripped his shirt from your back and folded it on the sink before stepping in. The hot water felt glorious as it pounded the soreness from your skin. Your fingers brushed carefully over the abstract painting of bruises, the mark on your neck particularly stark in your hazy reflection in the wall of mirrors facing the shower.

You should have expected the Commander would enjoy marking his territory.

Not that you were in any way his territory.

The idea of it certainly didn’t cause a shiver to run down your spine.

When you’d washed the silt and grime down the drain and dried yourself, you left the bathroom and dressed quietly. Your outfit was professional and understated, not drawing the eye and covering last nights events without being suspiciously modest. Kylo didn’t move or speak until you drifted out to the balcony to commune before your meetings began. You leaned against the rail next to him.

“Do you know anything about him?” you asked, gazing out at the waves as the rose and crashed and rose again.

“No,” he responded, and you were thankful you didn’t have to say the name.

It felt greasy in your mouth.

“Right,” your eyes closed against the salty wind, “well I suppose I’ll do some digging then. Know thy enemy and all that.”

He glanced at you, a full once over and nodded in dismissal. You shook your head and turned to head out, shouting back to him over your shoulder.

“Remember,” only your head remained peeking through the crack in the door, “don’t leave this room.”

The door slammed behind you with a crack. Well, he was developing a pattern to say the least, you thought as you wandered down the hall to the drawing room.

***

You did your best to conceal the limp in your step as you entered, slipping easily into the small crowd of legislative staffers and scanning the room. Gahl was nowhere to be seen and neither was his ‘advisor.’ Immediately you felt a weight lifted off your shoulders. You consistently spent among crowds of men who frequently murdered people for political gain, however, you’d miscalculated how much harder it would be to keep your cool when your life was the one on the line.

The room was bright and airy, a small table was lined with furiously dainty finger food which you perused but found no appetite for. You sighed and moved on, trying to decide which inane conversation to insert yourself into when one found you first.

“Good morning,” an increasingly familiar voice spoke from behind you.

You turned to find Lem crossing the room and leaving behind a group of idly chatting aides.

“Hello,” you plastered a smile on your face in greeting as he saddled up. “The Representative chose not to grace us with his presence I see.”

He chuckled, “You really do get right down to business don’t you?”

“That is why I’m here,” you picked a tea sandwich off the table and popped it into your mouth just for the sake of the gesture. It tasted like sand in your mouth.

“Well then, I suppose I don’t mind skipping the pleasantries if you won’t think less of me for it,” Lem conceded and turned to stand next to you, surveying the crowd.

“In fact, I might think more of you.”

You followed suit, taking in the gaggles of people as your new companion passed you a glass of something fruity and expensive.

“Well in that case,” he took a sip and tucked a piece of yellow hair behind his ear, “you’d be correct in your assumption, the old man’s been called away on important campaign related business.”

“Would I be right in assuming you know more than you’re letting on?”

Lem glanced down at you from the corner of his eye and took a sip of his drink, “I think we’re both seasoned enough players of this game to know the answer to that.”

You hummed in concession, “Can you blame me for trying?”

“No,” he admitted easily. “But considering the fact you’ve been casing me like a house for robbery I would have hoped that conclusion would have come faster.  

“I don’t know what you consider ‘casing,’ but I think you might be inflating yourself a bit there Mr. Alba,” you retorted, taking a sip and jolting a bit as the sweetness hit your tongue.

“A politician's assistant with an enlarged ego? Never.”

“Aren’t you a little too self aware to be in politics?”

Beside you, Lem laughed in earnest and you frowned, looking up at him. He wasn’t nearly as large as the Commander, so your neck wasn’t forced nearly to it’s breaking point in the process.

“You’re funny,” he said by way of explanation. “I didn’t think you’d be funny.”

“I’m just as shocked as you are,” you mumbled as a group of people bypassed you out into the hall.

“Well, you’re right,” Lem shrugged his shoulders, “I didn’t initially intend on ending up in government work.”

That was interesting. You felt yourself falling back into an old rhythm. Maybe Lem was onto something—if you wanted to get to Gahl, what better place to start than with the assistant. After all, if anyone wanted to know all the dirt on Hux, you were certainly the best person to ask. Why would this be any different?

“Is that so?” you prodded, hoping he’d continue on his own.

Of course he did. These people loved to talk about themselves.

“The Representative was a family friend and I was but a directionless youth bringing shame upon our good name,” he lamented, gesturing dramatically to a false, sympathetic audience.

“Was it kindness or pity then?” you asked, smiling and nodding to one of the campaign managers when she dipped behind you for a fruit tart.

Lem huffed out a laugh again and shook his head, “Gahl wasn’t always like this, I recall him being far more benignant when I first started.”

You latched on to the remorse in his tone: a soft spot in the apple. A perfect opportunity for you to worm your way in and feast on the flesh.

“It's an occupational hazard, really,” you glanced at his profile through your lashes and caught the faintest twinkle of vulnerability in the set of his jaw, “the constant power struggle drains one dry of any remaining empathy.”

“Hm, that’s certainly part of it,” Lem continued and downed the rest of his drink. “But he hasn’t really changed all that much until this election season.”

You’d broken the skin, now it was time to dig a bit deeper.

“Gahl seems pretty cut and dry, from what I can tell,” you locked your thighs against the growing ache between them from standing too still for too long, “what would you say has changed?”

“Well in all the years I’ve spent working for him, I’ve never known the man to run a smear campaign, not like this one at least. Really you should have seen the ads we ran for him, absolutely brutal,” Lem was nearly ranting now, and it seemed you’d struck the nerve you’d been searching for. “And, I mean no offense, but he’d certainly never have interacted more with the Order than was strictly necessary, much less agree to meet with your Commander what-ever-his-name-is personally.”

God you wished Commander what-ever-his-name-is Ren was around to hear that. The look on his face alone would be better than any orgasm he could give you.

“No, no, I wouldn’t do any business with us either if I could help it,” you conceded and handed Lem a second glass.

“You’re very gracious, thank you,” he accepted the drink and sighed.

You tried your best not to sympathize, but you were weak and soft and couldn’t quite help the pang in your chest. As lukewarm as you were about Lem Alba, you could see the bags under his eyes and the sallow pallor to his skin and you knew the look he wore too well.

Damn your occasional need to not be a total piece of shit.

“Trust me, I understand your frustration,” you let out a sigh of your own.

Commanding officers were a trial.

“And not to mention, ever since he brought on that new advisor, he’s had no need for any of my input,” Lem grumbled, pinching the bridge of his round nose.

Well, never mind, maybe your horrible lack of apathy was going to come in handy.

“The slimy one?”

He turned to look down at you with an incredulous smile, “Yeah, that’s the one.”

“What does he call himself?”

“Atreus,” Lem said, rolling his eyes. “Although I’m sure that’s not his real name. He seems to get off on being dark and mysterious.”

You could think of another person who fit that description, and both of them had wanted you dead on at least one occasion you were certain.

“Hm,” you nodded in agreement, “any idea where he came from?”

“None such luck, he just came crawling out of the woodwork one day a few months ago and well, you’ve seen the result,” he shrugged and finished off his second glass, taking yours from your hand and setting them off to the side. “Now, fancy a walk on the beach? I believe it’s my turn to take a crack at hunting for information.”

For a moment, you contemplated the likelihood that you were being played, that Lem was some elaborate plant and today was the day of your demise. But holding you hostage leagues away from crowds would invariably ensure your death would be wasted. Couldn’t stick it to the Order if there was no one around to watch. And not to stroke your own dick, but you were very well versed in picking up on genuine animosity towards superiors.

“I’m not entirely sure what you could possibly want to know that I have the answers to,” you said and turned to face him, “but I would love the excuse to skip a meeting.”

The sand was warm between your toes when you stepped onto the shore. A breeze stirred and kicked up the granules which bit at your skin. Lem walked beside you in silence for a while, swinging his loafers in his hand.  You looked out at the water, mind flashed with reluctant images of two bodies, bare and bruised, rolling in the surf.

“What’s it like?” your companion finally said, pulling you from your not so work appropriate thoughts.

“What’s what like?”

You turned to see Lem shaking his head and looking down at his feet.

“Working for the Order,” he clarified and you couldn’t stop the scoff before it blew past your lips.

“Do you seriously expect me to believe that’s what you really wanted to ask me?”

Lem held up a hand in surrender and swung to face you, “I promise, I’m being perfectly honest.” When you didn’t say anything, he continued, tone much softer under the crashing waves. “Are you always this mistrustful?”

You were certain that was meant to be a rhetorical question, but it triggered a bit of uncomfortable introspection. The answer was clearly yes, that was a given, a requirement. Of course you were, everyone who played the game of politics and treaties and thinly veiled threats was constantly waiting for someone to change loyalties at the flip of a switch. That was the rules, no one ever trusted anyone else father than they could shoot them. Alliances only worked when the playing parties were mutually benefitting or consistently in the other’s line of fire.

Truthfully, you hadn’t trusted a single soul since your academy days, and even that was questionable. You couldn’t trust your staff to do their jobs right, and the only conversations they ever had with you was nothing more than ass kissing lacking in both subtlety and class. The higher ups used you as a convenient garbage dump for all their internal screw ups.

Any human interaction you’d had during your time in negotiations was—stripped down to its roots—simply because someone wanted something from you.  

Intentions mattered, anyone who said otherwise was only kidding themselves.

“Work is fine, pay is good,” you kept your tone short, “why do you ask?”

“Just curious, I always wondered what it would be like to work for them.”

“Well, I’d say it’s exactly what you’d expect,” you backed quickly away from the incoming tide, trying not to ruin any more clothing that you already had.

“I don’t know,” Lem shrugged and followed you farther up the beach, “I figured it would be more exciting than this.”

He gestured around vaguely at the villa and the ocean. Your balcony visible from here, you realized. Soon the two of you would walk right across the patch of sand where you and the Commander had tumbled desperately into each other. When you had—

“It isn’t,” you quickly nipped that train of thought in the bud. “Just the same sport on a bigger playing field.”

“You’re not doing a very good job of representing your product,” Lem quipped.

“Well thankfully I’m a diplomat, not a salesman.”

You were standing right by the path to your rooms now, in between the parted grass you could still see the imprints of massive feet. Kylo must have carried you back last night, cold and wet and debauched. You could almost see him, muscles in his back rippling, your weight barely registering as he walked on legs like tree trunks up the small incline. The water would be dripping off his hair, coating each pretty strand and leaching away its softness.

“Isn’t it all the same evil though,” Lem mused, pausing next to you on the beach, completely unaware of what the sand here had witnessed only a few hours ago.

“Depends on what you define as evil.”

You wondered if Kylo could see you now, if he could hear you—really hear you. Wondered if you’d ever get to know what went on inside his head. Wondered if you’d even want to. Maybe that made you evil. Or maybe you were just weak.

“I think you’d know better than me,” Lem was staring off at the water when you turned and his neat hair parted with the breeze.

“Why’s that?” you asked, facing back to stare into the window to your room, hoping to catch a glimpse of something.

Just something.

“Well homicide isn’t included in my negotiating arsenal for one thing,” he huffed, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets.

“I’ve never killed anyone.”

You didn’t know why you whispered the words, didn’t know why you said them at all, but there they were drifting out to sea like a rudderless ship.

“Why not?”

“Never had too,” you said simply, “not directly at least.”

Lem hummed thoughtfully, “But would you?”

You were still staring up at the curtain covered window.

“Is that what you think evil is?”

“That’s what I think devotion is,” Lem replied simply. “The evil is in refusing.”

A shadow passed across the glass, tall and menacing and real.

“I don’t know,” you said finally, after a moment of silence.

“Don’t know what?”

You shook your head, “I don’t know if I would kill someone, personally I mean.”

“Fair enough,” the sound of skipping shells rang out behind you as Lem spoke, “I don’t think anyone really knows until the knife is in their hand and the throat is under it.”

You aren’t going to die.

You could hear Kylo’s voice and the crashing of the sea—or maybe it was something else, something else entirely that was churning around you. Something red and crackling.

An act of devotion.  

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

***

You could feel his eyes on you the second you returned. It was well into the night after a day of meetings that ran too long. But one quick scan of the room and you came up empty of brooding men in flowing black robes. Despite his lack of physical presence, you swore you could feel staring, tracking the uneven movement of your legs as you took a step further from the door.

Kylo Ren was here somewhere, you could feel the weight of him, filling up all the extra space in the air.

The sullen feeling of being watched followed you, making your skin flush with gooseflesh, while you stood in the middle of the room. Something moved in the shadows of the balcony. You caught just a twitch from the corner of your vision, the heel of boot pulled back into the dark.

So that’s where he was hiding. Or maybe lurking was a more appropriate word for it.

When your eyes had adjusted to the low light of the moon, you could just barely make him out. Kylo was nothing more than a dark silhouette against the horizon, leaning back against the rail of the balcony. You couldn’t see his face, but you could easily imagine the blank, drawn expression. The regal tilt of his jaw and the sculpted profile of his prominent nose. The slight peek of his ears between dark waves of hair.

You paused for a moment, debating whether or not you cared enough to fill him in on what you’d gathered that morning. Lem had been more forthcoming with you for the rest of the day after your heart to heart and you’d been able to create a halfway decent profile of your target by the end of your last meeting. But there was palpable tension in the room that you couldn’t quite place, and it felt like one wrong step might find you backed up against the wall, feet dangling and throat crushed in an invisible grip.

Turning, you sat yourself gingerly on the edge of the bed and pulled off your shoes. When you dropped them to the ground though, you heard the rustling of paper. Scattered on the floor was the tattered remains of a padded envelope. You frowned, picking up one of the scraps to try and make out the writing.

Your name was scrawled in messy print, torn halfway through.

It was only when you noticed the small shreds of fabric littered among the mess that you realized what you were holding.

“I’ll have one of the aides send for some seaside appropriate attire, you might find you’d like to go for a swim.”

“Let me know,” he cleared his throat, “if that’s not the right fit. I can have another sent up.”

It was the package Lem had given you days ago. You’d nearly forgotten about the awful conversation with Gahl your first night on Coruscant. Some part of you was glad you’d never have to see it in one piece, the memory of his hand on your thigh still made you gag.

You grabbed a piece of the ruined material and felt the rough outline of lace under your fingertips.

From the balcony there came the sound of shuffling boots as Ren adjusted himself and turned away from you to look out over the sea.

“You really shouldn’t open mail that isn’t addressed to you, sir,” you mumbled under your breath, but got no response.

In fact, the entire room was littered with the remnants of your gift from the representative. You wondered how long he’d been sitting there sulking over it. Something in your chest swelled at the thought of him, eye twitching just before he ripped the garment to shreds. You could hear the shout that would have torn through his throat.

Really, he fucks you once and he’s already jealous? Very unprofessional.

The thought did wonders for your ego.

And wreaked havoc on your incredibly sore pussy, that clenched involuntarily against a new rush of warmth.

But however much sick pride you took in exposing the Commander’s inability to control himself, you couldn’t shake the twinge of annoyance that bubbled constantly under the surface of your mind whenever Kylo Ren was involved.  

The boots, the cryptic half answers, the unclear label for whatever the hell had happened between the two of you buried in each other on the sand— that was one thing.

But this was a slippery slope and you weren’t one for simply riding along without question.

“Tell me what you want.”

That’s what he always said, be a shame if Ren couldn’t hold himself to the same standards.

Without bothering to look back at him, you stood back up from the bed, proudly displayed at the center of the room.

Slowly you lifted your arms, pulling away your top and letting it drop with a soft thump to the floor. You didn’t see him turn at the sound, but you felt it. Could sense where his eyes alighted on your bare back. They lit fiery trails wherever he paused on the blooms of broken blood vessels under your skin. You did your best not to shudder under his stare.

You worked slowly, peeling each layer off piece by piece. Made a show of it, ran your fingers along the soft skin of your arms and gave him a lovely view of your ass when you bent down to roll off your socks. You could hear the catch in his breath so faint under the sound of the wind, and wondered if he could see the wetness glinting off your thighs in the low light.

Wondered if he could smell it on you.

Never once did you turn to face him, waiting until you were completely bare to walk ever so slowly into the bathroom, leaving the door wide open behind you. Flicking on the soft lights you started the shower with a frustratingly shaky hand. Warm water rushed through the pipes and drowned out any sound from the main room.

You stepped past the two tile walls that blocked off the shower and let the stream of water tumble over you. It poured like a waterfall, cocooning you in the stream of it. You waited patiently to see what the Commander would do, if he’d take the bait.

Of course he did.

You didn’t have to wait for very long.

He took up the entire doorway when he entered, a massive wall of muscle and sinew that towered over you in a way no one ever had before.

It was thrilling.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, voice low and layered with poorly restrained need.

Kylo was still fully clothed, but the hard outline of his cock was clear against his thigh. You let the water run over your breasts, cupping them as though you were one of those ornate stone fountains.

“What does it look like?”

He rolled his lips, “All I see is a whore who has no idea what she’s getting herself into.”

He was right, you didn’t. But you wanted it anyway.

“Hmm,” you nodded. “So why don’t you show me?”

You stepped out of the water, leaving puddles behind as you crossed over to him, standing just out of arm's reach. Kylo’s fingers clenched at his sides, his neck tilted down to stare at the water running down your chest.

What happened next was not at all what you’d expected.

You’d thought he might snap the way he often did, might yell or bend you over the vanity and give you even more marks that would smart in the morning. But he did none of that.

Instead he lifted a single hand, his arm impossibly long and reaching you despite the distance. The second his fingertips landed on your skin, the world went black.

You felt like you were falling, your stomach doing flips as you tumbled through darkness. Everything was coming in flashes. Your feet—well no not yours, Kylo’s you realized—sticking in viscous black sludge that clung in sticky trails along the skin of your—his—legs.

A pit, gaping and horrible.

Something burning, something blistering and crackling and raging red. It rose above you, flowing strangely like liquid sloshing and rolling like a flash flood and you staggered back. Something was rushing by your ears, light blurring in front of your eyes like a ship just about to jump into hyperspace. All of sudden, you were hurtled back into the present gasping and pitching forward into the Commander’s solid chest.

He didn’t push you away, just stood as you breathed him in and tried to plant your feet firmly on the ground.

“What was that?”

Your voice sounded so small after the intense roaring of whatever he’d shown you. Kylo’s hand threaded into the hair at the base of your skull and yanked back until your knees buckled under the force and you hung limply from his grip.

“You would do well to listen when I say you have no idea what’s at stake here,” he hissed and you clawed at his hands.

“Maybe if you bothered to explain it to me, I’d be more inclined to agree!”

He shook you violently and you tried to kick your feet under you but the slick tiles offered no leverage. Kylo dropped a hand, fumbling with the button on his pants.

“I think you’re far too busy parading yourself around like the little slut you are.”

In one smooth motion, he freed his cock from the confines of his trousers. It was just as massive as you remember, red and leaking white beads of precum. He gave it two long strokes, holding you at eye level with his dick.

You really ought to keep your mouth shut, but despite the pain in your scalp, your cunt was clenching at the sight of rock hard and weeping for you.

“Am I a slut or are you just a possessive bastard?”

You could pinpoint the exact moment Kylo Ren snapped. The change was subtle, a short grinding of his jaw, just a flicker of his eyes before he had your head slammed down on the vanity, ass up and knees spread for him to settle between.

His hand in your hair tilted your head up so you could watch as he guided his length to your soaked lips. He coated himself in your slick, circling your entrance and nudging your stiff clit with every stroke.

“Watch and you tell me,” he grunted before ramming his cock into you.

It burned and stretched until you felt him in your throat, a choked moan rattling out of your mouth. You could do nothing but watch your reflection, tears beading at the corners of your eyes when he pulled out only to thrust back in. Kylo set a savage pace, the sound of slapping skin and his groans echoed around you.

You watched his face in the mirror, flushed bright red, one hand still on your head and the other steadying your hips as he drove into you. The drag of him was delicious, pulling pleasure out of places so deep you’d nearly forgotten they existed.

“So desperate for your Commander’s cock, aren’t you?” he growled, draping himself over your back.

His chest pinned your harder into the marble vanity, crushing your breasts against the cool surface while the hand on your hip reached around and pressed hard into your stomach just above your pussy.

“Feel that? Feel how this cunt was made for me?”

Kylo’s head dropped to your shoulder and his teeth sunk into the flesh, muffling the obscene moan that rumbled between his ribs when you tightened yourself around him. You whined, nipples straining against the cold stone and neglected clit begging for attention.

“Kylo, please,” you sobbed, forgetting the game entirely, all confidence leaking away and replaced by a hunger only he could sate.

“No,” he snarled, rearing back and yanking your head up with him. “You don’t get to beg now.”

You were absolutely ruined, skin more bruised than not and mouth hanging open in a silent cry. He met your gaze through the mirror, and you were entirely convinced it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. Kylo’s lovely brown eyes were completely black with lust, his hair a crown of sweat soaked curls and a lovely blush that spread all the way to his ears. Plush lips pulled back to show his crooked teeth that splayed out like white gemstones.

He looked every bit a dark, magnificent prince. A fallen angel or a devil or any number of cruel celestial beings—in any case the man above you could not be human.

And yet, you knew he was.

You’d been gifted with the evidence of it, painted him with purple blossoms and seen him bare with scars and freckles and your favorite mole above his gorgeous full lips. The way his breath always smelled like toothpaste.

In all your life you’d never been known to take orders well from any man, but staring at Kylo Ren as he pounded his massive cock into you—meeting you head on without restraint, a comeback always at the tip of his skilled tongue—you thought you might not mind it so much if it was him.

And then his hips stilled, and he was looping your arms around his neck and pawing at your thighs before locking his arms under them and lifting you up, back against his chest.

“Fuck, Kylo—” you yelped at the change of angle and the strength of his arms to keep you aloft.

The shower sprayed down on him, soaking his clothes as he leaned back against the tile wall and fucked you on his cock. The mirror provided a full view of your bodies joining. You watched entranced as his arms flexed, biceps bulging while your pussy swallowed his length and your tits bounced with every thrust.

“That’s the only name I ever want to hear out of your mouth.”

He turned his face into your neck, lips and teeth sucking and nipping at the skin. It was too much, too much and not enough and you were overcome once again with the feeling of something filling in all your hollow spaces. And you knew in your bones straight to the marrow that the pit filled with churning, crackling magma was bubbling up again, accepting everything Kylo poured into you.

You clung on to the feeling and shouted through it.

Kylo, you called, breath coming in ragged gasps.

You were so close from just his cock in you, but it wasn’t enough.

You weren’t sure if anything ever would be.

Kylo, you repeated it like a holy word, long forgotten and imbued with the power of ancient gods.

He buried his head deeper into the column of your throat, squeezing his eye shut as if that could block out your cries.  

Kylokylokylokylokylokylo, you chanted in a never ending string until the dam finally broke and you felt his thoughts slipping into you like they’d always belonged there, like there had always been space for them.

It was all too jumbled for you to parse any meaning from it. Snippets of red hot anger revealed themselves to you in a shower of manilla paper. Voices, dark and malevolent whispered of challengers and danger and design. Your body, motionless on the bed painted in ropes of his release and the comforting weight of you in his arms, real, alive, willing and wanting.

Take me, if you didn’t know better you’d think he was the one begging, take all of me .

You nodded and nudged him with your nose until his lips were crashing against yours in a flurry of hot tongue and teeth. His arms left your thighs which remained impossibly in place, held up by invisible hands as he grasped at your chest, rolling a hard nipple under his thumb while the other found your clit and finally, finally rubbed frantic circles around the neglected nerves.

Kylo’s hips never stopped their frantic pace, his cock reaching its limit inside you, and finally he was cumming, sheathed in your heat and pumping you blessedly full while he sent you tumbling over the edge with him.

And as the waves of pleasure radiated over your skin, boiled in your bloodstream—as Kylo licked the backs of your teeth and swallowed down every cry that left you—everything faded out around the edges once again, although now for much more pleasurable reasons.

***

When you opened your eyes again, you were laying in bed. The sheets were damp, but not uncomfortably so.

And this time, you were not alone. Kylo’s hands, massive and all encompassing were splayed against your stomach and chest, one cupping your left breast gently in his palm. His body engulfed you from behind, bare skin hot against yours.

So hot, you thought something inside him must be burning.

Maybe it was.

Kylo? you wondered silently, unsure he could still hear you.

I’m here.

His hand on your chest flexed as he pulled you tighter. Something told you this was not the first time he’d held you like this, there was something too practiced about the placement of his body.

What is this?

You weren’t exactly sure what you meant by that, but he seemed to understand the question.

He was silent for a moment, I don’t know.

The lie was apparent the moment the words drifted into your head. And confirmation was echoed back to you. He knew, or at least knew some of it, just wouldn’t tell you.

That was okay, you hadn’t really expected anything else.

You’re safe with me, he whispered instead.

And that was not entirely true either, in fact you would not be here if not for him. But all of this had a certain inevitability about it that you couldn’t place. A feeling that this would have happened regardless, or a version of it with the same outcome.

You closed your eyes against the thought and nodded, letting yourself be held like you had so often dreamed of on lonely nights in your small quarters

You were safe then, safe but empty.

And really, that was so much worse.

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

Taglist lovelies;

@thewilddingleberries​ @kit-jpg​ @findyourdarkness​ @contesa-lui-alucard​ @isaxhorror​ @obsessionprofessional​

[shantalangel]

Stories written on the wall of one of the rooms in the game Armikrog.

It’s about everything happened before the game, P’s parents life, how they met and how she appeared.

Reading sequence:

The Blank Miner. Part 1

The Blank Miner. Part 2

Tools, Weapons, Food, Plants, Medicine, Magic and Pets

A Meeting in the Woods

Punishment and Crime. Part 1

Punishment and Crime. Part 2

Punishment and Crime. Part 3

Desperation

Desperation

No water for four days. Could be five.

Everything is empty. There is no food on this craft.

P does not seem to mind. She remains healthy, but seems sad at the sight of Meva and I starving. No more giggling. No more crystals.

For awhile, we could make her laugh, and she would provide the P-tonium to power the ship.

We are too weak.

The ship is moving but we don't know where it is going. If I take the last crystal out of the grid, the ship will stop, but so will the life support system. The color in the last crystal is fading. We could be dead soon.

I have tried in vain to learn the controls… too alien and strange.

I declare my love for Meva to whoever finds this.

More Desperation

I have decided to do the only thing that might save us. I will use the soul transfer device to put myself into the ship. Then I might be able to figure out how to operate the ship’s foreign controls.

At first, Meva begged me not to do it. She reminded me of the risks and of the strange things that had happened to some of the spirds. But eventually, even she saw the necessity of it. I would either die from starvation, lying on the floor of the ship, or I would die trying to save us. Meva kissed me and relented.

A Crazy Plan

We clamped one of the soul transfer device’s arms onto the control panel, and the other onto my arm. Meva reminded me that she would only give me one minute. She wasn't going to risk any more time. I nodded and she pushed the button. The purple fuzz-ball beating inside the device cast light around the room, and I went into the ship.

The first sensation I felt was a lack of feelings. The aching hunger was gone. The pangs of starvation that wracked my body had slipped away in an instant. It was a relief. But then I remembered the short time I had and turned my mind to other things.

I could sense our place in space. Nearby planets and stars took shape in my mind and their names came to me, although I'd never seen them before. I realized the ship must have some navigational computer or log. At this thought more information poured into me. I could see the ship’s entire history in a moment. But my mind grasped at another image; P's crib.

P’s crib was being pulled aboard by a desperate looking crew during the heat of battle. The ship's door was sealed before taking off. The crib was chained to the wall. P was force-fed cans of beans to increase her output of P-tonium. She didn't laugh or smile. The crew's planet needed the P-tonium to survive. There were other planets that wanted the P-tonium too, and were willing to kill for it. As far as the ship’s computer identified P as the last of her kind.

Meva's voice echoed inside me. She was telling me to hurry. She was going to transfer me back.

In a panic, I pulled my mind from the computer, though there were so many more questions I knew it could answer, but I had to get to that control panel. Its levers and knobs were instantly familiar to me. I dimmed the bright lights that made it difficult to sleep. I discovered a water generator had been switched off. I turned it on, and the ship’s water storage began to fill.

But something was wrong. Not all of the controls were working. I could only make a minor adjustment to our speed. I could not reverse our course, and I could not change our trajectory. I dove deeper into these controls, tracing their connections until I found the problem. There were two dents in the hull where the ship had been hit by missiles while escaping. One had torn the metal open and damaged the ship’s controls.

I used the navigational computer to quickly chart a course. We were headed for a nearby planet. I calculated how long it would take to reach it.

At that moment, I woke up to the sensation of liquid on my face. Meva had pulled me out. She was smiling, holding a container of cool water. I drank it down in big gulps, but it did little to satiate the gnawing hunger in my stomach, or the growing fear in my mind.

I told her the bad news. We were about to crash land, and there was nothing we could do to stop it.

Life After the Crash

A crash landing is difficult to describe with accuracy. When in the middle of it, I did not think the tumbling would end. It was more like an assault than an event to my mind. Surrounded by noise and violence, papers, paneling and even my own clothing blurred past my face. I remember the weird details in times of crisis that come for no apparent reason; I saw a metal tool tumble by, I looked at my own hand and considered my own anatomy in slow motion. I do not know why these are the things I remember.

When it was finally over, we climbed from the wreckage, with few injuries. Meva's arm was broken. I was bleeding from a gash in my forehead. P's crib had landed on top of her, but instead of harming her it kept objects from crushing her. At the time I thought it probably saved her life.

Behind us was a jagged line scratched into the planet’s surface that documented the trajectory of our landing. Pieces of our ship was ripped from the hull by trees and rocks and scattered to either side of that line. The air was thicker than our home planet, but gravity was comparable and a yellow haze protected us from direct sunlight.

Meva knew enough of the healing arts to talk me through resetting her arm … a difficult ordeal. She and P took shelter under low hanging branches while I went in search of anything that could be salvaged from the wreckage.

Over the course of that day I dragged chunks of the ship’s carcass back to Meva, where she, using her one good arm, assembled a makeshift shelter. P seemed oblivious to the peril of our situation. I would put bushes on my head and dance around for her which consistently made her giggle. P’s happiness was a comfort to Meva.

The first night we huddled together in our shelter and listened to strange animal noises that put a chill in our bones. This planet sounded all the more threatening and I knew it would be a matter of time before a beast broke into our temporary housing.

Most days I worked on the water generator. The few stores of water we had were nearly exhausted, and a survey of the area revealed no water though there were plants growing on the hillside that I assumed used water to survive. The water generator wouldn’t power on and I considered leaving Meva and P to go on a more exhaustive search for water. Another howl, deep and brooding came from the forest as if to threaten me if I ventured too far from camp.

Our love for P motivated us to keep trying and it kept us from falling into despair.

I fused three wires on the water generator and it came on for a few seconds, then made a popping sound and seized up in a cloud of smoke. I feared I might have damaged it beyond repair so in desperation I used the soul transfer device to put myself into that infernal machine! Once inside, I could clearly see what must be done. I also discovered that the water generator was actually a matter generator. It could pull water from anywhere because it changed the array of any molecule into water. With a little work, the water generator became a matter generator. I was able to make simple objects with it. I started with bricks, then made hammers, screws, bolts and basic levers.

I repaired the power grid! Using the green engine room as a power generator, we fed Ptonium into the grid it offered more than enough power for anything we needed.

Previous Visitors

During the day when there were less animals roaming around, Meva and I explored the surrounding area to discover we landed on the far end of a long valley. On the opposite end of the valley we found a rock with testimonies of previous visitors scratched onto its great surface. We do not know who wrote them, but wrote a commentary on each of them to acknowledge that they are part of our history:

BOHRAM

He was a great scientist who flew to this planet hoping to perform experiments using an artifact of time bending. The date next to Bohram’s name suggests that he landed on the planet some five hundred in the future, and the space maps he drew are beyond the accuracy and scope of contemporary maps. Bohram discovered a planet he named 26229 and was considered by the future scientific establishment as having similar parameters to his home planet. Bohram applied his time bending theories to space travel and blasted off to live on planet 26229. His last words are here carved into stone before leaving, "Let us get this show on the road."

OKROG

He was a great military commander. Okrog’s body was so badly injured in various wars that it was mostly replaced by machine parts, including fifteen-foot robotic legs. One day his suit was so badly injured in battle that he used a furnace-tending suit as a replacement. He could no longer fight in wars, but he could still tend to the furnace so he remained thankful. He had a strange pet, a flat faced Tentable Mane Cephia Kraken.

ZILETH

An adventurous blind girl named Zileth wore the 7th Ring of Eureka while hiking and it transported her to a far away land. She lost her old guide animal and went hunting for a new guide animal, known as a half-mongrel. A half-mongrel will not tolerate being stared at so he never got mad at blind Zileth. She scratched his soft fur and felt his facial expressions to learn his moods. They became inseparable friends. Zileth never returned home but always had company to keep her warm thanks to her half-mongrel.

HEVERKROG

There was once a scientist who spent so much time in his laboratory alone that he went mad. This is Heverkrog, the inventor of the Procrastinator Ray. He hated this planet but found he could not leave. This made him angry because he thought that he was so smart (and he was smart) that he would be able to find a way off of the planet. He began work on a portal to another dimension. This technology is fictional at best, but he claimed to get the idea from his deceased wife who visited him in a dream while in feverish delirium. Heverkrog built his interdimensional gate, which looked like four logs bound together by rope.

We found "the gate", but also found a book of Heverkrog’s mad theories next to his skeleton which lay at the base of the gate. For reasons of my own, I believe Heverkrog has something to do with the disappearance of Bohram.

BLACKTON

Claimed to discover cave walls covered in ancient finger-paintings. His devices of measurement dated the paint used on the wall to be at least five thousand years old. These could be the oldest inhabitants of the planet. The most fascinating thing about the cave paintings was that they depicted ninety nine generations who came before them. The first of that line could be the first being ever to live. The long lineage could also imply that this lineage went on forever into the past and that only ninety-nine beings could fit on the wall before the most recent generation ran out of space. One other being is scribbled on the edge of the wall, he has a head, two arms and two legs like most beings we know, but he is covered in warm flesh, has hair on his head and wears unique hat and shoes. A translation of the inscription under this cave painting says sounds something like, "HUMUN BING. FRUM URTH" but none of us know what that means.

LUGNESS

Lugness is an honorable and noble being who lived just over twelve hundred years ago. He invented an R.G.Ba’bomb that altered the light of any area within a stone’s throw. Lugness discovered a distant star that radiated green Ptonium energy. One day, that distant planet mysteriously stopped emitting Ptonium energy. This is speculation but could this have something to do with P?

NICKELNAUT

Walter "Nickel" Naut was the first astronaut from the planet Ixen to find this world some two hundred and seventy two years ago. His ship did not run on Ntonium, but on magic. That was back when magic was real. He came to this planet entirely by accident when he crossed a then-unknown hyperspace lane. Nickelnaut was jettisoned across the universe sideways before ejecting from his craft just before crashing to the planet surface.

This concludes my commentary on the history written on stone.

Building Statues

I used the generator to build statues of my own likeness and I gave them simple mechanized skeletons so they could help me work. They were capable of working even if I left the room. They were linked by a nerve net so if I transferred my soul into one, I could move between them. With my crew of mechanical workers we built three great towers and one lesser tower that would be modeled after Meva’s likeness. A great surrounding wall was erected to keep any hostile animals out.

Meva and I wrote out laws on walls, over doorposts, and in journals. Even the statues were capable of repeating the laws. We wanted P to be raised in a family that respected each other first and the self, second. We assume that P would long outlive us. It is our desire that these laws be the foundation of our little society.

The Name

This fortress has been built to protect my family and our ways.

These words have been written so that you may know us better.

If you are friend, then take shelter, for to you we freely give this place.

But be warned, however, if you seek to bring harm to this family, I have already bent my will against you. Though I am a kind and gentle friend, I am an even fiercer, terrifying enemy. If your designs are for harm, I will unleash Meva's wrath upon you. The three engines will ignite and the harbinger will be awakened!

Enemies, know the name of this fortress and fear it; “Armikrog.”

[obi-wan-is-babe]

Flowery Days

Relationship: Cal Kestis x f!Reader

Summary:  Old friend, old paths, new missions, and a flower crown on top. *fluff*

Key: Y/N= your name, Reess Nerdres = oc Jedi Master

*requested by @gray-plants : may i request a cal kestis x shy jedi reader? they’re both trying to impress one another and the reader “failing” miserably and finding flowers and making cal a flower crown- i- this is so much💚🙅🏽‍♀️🙈🤦🏽‍♀️. thank you though.*

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It was almost impossible to get any alone time while in the Jedi Temple. Between the lesson, the meditations, and the training, there was always something going on. You and your master had come to give a mission briefing after one of your many secret mission assigned to the two of you during the Clone Wars. It was probably the most boring thing you had to sit in on. It was even more abysmal when you had to talk to the council, you never felt comfortable speaking to many people. You guessed you were more comfortable in the shadows, like the way you work through the Force.

As you made your way through the halls on the heels of your master, you saw him. A small flit of giddiness filled your heart as Cal Kestis and his master walked past you. You made eye contact with the padawan and you both gave each other a slight nod. The younglings filled the halls and Jedi walked briskly to their destination, and the crowd gave you the perfect cover to slip away from Master Nerdres and into the gardens. 

Once you had cleared the doorway, you breathed in the fresh air mixed with the floral scents all around the gardens. The day was pleasant and the gardens looked empty, it was really beginning to feel like the perfect day. You made your way to your usual spot, sitting in silent meditation while waiting. You heard the rustling of low branches and the faint patter of footsteps come closer to your secluded spot.

“Hello Y/N,” the familiar, boyish voice broke through the sounds of nature.

You opened your eyes and looked into the grassy green ones of Cal. You smiled lightly, “Hi Cal.”

You stood up from your meditative place and the two of you began walking through your hidden path. When you both were younglings in the same clan, you would take the little free time you had to explore the hidden paths of the gardens. There was one that was not too long and the most secluded that you two had begun spending most of your free time wandering, which is why you knew he would find you where you were when you had come out here.

You and Cal walked silently, enjoying each others presence for a while until you came to the small clearing. You assumed it was usually used for lessons with the youngling, teaching about the Living Force, but you never saw anyone back here. You both entered the grassy circle and began doing what you always seemed to do: catch up. Cal regaled you with tales of his recent battles at the side of Master Tapal. Cal spoke the most on these little outings together, he was so animated and lively, it was refreshing.

“...and then we took the bridge. Master Tapal had me go through the vents so when he came through the main door, I was able to drop down and take out their navigation system!” Cal play acted his drop down and pantomimed using his lightsaber to take out the panel. He sighed contently before turning to you, “So what about you, Y/N?”

Not wanting to him to have the satisfaction of having the better story, you began telling him about your most recent stealth mission. “We had to go deep into enemy territory, further than any clone troops had ever progressed. Hidden within the Force, we snuck into the government building,” you were less into the story as Cal was in his, but you still gave it some energy, “We had to rescue the ambassador and her family you know.” You finished up your story and waited with baited breath to see Cal’s reaction.

He laughed, which was not at all what you had expected. A horrible blush crawled up your cheeks as you listen to his response. ”I think I’ve got you beat Y/N. Outer space battle beats rescue mission.”

“No way,” you quickly scoffed,” Rescue mission deep into enemy territory is way more impressive than just another space battle!”

“Alright, then lets put it to a test.” Cal began to circle you, his hand raising to protect his face, without missing a beat, you began doing the same. “Whoever gets knocked down first, loses. Deal?”

“Oh it is a deal,” you gave him a small, cocky smile, “As long as you’re prepared to eat grass.”

Cal laughed, and you both began going at it. You dodged quite a few of his first attempts, but then he got faster and you were out of practice. Stealth work very little comes to physical fighting, so you were sluggish in your forms. Cal was quicker, more adept to hand to hand combat. Soon, you found yourself on the ground with Cal reaching our a hand to help you up. In your embarrassment, you immediately swatted it away and scooted closer to the flowers that surrounded your grassy circle.

“Oh come on Y/N, I did not mean to embarrass you.” 

Cal walked closer to you, and you turned yourself further from him with a huff. You began to pick the flowers in front of you, weaving them together as Cal started stuttering out all kinds of apologies.

“Truly I meant no disrespect! Y/N, I know what you do is very important to the Republic.” He began pacing behind you, looking for the words to convince you to turn back to face him. “It’s infinitely more important than blowing up ships.”

It wasn’t too long of you listening to his dorky apologies before you stood and turned back to face him, a flower crown in your hands.

“...and I- What is that?” Cal pointed to the flowers, his face scrunched up in adorable confusion.

“Just...shut up already.” You stepped towards him and gently placed the crown on his head. “Aw. You look...cute.” You blushed at your own statement.

Cal face began turning a shade that began to blend into his hair and match a few of the flowers that lined his head. “T-thanks.” He gentle touched the crown you wove together.

You grabbed his hand and the two of you sat down on the soft grass. You laid your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes. You sat silently with Cal, feeling the gentle breeze on your cheeks. The two of you sat like that for some time, forgetting the war and the world around you in that time.

Eventually, you both acknowledged that sooner or later both of your masters would be looking for you. You slowly got back to your feet and helped Cal to his. You quickly let go of his hands after he was standing. Cal rubbed the back of his neck before gesturing back to the path. You both enjoyed another silent walk through the gardens on your way back to the Jedi Temple.

Cal let you reenter the temple first. You knew you’d have to find out were Master Nerdres went and then you’d have explain your disappearance. Before you went too deep into the temple, you took one last look behind you at Cal and found yourself giggling. Cal forgot to take off the flower crown and he was gaining quite the unwanted attention.

You turned around and smacked into a torso. You jumped back and found yourself looking into the eyes of Master Nerdres.

“Well now, where did you disappear to?”

[bonesaldente]

Caliginous I Darth Maul x Reader

Chapter 6: The Time In-Between

read this on ao3

last chapter

words: 3200

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“Look over there.” You are leaned against the wall behind Maul, looking for a clearing in the miles of forest that are spread out ahead of you. You’ve been flying low for some time now, unable to find a place to land, the density of trees too high.

The ship turns right, following the direction of your outstretched hand. And you were right; as you close in on the speck of color you spotted among the masses of green, you can tell it’s a clearing you’ve found.

“Sit down for the landing.”

You move from your position against the wall to the closest seat and sit down on it.

You can feel the ship slowing down and gently sinking. The Sith is a good pilot, managing to dodge all trees and land perfectly centered on the small clearing.

Together you leave the ship, and you close your eyes as you finally breathe in the fresh air. The sounds of the forest fill your ears and a sense of utter peace and warmth fills you.

You’ve got a good feeling about this planet—you haven’t seen any signs of civilization for miles while flying, which means you’re going to be safe from any enemies you may have made.

The zabrak seems to be satisfied with the location as well: You can tell by the way his body seems less tense than usual, his shoulders dropping down and the muscles in his face relaxing.

“My scans say there should be a source of water nearby.” He looks around in an attempt to orient himself, then looks back down on the device on his wrist. “This way.” He points to his left.

“I will go look for it.”

“Remain vigilant. We don’t know what could be hiding in this forest.”

You are somewhat touched by the way he shows he does, somehow, care about you. Reminding you to stay safe, providing you with all the materials you ask for—it seems like very little, yet it means a lot, coming from him, who otherwise seems so untouchable.

You hear a sound and freeze, holding your breath and listening intently. Was that an animal, or was that…

water?

You rush to where the steady sound of waves is coming from and indeed: a small river meanders through the forest scenery. It’s unsurprising that you didn’t see it from up in the air; the trees cover it almost entirely.

It is a beautiful sight, and it will be useful as well—instead of using up the water on the ship, you can use the river as your water supply while you’re here

You just soak it all in for a moment, contemplating to sit down, but instead decide to head back to the ship and share what you found with Maul.

You have almost made it back to the clearing, when you hear a sound again, except for this time, you know for sure it must be an animal—you are too far away from the river to still be hearing it.

A quiet crack comes from behind you, and you spin around, machete in your hand.

You are faced with a creature that looks similar to a rabbit, maybe a little smaller, with bigger eyes, and longer limbs.

You can’t help but coo at the sheer cuteness of this animal.

“I like this planet” you whisper to yourself as you bend your knees slightly and get closer to the animal that’s still just staring at you. Weird—shouldn’t a creature like this be afraid of you?

Maybe, there just aren’t any predators in this place, that’s why it doesn’t show any signs of fear. Or maybe—

You let out a surprised scream as it opens its mouth to bare a set of razor-sharp teeth, saliva dripping from them. Maybe it is the predator.

You make a run for it and hear it following closely behind. You’ve got the bad feeling that this creature is faster than you, its steps getting louder with every second.

Spotting a low-hanging branch, you jump and pull yourself up on it, hugging the branch for a second while you catch your breath.

The animal is right under you, jumping and snapping, but unable to reach you.

The shock in you finally subsides and makes room for rationality: You can probably kill this thing quite easily, you just have to avoid it getting too close to you.

You jump back down and ram your machete into its back before it can react, the beastly sounds of it finally quieting down, until silence returns to the forest.

Wiping the sweat off your brow with the back of your hand, you pick up the dead animal by its neck, deciding to take it back to the ship.

You walk for another minute before reaching the clearing. Maul, kneeling in front of an open panel on his ship, eyes up the dead body in your hands and looks like he is about to say something, but you interrupt him.

“There’s water less than three minutes from here, but if you encounter one of these bunnies, don’t fall for it.” You drop the body in front of him. “They’re carnivores.”

He opens its mouth with his fingers, exposing its pointy teeth. A frown grazes his features.

“Do you think there are more of them out there?” You ask.

His eyes close in thought.

“We can’t rule out the possibility.” He gets up from his kneeling position, now looking down at you. “We should set up shields around the ship.”

You nod, averting your gaze, suddenly intimidated by the close proximity.

Your eyes get caught on the dead animal between you. Nudging it with your foot, you ask: “You think we can eat this thing?”

“I wouldn’t risk it.” He walks to the open ramp, returning shortly after with four appliances in his arms. They slowly rise from his grasp, floating from his position to the edge of the clearing, creating a rectangle around the ship.

“Turn those two on.” He gestures to his left, turning around to activate the other two.

After flicking a couple of switches, you are surrounded by the soft hum of functioning shields. They dim out outside noises as well, and suddenly it’s eerily quiet on the clearing. You didn’t even notice until now how loud nature can be.

It’s the middle of the day, so you figure it would be smart to stay awake until the sun sets, to get used to the local time. This gives you about five hours to spare.

You remember the lightsaber in your bag and look over to the Sith, who doesn’t appear to be overly busy. This would be a good time to get some practice with the new weapon.

Hurriedly, you enter the ship and rummage through your bag, until your fingertips graze the cool metal handle.

For the first time, you get a good look at the weapon, the way the components are arranged, the detail that went into it.

“What do you have there?”

His voice startles you; you didn’t hear him move to the open ramp.

“I was about to show you.” You toss him the weapon and he examines it in his hands for a second before igniting it. The blue hue feels unfamiliar, unlike his red saber, and reminds you of the Jedi that had come to your planet before.

“This belonged to a Jedi.” he assesses correctly.

“I stole it from the guild. They had taken it from one of them.” You pause. “I was hoping to learn to use it.”

He retracts the blade and throws the weapon back to you. “Usually, only force users wield them.”

“But it doesn’t need to be that way, right?” You remember igniting his lightsaber on Nar Shaddaa.

“No. It is possible to use one without any force sensitivity.”

You feel like a child receiving a gift at the prospect of being able to fight with a real lightsaber.

“But you’ll need to practice. Lightsabers are different from regular swords in many ways.”

“Will you show me?” You tear your eyes from the shiny weapon in your hands, meeting his gaze.

He ponders for a minute.

“I believe this will be beneficial, yes.”

You try to not let your giddiness show, but inside you are squealing with delight.

The powerful weapon is lighter than you expected and balanced differently from your usual sword. Its weight resides mostly in its handle, making it suitable for twirling and faster movements. Also, you need to use much less force to do damage, but at the same time, you need to be extremely careful to not hurt yourself by accidentally letting it touch you.

You figured all of this out on your own in the past few minutes. Now, Maul is standing before you, red lightsaber ignited, ready to test what you’ve managed to pick up so far.

It’s a good thing you are already very familiar with fighting with a sword, you think.

You come at him slowly, experimentally, and for the first time, you experience the feeling of two lightsabers pressing against each other. It sends a weird vibration through your arms. With a little more force, Maul pushes against your hold and sends you stumbling backward, but you collect yourself once more and come at him again, this time actually trying different moves and getting into a proper sparring session, though he doesn’t appear to be overly challenged by your efforts. He ends up winning by getting you into a position in which you are forced to lower your lightsaber to protect your legs, and then quickly pointing his saber to your neck, not getting it close enough to actually hurt you, but enough to prove that—in a real battle—he would have been able to.

Somehow, that demonstration of power is very attractive to you.

You just stand there for a moment, slightly out of breath, until he retracts his saber.

“You are a good fighter.” His statement catches you by surprise, not expecting a compliment.

“I… Thank you?” You don’t know what to say.

Your eyes fall on his lightsaber.

“I’ve been meaning to ask—Why is your lightsaber handle so long?”

He steps further back from you, holding it in front of him and reigniting it, but suddenly, the other side is ignited too—a double-bladed saber.

Fascination flashes through your eyes as you muster the weapon with wonder, tilting your head.

“Is this common?”

He shakes his head, retracting the two blades. “It requires years of practice.”

Something inside you wants to ask him if you can use it, but you suppress the desire to hold the unusual weapon. Maybe another time.

You hate to admit it, but you’re bored. With the shields up, not even the sounds of the forest are there to entertain you, and you feel cut off from the rest of the world. For the past few hours you’ve taken to throwing the ball against the shield and catching it when it ricochets off of it, lazily sitting on the grass with your back against the spaceship.

The sun finally sets, painting the sky stunning colors, and you decide it’s time to get some rest and fall into the planet’s natural rhythm. Maul disappeared inside the ship not long ago, you think he was in the shower.

Now, as you enter the ship, you can hear his footsteps upstairs, but you pay no mind to it. You down a bottle of water and flop down on the bed, really wishing there was a curtain to give you at least some kind of privacy. You stay on top of the covers and close your eyes, trying to fall asleep, but the lack of noise around you is unsettling. Instead of the hum of the spaceship, the chirping of the birds, or even the bustling streets of Kessel, there is nothing but silence, only occasionally interrupted by footsteps on the floor above you.

You awaken just as the sun rises. Maul is nowhere to be seen, but the sheets on his bed are slightly messed up, indicating he actually slept in here for some time. You feel weirdly embarrassed at the thought of him seeing you asleep, in such a vulnerable state, but it’s somewhat nice to know that he trusts you enough to sleep in your presence.

The outside air is slightly cooler than the day before, giving you goosebumps as you exit the ship, but it’s the perfect temperature for physical activity.

As a contract killer, it’s always been important that you stay in perfect shape and have one hundred percent control over every muscle. You don’t intend to change that anytime soon, so you start warming up and quickly move to some exercises, making use of the few trees that are still within your shields. The air on this planet is much better than Kessel’s polluted atmosphere, and you feel like your stamina is at an all-time high.

You have been at it for about an hour and have taken to stretching out again when you hear steps approaching. You are in the middle of doing a split and not really in any position to get up, but you turn your head—just in time to catch the wooden staff he is throwing your way.

Is this his way of asking you to spar with him? Truly, not a very vocal man, though you aren’t very talkative either.

You push yourself off the ground and weigh the staff in your hands, remembering the days when you would be forced to practice with a staff just like this for hours and hours. You would say that you have gotten quite good at it overall this time, even though you never saw the point in practicing so much with a staff instead of a sword - not once have you been in a situation in which you seriously had to fight an enemy with just a staff.

But there was probably an underlying reason nobody ever bothered to explain to you.

And, also, it is kind of fun.

Twirling the staff in your hand once, you get into a fighting stance, feeling admittedly a little excited to be in a fair fight with him.

“A fair fight, you say?”

Your mouth falls open as you stare at him.

“Did you… read my mind?”

He starts spinning the staff in his hands, approaching you, when you decide to go into the offense, immediately extending the staff towards him and starting your attack by executing forceful and fast-paced blows with both sides of your staff, twisting and spinning, and just completely giving in to your intuition.

“You are not shielding it.” He says in between chains of attack, pushing down on your staff forcefully.

“That’s exactly,” you grunt as you push him away, “what I meant. Mind tricks are cheating.”

He scoffs but stays quiet after that.

This session is much more even than when you tried the lightsaber. Both of you have years of practice with this medium, at least you assume he has judging by his aptitude with the weapon, so it’s unsurprising that neither of you really have the upper hand. Sometimes, Maul ends up with the staff pointing straight at your neck, sometimes the roles are reversed.

It’s after a particularly long round that you decide you’ve had enough of the staff and toss it to the side, facing your opponent with a challenging look. He hesitates, but eventually gives in and follows your lead, obviously less comfortable without any kind of weapon in his hands, which is exactly what you anticipated his reaction to be.

Because most people you fight are bigger than you, you rely on speed and the efficient use of your body weight, as well as your flexibility, meaning you jump and kick a lot and make full use of the agility you’ve worked on for years.

Maul, however, is shockingly swift in his movements as well, despite the fact that hand-to-hand combat is clearly not his preferred method of fighting.

You dive under his swing and execute a smooth roundhouse kick, immediately spinning a second time, and landing a hit at the side of his face. You didn’t go full-power, since you’re just sparring, but it was strong enough to get him to stumble the tiniest bit, giving you the opportunity to come running up to him and wrap your left leg around his side, jumping up while rotating your hips and effectively throwing him to the ground under you.

You try to fight the triumphant grin that is trying to make its way on your face, always having been taught to not let any emotions shine through in combat - but sitting on his side, your legs wrapped around his and his arms pinned to the ground next to his head with one hand, the other holding on to his neck, restricting all movement, you finally feel like you have won , which you didn’t realize until now was something you were in desperate need of after having lost to him in the alley. You never thought self-doubt and insecurity could manifest in you so fast, but apparently, one defeat was all it took to bring you down. Luckily, your self-esteem recovers just as fast as it collapses.

Panting, you look down at the zabrak and suddenly really feel the sensation of skin-to-skin contact, noticing how warm his skin is against yours, how close you are to him, how this is the first time you actually touch ...

You stare at his larger hands next to yours, realizing that for once he is not wearing his leather gloves, red and black fingers finally exposed to your lingering gaze—

With a ruck he frees himself from your hold on him, you too distracted to react in time. His hand shoots up to your shoulder and pushes it back, using his leg to spin you onto your back and press you into the ground.

You open your mouth to protest, but can’t think of anything to say other than ‘It’s not fair, I was busy staring at you and being touch-starved!’

So there you are, buried underneath his form, just blinking at him disappointedly. You could swear that amusement is flickering in the corners of his hypnotizingly yellow glowing eyes. The only sound heard is the two of you breathing hard, your heart thumping in your chest.

He remains in his position on top of you for a moment longer than one usually would while sparring, before abruptly standing up, briefly hesitating, and then stretching his hand out to help you get up. You take it, his skin again unexpectedly hot and far softer than it looks.

How come somebody with a life as violent as his has such… nice hands?

“Once again, you are not shielding your thoughts.”

Embarrassment fills you as you realize he just heard you call his hands ‘nice and soft’.

“Nobody said you had to listen to them!” you snap defensively, unable to think of something better to reply while you feel the blood rushing to your cheeks, quickly turning away from him to keep him from seeing your blush.

You’ll have to figure out how to protect your thoughts better in the future.

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next chapter

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oooh, reader is a little touch-starved you say? Not gonna lie, I wouldn’t mind my favorite zabrak gently pinning me to the ground either,,,

@princessayveke

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 236: Mr. Stark I Don’t

Previously on BnHA: We kicked off Year Five Of This Bullshit with another Tomura flashback! Once upon a time there was a boy named Tenko. Little Tenko was very cute and happened to have a real prick of a father who forbid his kids from talking about heroes and punished them severely when they broke that rule. Like, he locked Tenko outside for hours and even fucking hit him when he found out he looked at that picture of Nana. It was super fucked up and very unpleasant to read, and on top of that Horikoshi peppered the entire chapter with hints that the supposedly quirkless Tenko was slowly developing his Decay quirk, so much of the chapter was also spent waiting for that shoe to drop. The chapter ended with a sobbing Tenko hugging his dog Mon-chan (a very good boy) and thinking that he hated everyone, as the scene slowly faded to black. After that we don’t know what happened. Presumably Mon-chan went to live on a farm with lots of other puppies where he could spend the rest of his days in cute doggy bliss. I’m sure Horikoshi will allow me to continue indulging in this theory.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi doesn’t let me indulge in shit! Horikoshi is all “lol bitch you thought!!” Horikoshi shows us the dead dog!! Horikoshi shows us the scared and sobbing child! Horikoshi shows us the sister! Horikoshi shows us the grandma and grandpa and the mom! Meanwhile poor Kotaro is all, “I suddenly wonder where my whole family has gone,” and goes outside and sees All Of That and is horror-struck. Through a series of terrible but also hilarious coincidences he accidentally smacks Tenko with a big stick, and Tenko suddenly realizes he’d like nothing more than to just STRAIGHT UP!! MURDER HIS DAD!! and so he does. And that’s basically it, guys. That’s my summary of the chapter. I would also like to add that for some reason I ended up fucking loving it in the end, though it was a real roller coaster back and forth until those last few pages. So yeah. Might want to steer clear of me, because I’m sure that’s some kind of red flag there. This motherfucking chapter, guys. I don’t even know.

(All comments are my unspoiled reactions from my initial readthrough of the chapter. I did a quick edit for grammar and clarity immediately afterward, and added one or two ETAs in the process, but aside from that there are no changes.)

thank you anon but rest assured I’m already filled with a deep and profound dread. so we’re good

oh. heh

well that’s just. okay. sure. so a whole nother chapter of this. okay yeah that’s great

oh sweet jesus mary joseph oh shit oh fuck oh SHIT

THAT’S NOT A FARM!! HORIKOSHI!! WE HAD A DEAL! YOU SET ME UP

holy shit!?!? and this is only the start of the chapter oh god. oh god oh god. MR. STARK I DON’T

no thank you I want to return it. reason: item exactly as described. I don’t know what I was expecting. we knew exactly what was going to happen. but I still -- !!

how is the anime going to show this?? no one even wants to watch the senseless blood and violence for once. does Japan do those warning things where a “the following program includes scenes of graphic violence that may be disturbing to some viewers” screen appears before the thing airs? if not they should probably consider it. maybe change “some” to “all”, because let’s be real

anyway so guys I’m waiting for Horikoshi to email me my free shipping label so I can send this back, but in the meantime let’s continue to read I guess

WOW

THAT’S A DEAD DOG. THAT DOG IS LYING IN PIECES IN A POOL OF HIS OWN BLOOD, HUFFING HIS LAST HUFFS. HORIKOSHI REALLY DREW THAT. THAT IMAGE WAS BURNED INTO TENKO’S MIND FOR THE REST OF HIS EXISTENCE AND NOW I GET TO LIVE WITH IT AS WELL. WELL THAT’S JUST REALLY FUCKING GREAT. YIPPY SKIPPY

OH JOY

HANA GO BACK INSIDE, IF HORIKOSHI GRAPHICALLY DRAWS YOU BEING BLOWN INTO CHUNKS BY THIS FUCKING QUIRK I’M FUCKING DONE AND I QUIT. AND I KIND OF NEED TO CONTINUE UNTIL I AT LEAST LEARN BAKUGOU’S FUCKING HERO NAME, SO I’M COUNTING ON YOU HERE OKAY

by the way, this is weird though. because that didn’t look anything like the prior instances where we’ve seen Tomura use his quirk! there was no crumbling apart, no dust ominously drifting away on the breeze. it was more like poor Mon-chan just kind of fell apart into pieces. is this because the quirk is still developing and not yet at full power? or is this more AFO shenanigans in play. it at least explains why it was plausible for their hands to be intact once everything was said and done though

really I’m just trying to talk myself into believing that this didn’t actually happen and is all some grand fucked up psych out and his family is actually fine. I saw this post going around about Tenko’s mole (you know, the one on his chin) not being present in all the scenes last chapter, and the theory was that the scenes where he doesn’t have the mole were not actually real and were implanted by AFO. I personally think this is a reach, but I’m also prepared to 100% subscribe to this theory if and when anything happens to this precious baby girl when I click to the next page you guys. we shall see

okay so Hana’s apologizing because I guess she’s the one that ratted him out to their dad? girl it’s okay you were under a lot of pressure. it’s not like it’s your fault Kotaro flew off the deep end and started beating your brother

anyways but this is currently the least of your worries though oh god. she hasn’t noticed yet, and Tenko’s sobbing and trying to talk to her but his voice isn’t working??

is that because he’s traumatized, or because this is in fact a fake memory? not being able to warn a beloved person of an imminent danger is basic nightmares 101, I’m just saying. I’m actually a bit more convinced than I was just a minute ago

anyway so now she sees the dead dog, and I have a new least favorite panel in the entire series, great

hello, I hate everything about this. what the actual fuck

now she’s turning to run and I SWEAR TO GOD if Tenko instinctively reaches out to grab her... shit. I fucking...

-- WHAT DID I JUST -- !! !!!

son of a bitch. fuck. I’m literally frozen in place and having trouble willing myself to scroll down to see the rest of this. like, can we seriously just stop here. fuck!!

shit. I need a minute. holy fucking shit. I want an actual apology from Horikoshi, and an explanation for why he thought his readers apparently lacked the imagination to fill in the rest of the blanks themselves. like, I was perfectly fine with all of this just being Very Much Implied, dude. seriously

fuck me. I’m just gonna do it. power through the rest of the chapter and assess the resulting psychological damage once it’s all over and done with. okay deep breath. we’re going in

oh honey. oh baby no. oh my god the “crack crack” sound effects again, and the lines of blood appearing oh god

and of course he didn’t realize what was happening at first, didn’t realize it was him. honey it’s not your fault. but you now officially have Murder Rights to All for One, and if anyone else gets to deal the final blow I will fucking sue

hahaha, fuck

at least he didn’t go into the same level of detail as with the fucking dog. but I’m still calling the police, holy shit

if anything, Tenko’s reaction actually makes this even worse than Mon-chan’s death, though. and you know, also the fact that it was a six-year-old girl. who died terrified and in agony and not knowing why this was happening to her. fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

somewhere Ito Junji is reading this and wishing he’d come up with this shit. Nakayama Masaaki is taking notes. Stephen King is waking up in a cold sweat thinking to himself that for some reason he really wants to start reading shounen manga all of a sudden

sob now everyone is running outside except for his father. of course. saving the best for last. it’s almost as though someone fucking engineered all of this to make it as psychologically damaging to the kid as possible! but who could possibly be twisted enough to do something like that? oh hey there All for One, you sure look happy. why are you smiling so much. what do you mean, it’s a secret. you son of a bitch

hey do you guys want to see the expression of a mother seeing her youngest child screaming and sobbing and covered in blood and surrounded by the bloodied remains of a dead dog and something else that is hopefully unidentifiable because if not holy shit for real? anyways, do you? you don’t? sure you do. Horikoshi thinks you do, so here it is

t-minus five seconds before the level of Horrifying escalates yet again! five... four... three...

oh shit??

did he do that thing again?? disintegrate them without even touching?? or did we just jump-cut to right afterward? because if it’s the latter, you mean to tell me we did that with the mom and grandparents but couldn’t do it with Hana and the dog!? and if it’s the former then that’s really interesting though, because I was under the impression he’d been incapable of that until just a few chapters ago when the grown-up him awakened the ability in the middle of Deika City. maybe it’s something he can only do when under extreme mental duress

oh wait, never mind, I scrolled a bit further down and it seems like his mom is still alive. I guess that was Hana he was reaching out towards there. anyways so here’s his mom’s horrified face again

actually, wait. before we click to the next page, let me go back to the four panels right above these, because this is actually really interesting and deserves more analysis

I really like this actually. Horikoshi acknowledging that even though his mother and grandparents were very kind and loving, they were still complicit in his suffering in a way because they knew what was going on, and they let it happen. this is actually huge, and I’m really grateful to Horikoshi for calling attention to it and pointing out how damaging that was. I’m actually very pleasantly surprised to see it acknowledged

but maybe I shouldn’t be, because this is after all something that’s very important to the story’s themes of heroism. my thoughts immediately ran to Horikoshi’s own favorite hero, Spider-Man, and the whole “with great power comes great responsibility” thing. if someone needs help, and you’re in a position where you could do something but you choose to not take action, then you do bear some responsibility for what follows. “when you can do the things that I can, but you don’t, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you”

just, this is a theme that has always resonated with me, and one of the most important themes of hero stories in general. and obviously I’m not saying Tenko’s mom and grandparents are in any way bad people, or that what happened is their fault, because it’s not! but all the same they could have done something and they didn’t, and if you were to ask me what I think is the most essential, defining aspect of what makes someone a hero, I would say it’s that. the difference between stepping in, and not stepping in. if you were to boil it down to one single point, that would be it. a hero is someone who helps

anyway. so I really like that. maybe I won’t send this chapter back after all

OR MAYBE I WILL AND NEVER FUCKING MIND!! I DON’T!! FEEL SO GOOD!! MR. STARK!!

holy shit you guys. I have no words. somewhere the person who wrote Mufasa’s death scene is taking notes. the person who wrote Littlefoot’s mom’s death is shook. the person who wrote Bambi’s mom’s death is rubbing their chin and thinking, “honestly mine is still more traumatizing, but I can still respect that”

meanwhile I, a millennial forged in the ashes of all of those childhood-defining fictional tragedies, am going to just suck it up and move on because fuck. my whole life has been preparing me for this day

oh my fucking god

fuck me why did I laugh. I fucking lost it just now. fucking gallows humor, idk

just. his entire family is being blown to little bits in the backyard, and Kotaro cracks open his fucking door and peers his head out like “hmm I thought I heard something just now. hey, where is everyone. did I miss something.” no you didn’t miss anything Kotaro, go back inside

he looks like a kid who’s not sure if he just heard the ice cream man driving by

sob. “better go investigate”

look what happened while you were taking your fucking nap, Kotaro. JUST LOOK! your son disintegrated your whole entire family and uprooted a fucking tree somehow. jesus christ

you know, the irony is I bet you that despite all of his hang-ups, he’s probably thinking “okay maybe a hero would come in fucking handy right about now”

oh shit

“you think this is a fucking joke?!” Horikoshi screams, shoving this page in my face. “you’re just going to sit there and keep making your cute little remarks?? A FAMILY IS DEAD!!” okay jeez I get it fuck

oh no, oh shit for real though I can’t

he’s so scared and traumatized and now he knows, he knows it was him who did it and he can’t bear it, and even though he hates his dad, he’s still his dad, and he’s terrified and looking for comfort from anyone at this point oh god

and for Kotaro to see his son like this, and the rest of his family dead in such a horrifying way! just!!

and fuck me, because if he reaches out to try and comfort him, if he ends up dying because his better instincts finally take over now of all fucking times; if he tries to help and Tenko knows what’s going to happen when they touch and tries to stop him but can’t...

okay but what

Tenko’s quirk is really behaving strangely though. like this is ridiculous. at this rate he’s gonna take the whole house down with him

also there’s no way all of the neighbors just sat by all la dee da and didn’t go to investigate afterwards. 100% AFO had a hand in all this. shit

now also feels like a good time to point out, before we wrap this all up, that with Kotaro being the only one still alive now, there is no one around to shout “Tenko, no...!” when that hand is reaching out to his forehead. so I’m very curious to see how Horikoshi plays this out, because now more than ever I’m suspecting that the altered memory theory is really true

(ETA: well. shit.)

anyway, so now what looks like a tree pruner is just randomly falling into Kotaro’s hands, for some reason. just like we all expected

of all the ways I imagined this actually playing out, this was not one of them

hmm, interesting

so did he disintegrate the pruner and then get pissed at his dad thinking he was trying to hurt him again? and then instinct just took over? guess we’re about to see

oh SHIT!!!

shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit

just, imagine like another 7 paragraphs of me just typing out “shit” over and over again. I don’t feel like actually doing it, but that’s basically an accurate summation of my thought process right now

I bet even AFO wasn’t expecting that. I picture him whistling softly from his hiding place nearby, watching all of this go down and making that excited Andy Dwyer face to nobody in particular

holy fucking shit, holy hell

guys I just decided this is actually my favorite villain origin story of all time. just like that. holy shit. this page though

okay you know what, let me just finish this up, and then I’ll try to sort out all of my messed up feelings. one more page to go I think. probably his hair turning white

why didn’t his hair turn white. Horikoshi you’re such a fucking troll

(ETA: or did it start to change though?? it’s really hard to tell with the shading on this page tbh. but it does seem to be lighter than his shirt, and closer to the shade of his pants instead. but I can’t tell if that’s just due to the lighting here or not. anyways.)

anyways, wow. so that’s the end. let me just sit down here for a moment and try to process this

that page, though. that mental break. the idea of him being so overwhelmed by the pain and trauma of what just happened that when his dad shows up and tries (from his perspective) to hurt him again, his mind just goes !! and snaps and goes “you know what, this is better, let’s just reframe all this shit to make it a good thing so that we can cope, because to hell with that. big fat nope to the alternative, right there! yeah no thanks we are not going to do that”

and him realizing that he finally has the power to stand up to his father and stop him from hurting him. and probably a part of him is also irrationally blaming his dad for being the reason this all happened, because it’s much easier to assign blame to something tangible here, rather than it all being a freak tragic accident that no one could have prevented. (or worse, his own fault. which it isn’t, but I’m sure he subconsciously blames himself regardless, so)

and even better if the person to blame is someone you already hated. so yes, that’s much better, let’s just do that

and that whole “somewhere deep in my heart” thing, I don’t buy that for a second to be honest. but I do believe that he believes that. that for his own self-preservation he desperately latched on to this idea and convinced himself that he’d wanted this all along. that it felt good. fine, then, I’ll become a monster to save myself

I keep going back to look at his face, though. and just. holy shit. if you’d told me a week ago or even five minutes ago that Horikoshi would write out the entire thing, all of it, in all of its sickeningly detailed glory, that he would just say “fuck it” and go all out, and that I would go from “take it back” to “okay I’ll allow it” to “you can pry this incredibly fucked up chapter out of my cold dead hands” in the span of three pages, I would have thought you were insane. and yet here we are. and it is insane. and I’m fairly disturbed by my own heel-turn here actually, but I can’t deny it though

just, shit. that was so good. I’m blown away by how good that was. Deku, stop looking at me like that

you know what, you don’t get to judge me, kid, okay. shut up

anyway guys, so that was one hell of a ride. I learned some things about myself, like that I will follow this maniac of a mangaka into much deeper and more fucked up chasms than I ever expected. and Tomura learned some things about himself, and I have a lot of Concerns about those things, but I guess that’ll just have to wait until next week! all the best until then, everyone

[trashpandaorigins]

The Body Keeps the Score  Ch.18 Repentance

"You said it yourself bitch, we're the Guardians of the Galaxy." Gamora is finally a part of something. But the past always follows you, eats at you and she must come to grips with her deeds as she tries to build a future. Meanwhile Rocket has never cared much for anyone or anything. Together the two of them discover they are more alike than different and try to heal themselves by befriending the other.

*Content Warnings: Mentions of child/animal abuse, trauma, character death, physical torture/pain*

Title of this fic is taken from the book of the same title "The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma," by Bessel van der Kolk

It was a lie when they smiled, and said, you won't feel a thing

And as we ran from the cops, we laughed so hard it would sting

Yeah yeah, oh, if I'm so wrong, how can you listen all night long?

Now will it matter, after I'm gone? Because you never learn a goddamn thing

You're just a sad song with nothing to say, about a life long wait for a hospital stay

And if you think that I'm wrong,  this never meant nothing to ya

Disenchanted - My Chemical Romance

Blood pooled under Rocket’s tongue, his sharp teeth biting down trying to staunch the contents of his stomach from erupting out of his stomach.

“Where are we?”

Behind him Nebula followed with a staunch stride, in fact he was surprised she hadn’t shot him and fled the moment they touched down. He almost wished she had. They crept through the concrete landing zone, though all the ships that once pulled up to this planet were now dashed to smithereens. Pieces of crumpled metal lay like tombstones. Rocket tried to calm his breathing, he shuddered, eyes darting about. In all the years he’d been gone it appeared no one had come to this abandoned planet, not either the ravagers had attempted to scavenge the wrecked buildings.

“Halfworld,” he struggled to speak.

He hefted his gun, one of many he’d brought with him. Nebula stepped beside him, glaring about with an ire he would normally appreciate. Now however, he just trembled. Entire body wracked with shaking, adrenaline, ready to fight anything that might come out of the shadows.

“So it's a lab, a zoo?”

The raccoonoid’s stomach curdled, Breathe...just focus...get to the building….3C just….just get inside, fix her and….g...get the fuck out.

“Stay close.”

Nebula grunted but continued on. Some part of him was glad for her presence. Shame and self-loathing twisted inside of him.

They’ll come straight here, they might be here already. No! You’re doing this for Gamora. You fucked up. This is how you fix it, and you can fix Nebula too even if you can never fix yourself. You fucked up. You lied, spied on her...you hit Groot. Tears threatened to streak his eyes.

“T...there it is,” he pointed to the large concrete building, a husky shell of a thing. Clearly unused. Rocket halted in his steps….. the doors…. the doors were still broken open. In the darkness he made out the torn rents of metal where he’d blasted through the bolts with an improvised bomb. Screeching, fire and blood, smoke, choking smoke, stinging in his lungs.

The raccoonoid sniffed, wiping a paw across his face and leveled his gun, stepping across the threshold into the bowels of the building.

“Stay close, if you hear anything shoot it.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” the woman growled, she bent her arm and Rocket watched a series of clicks and mechanisms come together, turning her hand into a firearm. In any other situation he would’ve admired it but they came to a cross section at the end of a long hall and he stopped, looking around. Paneling from the ceiling had fallen down, hanging by a chord. Dried crusted blood smattered the wall, filling his nose with a scent of rotting flesh and stale chemicals.

Needles punctured into flesh, straps too tight, pinching. The stiff metal table. Their masks, their laughter, their tools. His body opened, the feel of the fetid air brushing against organs and tissues that were never meant to know a breeze.

One paw went to his stomach on instinct. His ears swiveling to pick up any sound. Only Nebula’s heavy foot falls. He gathered himself, stomach still roiling.

“Fox!”

His head snapped up, blinking hard, he ran one paw over his face.

“W...what?”

“Which way?”

Rocket swallowed the lump in his throat, the metallic taste of blood still on this tongue. He shook his head, which way….I came from...down there...shot that one, his eyes rested on the dusty remains of a body, now nothing but bone.

“G...gimme a sec.”

Before she could object he stumbled off down the hall, leaned against the wall and vomited. Here he was again, just a sick animal surrounded by other sick, dying, drooling, decaying animals. Or so they were, before he had escaped in a bloody spectacle of gun fire and rage.

She can see you, his pride warned. But the raccoonoid hardly registered, pinching his eyes shut against the involuntary force of his gut, synching and surging painfully. He wretched again, trying to breathe between spouts of puking.

Pull yourself together! How the flark are you gonna get anything done if you can’t walk down a d’ast hallway?! They ain’t here no more. No one’s here, you made sure of that. How else are you gonna make it up to Gamora? Or Groot….? The image of the scared little flora, reeling from the blow Rocket dealt him  branded in his mind. He swallowed another round of vomit, acid burning at his throat.

“What’s the matter fox? Eat too much garbage?”

Rocket wiped his muzzle with the back of his paw.

“This way,” he steadied his grip on his gun, holding it with two hands and shuffled forward, around the bodies. Down the dark corridor, doors evenly spaced on either side. He knew better than to look up into the shattered windows of the various laboratories. They crept along, through the double doors and down a flight of stairs, deeper underground through the vast labyrinth of rooms filled with cages, testing chambers, operating theaters, chemical testing labs. Rocket’s hair stood on end, remembering the menagerie of agonies.

Just keep going, you got out of here with thousands of guards you’ll be in and out quick as a rocket with no one to stop you. Ha, rocket. He allowed himself a bemused smile, that was the reason for his name after all.

“Agh!”

Rocket spun, bristling, gun aimed, chest pounding, his breath caught.

“I stepped in something,” Nebula yelped, lifting her foot out of whatever it was.

Still shaking with adrenaline the raccoonoid hurried forward, and halted.

The broken skeleton of some small creature lay dispersed and crumbling in the dusty hall. The empty sockets of its eyes staring at them both. Its skeleton had only been partially enhanced as detailed by the odd bending of vertebrae and rusted metal. Rocket crouched, sniffing, whiskers twitching and squinted at the metal panel still fused into the base of the skull. Shining a light on it, he drew a quick breath, realizing.

“You recognize him?”

“Her,” the raccoonoid corrected.

She was in the cage below mine.

Nebula made no retort, but he could feel her eyes on him. He forced himself back up, clearing his throat and sniffing.

Breathe….in...out...you’re doing this for Gamora. You’re not gonna fuck up again. You can’t...you owe Gamora that much.

“We’re almost there,” he wheezed through the fight to keep his breath steady. Nebula shook her head curtly, motioning for him to move forward. Rocket slid his back against the wall before the next corner, holding his gun close to his chest, holding his breath, knowing what he was about to face.

The double doors of the room had long since broken, lying like two more bodies on the hard floor. Beyond the threshold the procedural room yawned like a black hole. He could make out the single ominous table, the five large oversize lights hovering above like demons ready to spirit someone away. Those bright piercing lights illuminating a subject’s insides, penetrating light into everything, exposing things meant to be left in the dark. The fur on Rocket’s arms rose, the cybernetics in his shoulders and spine clenched with tension. He picked at his fur with tension.

“Ah,” he bit his tongue once more, forcing down the high pitched whine that nearly escaped him. The raccoonoid forced himself closer, each step heavy as led. His tail twitched, legs tensed ready to bolt. Though the mind may forget, may block out certain memories, the body remembers everything.

You do this, she won’t hurt Gamora no more. She’ll stop. That was the deal. Gamora won’t have to run...won’t have to be so scared. Tears pricked his eyes as he picked over the broken double doors, and crossed into that dank, room. The last time he was in this lab, he’d escaped. Killing the scientists and orderlies and bursting out the door. Groot was with him. He longed for the flora now, not the little thing who had emerged from a pot but his old best friend. Groot had been the reason for a majority of the rotting skeletons he and Nebula had passed. He wanted the large tree with him, that towering presence. If anything happened, if the Halfworlders who were out there looking for him did come, Groot would be there to protect him. But no...Groot was dead.

At least Groot didn’t die in here, Rocket thought bitterly. A stabbing pain in his gut. Tears ran down his furred cheeks. He sucked a painful breath, the sterol scent of chemicals still lingered in the air, burning him with memories. He longed for those tight wooden arms now, that gentle soothing place he had risked his life to get to just down the hall where their cages sat next to one another. He’d learned to bypass the security and slip passed the bars into the flora’s holding cell, spending the sleepless nights therein.

“So this is where you’re going to fix me?” Nebula asked, looking around the dark room. She surveyed the monitors and equipment, still hanging from wires, there were medical tools scattered about. Computers, carts of liquid vials, an array of needles, restraints, scalpels, a saw. Everything just where they left it. He thought with a shuddered breath.

“Y...yeah, I think I got everything I need..r..right...h..here.” Rocket gestured lamely around the room. Nebula looked up at the large overhead lights, two of which were out, bulbs shattered. Rocket turned the remaining light on, wincing at the white flash of memories slapped across his mind.

He wiped his eyes hastily before turning around and looking at her as she hoisted herself up with ease onto the fated cold table. Rocket sighed, rummaging around for the clear, anesthesia liquid that the scientist kept locked away. He found it easily enough following the sharp scent of it, familiar and immediately bringing him back to the day’s he’d been the one on that table.

Focus, focus. Breathe….you’re the one with the scalpel now. Not them. They're dead.  A small smirk escaped him.

“What’s that?” Nebula glared at the needle poised in the raccoonoid’s paw.

“It’s an anesthetic,” Rocket explained, slowly looking at it as though it were about to come to life and prick him. “I told yah I could undo what Thanos did to yah, and I can but it ain’t gonna be pretty. You want to be knocked out for this, trust me.”

The cyborg woman eyed him, her own gaze much like his. Solid black eyes, with no iris or pupil. Foreign and unnerving. A chill ran down his spine, and not from the hollow breeze blowing through hallowed halls.

“I’m trusting you to not use it,” she countered, though she spoke uncommonly soft. Rocket opened his mouth to press her but stopped. If Gamora’s past was any inclination, there was no doubt Thanos had not offered the younger sister the luxury of anesthetic. The raccoonoid knew well what happened to those who had felt the scalpel one too many times. The body, animal or humanoid did what it did best: adapted. After enough procedures freakish panic turned to heightened panic, heightened panic to fighting, fighting to exhaustion, exhaustion….expectation and finally, grim resolve. If Nebula’s procedures were any like his own then she had grown to expect anguish. Never desensitized, but accustomed to the dance of fight or flight, survival and eventually resolve. At this point she had probably grown more used to that than the uncertainty of falling into a chemically induced sleep not knowing who or what she’d be when she awoke. He looked her over, then set the large needle down.

“Your body, your choice.”

He heard her whisper a ‘thank you’ while he back was turned but did not acknowledge it.

“Alright lay down.”

She obeyed, reclining on the metal slab, face tight. She fidgeted into the most comfortable or at least neutral position possible. With shaking paws he reached for the restraints.

“I won’t move,’ she snapped, voice cracking. He let go of the cuffs. Waiting.

“I won’t move,” she repeated. “Trust me.”

Rocket looked her over, she was more metal than flesh. He finally nodded, climbing up on the table beside her, crouching over her arm. He held his breath, holding the scalpel tight and got to work.

---

In some ways it was easier, in other ways it was harder. Rocket refused to look at her face. If he did, he’d stop and if he stopped the deal would be done and she’d go after Gamora. He worked diligently, it's just another gun, another bomb, another machine. No. It’s not, she’s a person. An evil person but a person. Don’t be like them. They’re the really evil ones.  Steady, stop shaking, don’t vomit. Not one’s here, no one’s coming.

He pulled the taunt faux flesh over from her elbow down to the wrist. It didn’t take long to find the storage, to dye it and measure and cut. He never bothered ransacking the supplies of the place and he knew where to find whatever he needed. Even reduced to abandoned disarray the labs of Halfworld itself were always happy to provide tools of ingenuity and suffering. Art, the scientists had called it. Never saying what their ambitions truly were, butchery. Torture.

Nebula let out a hiss of pain here, a bite of her lip there, but she kept her word and kept still. Only arching her back off the table twice and quickly righting herself. Expertly clenching her muscles and sucking in the pain.

Like sister like...sister. Rocket thought bleakly.

“Almost done,” he tried to assure her, fixing the fake flesh to her wrist. The hand was already done, each finger neatly covered with the skin like material and dyed to match her natural tone. She requested he keep some modifications in place, like the ability to turn said hand into a gun. He did this by leaving her palm alone, the small gun therein could come out if she willed it, covered by what would look like a black fingerless glove.

“T...there,” he finished, examining the arm in its entirety. She flexed it experimentally and eased herself up, dizzy at first. “Easy...it's gonna take a few hours to heal, even with the laser seal.”

Nebula nodded but bent the arm back and forth watching the flexible flesh move with her. Rocket spied the smallest inclination of her lips.

“Told ya I’d make it better.”

She looked up, glaring at him.

“You said you’d fix all of it,” her voice fell to a snarl.

“I will, I will,” he assured, sniffing and rubbing his eyes. Fatigue ached his eyes, suppressing the frenzied urge to run stole any strength of concentration from him,  and the arm was the easy part.

Nebula lay back down, adjusting herself slightly and took a deep breath.

“You don’t wanna….a...break for a sec? You were just lying down for like….eight terran hours.”

Rocket looked around, chest heaving in preparation as he peered down the dark hall the way they had come, nothing.

“Well? What are you waiting for Fox?”

The raccoonoid tried to breathe, looking over the metal plating in her face and skull. His stomach summersaulted, the room going darker, head spinning.

Just...concentrate…

The raccoonoid hopped down from the table, on to the floor and dragged over a nearby stool, up to her head and hovered directly over her face.

“If you try anything,” she seethed, “I’ll kill you.”

Even in his delirium Rocket recognized an empty threat when he heard one.

“Just….hol….hold still.”

Maybe this was his repentance, sort of. If he were worthy of it. Rocket gingerly lifted the main panel from her head that curved over the dome of her head to just over her right eye.

“Stars,” he breathed, eyes widening. “What’d he do to you.”

“Everything he didn’t want to do to Gamora.”

The venom in her voice was plain. For once Rocket did not form a rebuttal. Staring into the inner workings of Nebula’s cybernetically enhanced mechanized brain was staring into the one part of himself he could not see during the procedures. Is this...what I look like...on the inside?  His insides curled in on themselves, the chronic pain in his cybernetics ached and pinched.

Use the pain, channel it.

He did, the noxious nervous energy wracking him to the point of near mania. Mania he forced into working on Nebula’s cerebral enhancements. Wire by wire, snipping things there, modifying things here.

“A’right,” he sighed, setting down the tongs he’d been working with. “Almost done. Now come the memories. What you want me to get rid of?”

He waited for a moment, taking the time to run his paws through his fur, shaking his head. Once again he forced himself to look up, down the empty hallway. Expecting the Halfworlders to come charging in, or one of the corpses on the floor to leap to life.

“Leave it all,” she whispered hoarse. He frowned, staring down at her.

“Yah...sure?”

Nebula’s eyes shifted, her hands knotting together.

“Yes.”

“You really are a masochist,” he grumbled.

“I never knew my true parents. I was an urchin on Wresreenia before Thanos found me. I have nothing else. If I don’t have the rage of those memories...I have nothing.”

“Yeah,” Rocket agreed.  He would have laughed with the ironic similarity between them. The scientists effectively erased all memory of anything before Halfworld. What he was before he was made he did not know. All he knew was that he wasn’t always like he was now.

“Alright, last part. Hold still I’m gonna put the plating back and cover it with that same fleshy covering. The laser seal will leave a small scar but it’ll heal.”

Almost done...you’re almost done...just close her up and you’ll be outta here.

Rocket measured and set the fleshy covering that would go over the panel, already dyed to match her skin and stretched it, shifting about her shoulders and reaching as far as he could to pull it down, hold it in place and close it up.

“Okay, the eyes the last bit,” the raccoon flexed his fingers, aching from the tools and precision. His back wracked with kinks from trying to get the tools at the right angel wherever he needed them. The metal in his skeleton grind against his bones.

The cybernetics around her eye were tiny, nearly imperceptible with enhanced optical cables for enhanced night vision. The raccoonoid hunched over her face, carefully extracting the machinery that made her eyes into scopes, immediately able to identify a target’s weaknesses and anticipating their next move. He left the night vision per her request.

“Is that it?” He could hear the begging in her voice, thin and hopeful.

“All we gotta do is jumpstart your system again,” he answered. A black pit forming in his insides, he eyed the busted generator typically used to start up cybernetic systems. Wires and cables all fell around it and spilled out like guts, several pieces missing.

“How are we going to do that?”

Rocket searched around for any inkling of an idea, spare parts, batteries, something, anything.

“Uhh….”

“You don’t know?!” Nebula cried, clearly fury almost hiding her fright.

“I’m thinkin’, I’m thinkin….” the raccoonoid paused.

It worked with Gamora’s arm...I could use my own cybernetics as the jumpstart….but with Gams it was just a simple set in her arm. I’d have to boost Nebula’s entire system….

He glanced behind her at the port in the base of her head. Unlike her sister’s meticulously placed cybernetics, each fixed with precise care, Nebula’s were shunted in every which way, haphazard.

Even if my wiring were enough to do it….I’d have to maximize electrical output to her...it’d be risky. I could fry my whole system…. he didn’t know what would happen. Still, he jumped down, scavenging through the drawers and store closets for any spare cables. A restraint staff with electrical prongs lay on the floor in the hall a few feet away.

“I thought...we were a family...Groot taught me that. That’s what his sacrifice meant to me. I thought....I was sure it would mean something to you too. I thought if anyone could get through to you it would’ve been him.” Gamora’s voice howled in his mind as he grabbed a bunch of wires, sizing them up.

“What are you doing fox?”

“Shhh, lemme think!” He hissed, pulling one of the blue wires from the bundle, this would do. He took his gun from his holster and crept slowly into the hall, resisting the urge to pull at his fur.

Gamora was right. You sold your teammate for money...Groot would be ashamed of you. His sacrifice taught Gamora something. What will it teach you?

“Gamora is worth it,” he whispered through his tears of fear. He seized the electrical staff, scurried back to Nebula and stood beside her on the table.

Groot thought we were worth dyn’ for…Gamora’s worth this. Even if it goes wrong. I always knew I’d die in this shit hole anyway.  

So what if he did kick the can in here? What would that make him? No better than any of the other sorry subjects who met their end against the tests or under the chemicals.

He yanked his jumpsuit down and shoved plugged the cable into the back of his head, twisting it in until he heard the click.

“What?” Nebula demanded, she sat on the edge of the table now, ready to leap off.

“Nothing. I’m gonna jumpstart your system with my own.”

Gamora is worth it, you little monster.

“This is gonna hurt for both of us, but once your cybernetics get back online you’ll know. When they’re back and you can move, unplug this from my back okay?”

The cyborg woman nodded curtly, dark eyes flashing.

“You remember your parta the deal?”

“Yes.”

“A'ight then smurfette.”

Rocket hooked the other end of the cable into her, then glanced down at his own implants and picked up the electro restraining staff.  He sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his paw, tears now staining the fur of his face. He grit his teeth, switched the electrical staff on and pushed it against the bolts in his clavicle.

White hot bolts of static stabbed through his chest, expanding out his entire body, through his limbs and to his writing tail. The body remembers. He curled inward on himself, dropping the staff to the ground and gripping the edge of the metal, scraping his claws against it. Someone was screaming. Rocket’s body vibrated with the energy of electricity, his pain receptors firing off all at once. He tensed, nearly levitating off the cold slab. The thing inside his skull vibrated.

S….sorr...Gams...b...breathe...just...b..brea…

“AAARRRGGGHHHH!”

He couldn’t tell who was wailing, him or Nebula.

Roving eyes fell on the cyborg woman. He clawed to get to her, though she herself was haunched, biting her lip so hard it bled. The wire between them sparked and fizzed with electric activity.

“Mora…” he gasped, reaching out through the pins and needles in his limbs and grasped for Nebula’s shirt. He crouched on her chest, balling his fist around her collar so tight it tore.

“Gime. Your. Word.”  He seethed, choking through the pink of foam and blood and filled his mouth.

Nebula forced her eyes open, her mouth in a tightly pressed line. Like him the electricity beneath her new skin glowed with purple light.

“I….w...won’t...k...kill her. I...i'll g...give h...her...a...c..chance."

Maybe Nebula never wanted to kill Gamora in the first place, maybe she just wanted someone to listen. Rocket felt his insides shaking harder, the machine in his chest he wished was a heart jumped and started. His muscles seized, tightening, paws shaking. He tried to breathe, lungs spasming with shards of glass. Everything swam, the lights above became dull, his mind clouded, unable to think, to reason. There was no thought, only feeling and non feeling . He couldn’t feel the cyborg lady’s shirt anymore, or her chest on which he crouched. He could feel jets of agonized burning pulses tore through him, heating every piece of metal inside of him.

His mind gone, his body adapted, trying desperately to protect itself by straining to curl into a ball. If only his motor function would cooperate.

“Subject 89P13 is nearly complete…..

“I’m kinda disappointed, I thought it’d be better, this one’s kinda weak.”

Stabbing, clenching.

“You were awake...when they did this to you.”

Gamora

“Thank you.”

Her hand, warm and friendly, holding his.

“Nebula!”

Something somewhere shouted, muffled, like hearing someone speak underwater.

“Let him go! Our feud does not concern him!”

Rocket tried to move his head towards the noise, but it was so heavy, his body would not obey. He curled, tightening, vision turning to black. Pressure builded against his back, at the base of his skull and down through his spine. Pressing and restricting and then….everything stopped.

[toonstarterz]

BECAUSE I’M NOT POPULAR, I’LL READ WATAMOTE: CHAPTER #165

Summer shenanigans are a staple of the manga and anime work, though how much you can expect the clichés to actually happen depends on how much effort you’re willing to put into making it a reality. Fact is, summer is never as fantastical or memorable as we’d like to dream. You only get three(in Japan) high school summers in one lifetime. But as they say, it’s who you spend it with, not what, that will stick around with you. 

Chapter 165: Because I’m Not Popular, I’ll Enjoy My Last High School Summer Break 

Hey, if Futaki wants to be a professional gamer girl (minus the bathwater), she’s gotta stay on top of the new releases. 

Mother always knows. Always.

There’s a fine line between persuading and threatening, Katou. Just saying.

I can already see the (not totally implausible) jokes about Mako and Yoshida secretly meeting to hook up. Even though that’s 99% not what will happen, Mako’s vagueness is something to note. The way I see it, Mako doesn’t want Yuri to feel left out, so she’s downplaying the “fun” she’ll be having with Yoshida.

Or Nico Tanigawa are blatantly ship-teasing. Either or.

Nemo’s got a pretty sweet LINE avatar.

Even through her messages, Nemo is still passive-aggressive, like she expects Tomoko won’t listen to her unless she’s demanding in her tone, exclamation points and all. She still gots a way to go to meet Katou’s level of intimidation, however.

Summer school?

Oh, the beach.

The greyscale nature of the manga medium makes this beach look a lot prettier than it probably is. Those delightful memories involving washed-up stingrays sure doesn’t help. 

I’m not entirely certain just how studious Yuri is as a student, but I imagine she’s playing up the “all work, no play” angle just to free herself from Nemo.

Nemo makes a fair point. Getting too cooped up indoors where it’s comfortable can make it difficult to study, especially when you're surrounded by distractions. A change of scenery can clear your head and make it easier to retain information. 

Of course, that sort of environmental shift doesn’t work for everyone. Someone like Nemo may appreciate the summery atmosphere, but a girl like Yuri would get agitated by the heat and humidity. Having external stimuli is ideal if you’re the type who operates better when your attention is dispersed. But for those that need to be focused on a single task to complete, it can be quite difficult.

Next time on Mythbusters...

But in all seriousness, I would like to see if there have been any real-life studies on certain sounds–waves in this case–improving one’s ability to concentrate and overall performance. My amateurish theory is that a lot of that “improvement” is a result of the placebo effect, or that there are otherwise too many extraneous factors to make a clear correlation.

In that respect, I think Yuri and Nemo’s arguments are both valid.  

A recent trend I’ve been noticing with Yuri is that she looks to Tomoko for validation. She acknowledges that they’re not the same, but having Tomoko back her up probably makes her feel more confident in her opinions, if for nothing more than having an equal-to-majority rule.

Of course, when Tomoko does disagree with her, that’s when Yuri has to either stubbornly stick to her guns, or honestly reassess herself. And thanks to the beauty of character development, the latter’s been happening more at a healthy pace.

OUCH.

It pains me to see Okada call out Yuri like that.

It pains me even more that you can’t really call out Okada for it, either.

Introverts are generally self-conscious about the very traits they embody, even when it’s that’s their comfort zone. Much like how an otaku will get uncomfortable when non-otakus hype them up. Sure, Okada probably meant it as a compliment when she called Yuri talkative, but it’s based on the idea that Yuri’s quiet nature was an incorrect assumption, which can feel kind of demoralizing.

It’s not an easy thing to address, and I’m curious to see how they’ll work through it going forward. 

Quick, someone go update their Wiki pages!. 

Reality ensues. All those amazing anime-esque summer plans can be deterred by something as simple as unreliable weather.  

Although, having to make your own wave sounds kind of defeats the purpose of being there, doesn’t it, Nemo?

Now playing...”Eroge BGM” Playlist.

Set on autoplay.

I’m glad that no one’s complaining about translating this text, cause let’s get real. The amount of redraws that would take is ridiculous, especially for an unofficial translation. 

If you think that I’m going to screencap every image of Yuri smiling just so we can bask in her cuteness...

You’d be absolutely correct.

Oooh man, this is arguably worse than calling out the quiet kid as “talkative”. At least during that time, it could pass as just an innocent observation. But being able to smile is one of those things they supposedly instill in you during primary school. Bringing it up like that suggests that Yuri is a child who purposely tries to hide her smiles. Again, Okada meant no harm, obviously, but if they’re going to push for an OkadaxYuri friendship, there’s going to be a lot of hoops to go through.

Tomoko may have opened her mind up more about the negative stereotypes about “normies”, but the positive stereotypes still persist. In this case, it’s the idea that her more sociable peers would enjoy school simply because they can hang out with their friends. Little did she know, that’s often not the case...

PINEAPPLE-CHAN DEVELOPMENT, BABY!

Ahem, pardon my outburst, but I’ve got a lot to say about this. We’ve known for a long time now that Okada is part of the “semi-in-crowd”, and it was easy to assume that all her socializing–going to karaoke for example–were just things she always enjoyed.

But what if it wasn’t. From what Okada’s implying, she sometimes ends up hanging out with people that she would rather not. Perhaps its a friend-of-a-friend type of struggle, where she hangs with people she doesn’t really like out of politeness for a mutual friend. And even if Okada is harboring a few dark thoughts, there’s plenty of reasons to not like going to school, as she said. As someone who’s relatively extroverted, having to work through the more solitary parts of school like studying can be especially difficult.

In short, hidden depths are great.

I can’t really blame you, Tomoko. When you secretly put people on a pedestal like that, it’s hard to acknowledge their human sides that show how they struggle with everyday problems just like anyone else. Even the most well-adjusted of people have their share of frustrations. 

This was totally Nemo’s plan all along.

All these panel shots of Yuri off to the side while everyone else gallivants fills me with those paternal feelings of a father wanting their daughter to make friends. It goes against everything I know about Yuri’s character, but I guess you shouldn’t underestimate the power of moe.    

This is a pretty good example of the line that separates Tomoko and Yuri. They have very similar perspectives, but it’s Tomoko’s status as an introverted extrovert that allows her to go in the ocean, while Yuri’s extroverted introvert personality lets her stay on the sidelines. 

Poor Beach-kun is not having a good day.

So even the others are noticing how Tomoko is like Yuri’s social floatation device.

Another person probably would’ve taken the sentimental route, going on about “saving these precious memories” or “I want you to experience this with us”. The kind of things Yuu-chan would say.

Thing is, Tomoko would get too embarrassed saying that touching crap, so she has to go the indirect route instead. Using pseudo-logic so she doesn’t have to exaggerate her emotions (which are there, just more reserved). 

Either way, it still sounds vaguely creepy coming from her.

Thankfully, it actually works here because Yuri has trouble articulating her emotions, too. Tomoko probably knows subconsciously that touching crap doesn’t work on Yuri, so it makes a great deal of sense that Yuri would be more responsive to dumb logic. Especially if it’s from her loveably dumb friend.

I can get used to Tomoko and Yuri unknowingly showing Nemo up.

Off in the distance...

“Getting tangled up in gross seaweed so you can spread your own grossness to other girls? Gross!”

Okay, so I know Tomoko is probably just genuinely startled by what's happening here, but you can’t tell me that her face doesn’t scream, “NOW’S MY CHANCE FOR A GROPIN’!”

lewd.

Okay, let’s be honest. I’ve watched enough anime to know that shots like this are easy fodder for fanservice. Conveniently transparent wet uniforms, amirite? And to be frank, I don’t think the mangakas are totally playing the innocent game. Sure, it’s not as blatantly objectifying as a lot of other series tend to do in scenes like this, but the posing of the girls and angle of the camera just seems too opportune to be anything but deliberate. Be careful when walking that fine line, Nico Tanigawa.

On a more positive note, I’m glad Tomoko’s first instinct was just to help them up. Though heaven knows she’s gonna milk this for all it’s worth back home.

Oh, Yuri and your accountability issues.

When life gives you lemons...you know the rest.

The best part about watching the crazy shenanigans you see in anime is that you can omit all the boring and troublesome real-life consequences. So yeah, accidentally getting splashed by beach water may seem fun in the moment, but the annoyance of having to wash your clothes afterward just isn’t worth it.

Sometimes, summer just won’t give you a break. 

Yes. Yes, you did.

Ignoring Tomoko’s embarrassed (or lewd–it’s kind of interchangeable) expression, this is probably the most wholesome summer chapter is the series’ run. That’s not to say that the chapter is “unrealistic” in any way. Sure, the end shot of all four of them reeks of 4-girl slice-of-life moe, but it actually deconstructs it a little. Instead of a fun memory, the memory itself is decidedly bothersome and more trouble than it’s worth, but there’s a sense of enjoyment to be gained from that. As Tomoko once implied, doing stupid, embarrassing things isn’t so bad when you can share in the experience. There’s a reason for the saying, “A few years from now, we’re gonna laugh at this,” after all.  

It may be Tomoko’s final summer in high school, but it will most certainly be her fondest.

[chainofbeing]

Having been sent by the explosion created by Ovig Nadal to a strange land, Adam comes across an old friend and learns of a dangerous new enemy

Might-Upon-Serentity: Frances Gillard

The Scales of Nemesis: Mary-Anne Stanek

Adam Delta 5, Writing, Sound design: Cai Gwilym Pritchard

email us at chainofbeingofficial@gmail.com

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The possessed body of Ghost-of-Sunken-Dawn explodes in a flash of polychromatic light, instantly filling the room with dust and chunks of the facility. Eikal and Inspiration are vapourized and I am sent flying backwards towards the back wall of the detainment building and then, when I subconsciously expect to land against, or crash through the wall, I continue to fall. Still surrounded by streaks of multicoloured energy and dust, I begin to sail through the air falling for a few seconds before I land in a large, algae filled pond. The water is shallow and does little to cushion my fall and so I am heavily winded, I drag myself to the edge of the pond, bombarded by falling chunks of concrete and construction plastic and I lay there sprawled out, trying my best to catch my breath. I look above me and see a cloud of dust in the sky, slowly sinking downwards to the surface. The two suns beat down above me, the stagnant pond water soaking my thick coat already starting to evaporate. My visu-link is offline and so I remove it from my eye and toss it away. The floor around me is not covered in grass or mounds of black soil but is instead carpeted in a complex net of small vines which sprawl outwards. It grows so thick that I can't see the soil beneath it. I roll over and sit up, my body from my torso down still submerged in the pond. The gravity here is much stronger than that of Dhāra jamīna which makes it much harder to move and the sudden change accentuates the pain in my joints. There’s a sharp pain on my back on the left side when I breathe as well as a constant dull ache. I reach for my spear and find it no longer there, frantically I begin to search, getting up from my half submerged resting place I see the wide, flat horizon interrupted in the far distance by huge mesas, and equally large sloping hills. Occasionally a bank will rise out of the terrain or what I assume to be a fallen tree, covered in vines and moss protruding outwards. I begin to search for my weapon when very suddenly the spear lands and lodges itself in the ground where I was just sitting. I stare at it, the blade sunken into the marshy stinking mud at the edge of the pool of stagnant water. I return it to my side and pick a direction.

[the sounds of a swamp, insects, some animals makes noises, but overall it is quite peaceful]

The march is slow, so as not to strain my very obviously broken ribs, the two suns reach the apex in the sky and the heat forces the limited oxygen from the air out of my chest and singes my nostrils when I try to drag it back in, my sleeves are rolled up and my winter coat is tied around my waist but the scorching heat continues to relentlessly beat down on me. As I get closer to what I previously thought was a dead tree, overgrown with moss and vines, turned out to be an old starship, a very old starship sunken downward into the mud, the engines pointing up to the sky. The thing had basically been gutted, wiring, panels everything except for the frame and outer shell had been stripped clean, clearly the work of some very dedicated scavengers, which meant there were people here and the fact that whoever did this decided not to just live in it meant that they took their scrap somewhere. Somewhere I intend to find.

This planet is littered with wrecks, some are small fighters like Ehedydd, others are huge, not supercruiser huge but a few haulers here and there. All of them stripped clean. I guess for whoever lives here this is the only source of materials and supplies. I continue to walk, I don't stop for a break once in what I estimate to have been a 36 hour journey in the baking heat. The two suns mercifully begin to set and the moonless night falls on the swamp. In the darkness, it’s hard to see, however I eventually make it to a long, thin, luxury yacht. It lays on its side. The left wing pointing straight up and so I have to scramble up to enter the dead ship. The pain in my side is too great for me to be able to focus on not focusing, and just fall asleep so instead I just lay back on a window and close my eyes. Throughout the night I hear strange wailing and moaning coming from outside, the whole night seems to come to life as what I can only assume is a horde of many different creatures perform their nightly routine. Through it all though I can faintly hear the sound of what must be a voice. I pull myself up and out of the side door on top of my shelter, wincing as I roll up and onto the mossy carpet that spills across the fallen ship and jerkily push myself up into a crouching position. I draw my spear, leaving it unextended. For now. There’s a culture Veatorians name their weapons, every single knife, bow, or firearm gets given a name. The idea being that you’ll take care of it better, there's some deep philosophy behind it that I can't properly convey. The practice later got adopted into the military as a whole later on. I might do the same, maybe it will make me feel less solitary surrounded by the shrieking night. Hunched down, I look out into the darkness and see nothing. And then, a bump into the side of the ship. Startled, I extend my spear to its full length, refraining from flicking the switch to electrify the blade, and peer over the side of the ship. In the deep night I can just just about discern a shape hugging close to the angled roof of the ship, completely still. “Hey!” I call out, but it doesn't respond. It looks like a person swaddled in heaps of dirty cloth, so much that no features can be made out.

[it mumbles, the words inaudible]

I slide down the roof of the ship and cautiously approach the figure, spear held in both hands “excuse me,” I say, still no response, I hold the spear in one hand and get closer to it, my eyes follow the fabric down to the floor and I see that behind it is one long uninterrupted stretch of cloth that sprawls outwards for what must be miles miles. I circle round, now standing close to the wall as well, I try to peer into the clump of material where I assume a face would be but see nothing, just more fabric. I go to touch it, and the instant I make contact it collapses to the ground, its journey now ending here, with me. I lift up a few rags with the tip of my spear but find nothing. I clamber up and into the ship and try my best to ignore the pain for the rest of the night.

I must have managed sleep, because instantly it’s daytime, the light peering through the vines that cover the windowless gaps in the ceiling. I go to check where the creature had been but there’s no sign of it, no depression in the ground, no mile long cloth stretching into the horizon  to suggest it had gotten up and continued its journey, nothing. I march for another 14 hours before, in the distance, I spot something, not a ship, or a withering tree, in the shivering heat and from this distance it's nothing more than a white blur, but as I draw closer, I see that it is the ribcage of some long dead, long-dead beast, 20 metres in all with about 13 sets of ribs, arcing up into the sky. In between each individual rib were strung up small huts, made of scrap metal and animal skins, although from what animal they possibly could have come from is a mystery.

As I approach the town my gait becomes irregular and my head begins to pound with a heavy thud, the vines writhe and wriggle violently beneath me and I crouch down to inspect them, they move chaotically and as I stare the notice a pattern, amongst all the chaos there emerges order and regularity. I hear a woman's voice

"Hello Adam" she says

I stand, and sat at the edge of the town is a malgaric woman, she sits on the edge of a wide flat rock, the sun shines between the ribs, casting half of her shadow, she has a set of metal spheres hovering below each ear and a fan of metal shards splaying outwards from the back of her head. Half delirious from the lack of food and water after walking for what felt like 3 days in the sun I wobble slightly in place

"Might?" I ask, my voice trembling with sunstroke and uncertainty

"The one and only," she says, as I fall unconscious to the floor

[a strange ambience, muffled, stretched out, an embodiment of delirium]

Drifting in and out of consciousness I try to wake up, to move, to do anything. Instead I struggle to open my eyes, and when I do I am met with various images that would normally be strange to me but in my current state I am in no place to currently contemplate: I am picked up and carried through the settlement, the pointed ends of the ribs arcing outwards like a pale hand closing around me. Something large circles above us, winged I think. The blazing sun disappears and I’m carried inside a hut.

I finally awake and face to face with some furred multi-jawed creature, I start and knock over a cup next to me, spilling its contents over the tarpaulin floor. I glance back at the beast. Having regained my senses in panic I quickly realise it's simply the skin of a multi- jawed creature, patched together with other materials to make up the inside wall of the hut I'm in. A blue glow appears under the front flaps of the shelter.

"I'm guessing you're awake?" A voice calls from outside. I sit up and cross my legs.

"Uh-yeah,"

She opens the left flap and steps through. We look at each other and she kneels by the entrance, her legs crossed at the ankles.

"Been awhile" she says "when was the last time we saw each other?" I say nothing "it was definitely after Fréwern right? Or- sorry," she puts her fingers to her mouth in a Malgaric physical tick, typical when trying to remember something "Eden! That's what you call it right? It's been so long since I've actually had a conversation," I still say nothing. And we both sit there in silence for a moment "look at the two of us eh? The first Malgaric and the first human just- sitting here."

"One of the first," I say bitterly "or have you forgotten the rest so quickly?"

She leans back, clearly hurt. Might is one of the first Malgaric, dropped from the first mother factory; as mysterious then as it is today. The early Malgaric didn't have facial expressions, they hadn't developed articulated faces for their organic interiors until the last 100 millenia, and so the language developed around gesture and body language, as well as imperceptible (at least to everyone else) fluctuations in the light on their bodies. Her face is a passive expression: the mouth open to allow her voice to escape in muffled and to intake food and water, something else left behind by the Malgaric a long time ago. She leans forward to speak again "the horns are new, I like them,"

"Let's not do this,"

"What do you mean? I'm just saying I like your-"

"We could have gotten away with it! We had it in our grasp, we gained the knowledge! And you couldn't bear the consequences of your actions so you repented to the gods!"

"You want to talk to me about not being able to accept the consequences? You speak of it like it was a good thing! Even if we hadn't been discovered and by some miracle we weren't accused of it anyway, Eden still would have collapsed and everyone still would have been destroyed, we were never meant to have that knowledge"

"But we would have been free! We would have the understanding of things even the gods do not know and we would be free!"

"But you didn't understand did you? How could you have possibly hoped to understand?" She laughs a short bitter laugh "how naïve we were to think that we could comprehend what even the gods could not. If we hadn't been cursed and banished from Eden what do you think would have happened? You'd have died in some corner somewhere, mourning her death with a head full of knowledge that means nothing to you," it's my turn to lean back now,

"you don't want to admit it but it was all for nothing, you were selfish, you couldn't bear the thought of something being kept from you and so you sacrificed everything for it on our behalf and you have the audacity to be angry at me?" The swamp festers silently around us

"All five of us are to blame, I accept that, we all got cursed and banished, but it was you who led us," I lean forward and place my head in my hands.

"What if- we could understand?" I say looking up at her. She pauses and shifts her weight slightly

"You're talking about that thing that came out of the sun right?"

"How did you know?" She taps her forehead

"Visions, remember?"

"But I always assumed they were so vague? What was that analogy you used to use? About the bird or something?"

"Recently my visions have become… clearer. My last few have made more sense, before and after its perfect clarity, I truly understand it all. and then… it doesn't any more and I can no longer parse the information and instead it just sits there in my mind. Its like these thoughts don't belong to me, I'm just mimicking the thought process of something much more complex than myself"

"When did this all start?" I ask

"I think when this creature came through the portal,"

"Do you know what it is?"

"It's from before the beginning, or something like that, it's angry and lost. It doesn't belong" she takes a rag and mops up the spilt water off of the tarpaulin floor. "How much do you know about it?"

"I- I think I spoke to it." She pauses but doesn't look at me

"What did it say?"

"It, or he, or something, told me this story about a woman in a savannah, and some cycle in which new rules get placed on the new creations and, they simply have to create, and those that do get- kept. I’m not really doing it justice. Then he stood up, and shouted ‘I am Ovig Nadal, I have returned, rejoice For you shall soon be unbound’ after which he exploded and I ended up here, where ever that is” Might finishes cleaning up the spilled water and sits up, it’s only now I notice the short sword at her side "Adam... my visions, the change in their quality, I think I-"

[a gunshot rings out]

gunfire, we both rise to our feet “come with me," I follow her outside into the midday sunlight. The spine of whatever creature we’re standing in  is buried in the earth but there’s a slight defined bump in the ground, I can tell that the creature didn’t just die of old age, some of the upper ribs are snapped as if the chest had been caved in. All around us are various species of people, dressed in religious clothing, standing outside of their homes, not looking as panicked as I would have expected.  “Who are all these people?” I ask as I follow Might-upon-Serenity through the collection of shelters toward the source of the noise. “Mystics, philosophers, sorcerers, pretty much anyone who spends their time thinking instead of doing,” we pass a Veatorian woman covered in red lines tattooed all over her body, she sits cross legged outside her shelter, small rocks and dust sit suspended around her and a strong red glow shines through her blue eyelids and a few other of the town's people try to rouse her from her trance “People practice magic here then?”

“Vitamancy, thanatology, energy manipulation. Some things I can't properly explain” she says distractedly.  We stop at the end of the ribs. Marching towards us from an aggressive looking four-wheeled vehicle is a trio of humans, one marches forward confidently with her rifle held to her chest while the other two stay low to the ground as they move, scanning the area for potential threats. The rifle that the masked leader carries is like none I've ever seen before. Where one would expect the firing mechanism to be there is instead a series of overlapping rings which spin around a luminescent core that emanates a bright golden light which can be seen even in the daylight, it seems as if it had been constructed, not from the debris found scattered around the planet, but from actual parts designed specifically for this purpose. The two next to her carry electrified rifles, dx-70’s if I had to guess, not new models, but certainly now old ones either. My hand goes to my spear as they draw closer and I glance over to see that Might has also placed a palm on the pommel of her short, wide sword. If neither of us were immortal it would be a pitiful match up, instead it was just meagre. They stop about 20 feet away from us. The two next to the ringleader keep their rifles raised but stand, more relaxed than before, they are dressed in light combat mould, each with a utility belt and long cape, their gloved hands resting comfortably around the handle and foregrip. Both have short, waist length capes which wrap around their throats and over their noses, concealing their faces. The leader is dressed correspondingly, but with a high collared much longer, more ornate cloak with bronze trims at the edges, similarly ornate elbow and knee pads carved in the classical acanthus pattern of intricate swirling leaves, her small pauldrons affixed to her shoulders are carved in the same way. What is most striking about her though, as she stands, her rifle illuminating her lightly decorated combat mould is her lifelike bronze mask that she wears. The billowing metal acanthus leaf pattern arcs up symmetrically and around the back of her head, forming a sort of crown. The mask is one of exceptional quality, carved to resemble a human woman, so precise I can only imagine it was based off of a real person.

“People of vestak-cry,” she calls to the town through an amplifier in her mask, her voice booms outwards. “This is a call to action, one of great import! You have until tomorrow to relinquish your supplies and weapons to us or we will be forced to take them by force. Some of the more courageous of you may be considering other possibilities, I urge you to reconsider. Such actions are careless and will only result in your demise” she pauses and despite there being no eye holes by which I could possibly tell, I feel her stare at me. For a moment I feel so small, like an insect under a magnifying glass soon to be pinned down, in another moment her gaze drifts off of me and she calls out again “any humans among you are welcome to join our ranks, everyone else…” she pauses and makes a gesture you know what to do. The sound of the swamp is the only thing that breaks the rigid silence. Might draws her sword, and points it toward the masked figure, “This town is under the protection of Might-Upon-Serenity, I don’t know who you are or what your whole deal is and honestly I don’t care. This is a town of philosophers, whatever treasures you think we hold, are intellectual and hold no value to you. Leave.” The masked woman tilts her head “Philosophers? Mystics as well I imagine. a sorcerer or two I’m sure. Interesting. You think us mere bandits? I assure you, you are quite mistaken. We are the Anthronesians, but it is of no relevance to you, a Malgaric. Just know we are much, much stronger than you, and our wrath is irresistible, in the truest sense of the word” She turns to leave and as she does, Might grabs the hilt of her sword with both of hands and charges toward The masked woman who turns, calmly raises her rifle, and pulls the trigger.

[the rifle charges up and fires, laser-like]

A beam of golden light instantly appears and closes the distance between her and might, who calls out and collapses to the ground, a large part of the side of her body missing. I rush over to Might who writhes on the floor in pain, the two unmasked Anthonesians get back in the vehicle, the leader looks at me one last time before she too enters and drives off. I open a pocket on my bandolier and take from it a small vial of an olive green powdery substance, I scoop up some water from a nearby puddle and mix the two into a viscous paste, the vial goes incredibly cold in my hand and I draw a symbol in the paste onto Mights chest and she goes limp, already I can see the wound starting to glow as the spell does its job, funnelling her lifeforce into healing her wound. She is immortal, but this would have killed anyone else, we’re very resistant, but not immune to damage. I struggle to lift her, and the Veatorian woman who was previously in a deep meditative state groggily ambles over and, with a slight and precise motion of her hands, lifts Might off of the ground, and carries her into the town. I turn from the procession and watch the vehicle disappear into the distance, obscured by the heat haze of the midday sun.  

[ladyjenise]

I wanna talk about the new star wars clips but without spoiling stuff for people

So I put it behind the cut...

Ok, now that you’re still with me, a lot of people are talking about the clips (shown at D23 on the weekend to attendees of a specific panel and then some of them this morning on GMA) and trying to analyze (as you do) what’s going on.

Based on these clips and the teaser from back... whenever we saw it (June?), I’m focusing mainly on what’s going on with Rey, which I think is what most people are doing. 

I don’t think showing a dark Rey (darth rey?) is the big reveal so much as they want us to wonder how the hell she gets that way. People appear to be in two camps: it’s actually Rey having fallen to the dark side, or it’s from a vision. I’m in the former camp and I’ll tell ya why. But first, why I don’t think it’s a vision:

I mean, not to knock people who do think it’s a vision. Perfectly cromulent explanation, really. It’s just that people think Rey can’t fall and come back in one movie and I’m kinda like eh about that since we’ve only really seen one person fall in a movie series and that was Anakin and he’s... special. I mean, so is Rey, but Anakin had a very specific path. It’s sorta like Rey’s but not the same. That and in Knights of the Old Republic it doesn’t take Bastila years to fall. Her fall is like, what, days? But the puzzle pieces were there for Bastila, just like they are for Rey. Anyway, I don’t want to trash on why I DON’T think it’s a vision. I’d rather discuss why I think it’s gonna happen in real time:

1.) Rey is a fucking ball of anger. I don’t like having to use the novelizations for support but I will - In the Last Jedi novelization, we get opinions of Rey from a few sources: Snoke, Luke, and the fish nuns. The fish nuns mostly think Rey is rude and destructive, Luke can’t believe how quickly she goes to the dark side, and Snoke recognizes that not only is she insanely powerful and possess a “towering will”, but that she’s filled with hatred (for him, to be fair, but still). 

2.) Rey is actually impatient. I know Rey likes to play up how patient she is, having waited for her family all that time, but there are other cases where she’s quite impatient. She gives up on Luke fairly quickly, rushes to see Kylo after one vision she misinterprets, bosses Finn around when he can’t correctly identify what are really specialty pieces of equipment. In the book Before the Awakening, Rey gets quickly irritated by the mere presence of other people helping her to repair her ship (to be fair they did later take it, but only because they wanted to leave Jakku sooooo...) The only people Rey seems to have infinite time for are her parents, and that’s because it’s her desperate need to have them with her and give her what she craves: love and affection. And the dark side is a quicker way to gain what we want, as yoda warns.

3.) Rey’s looking for parents/father figures. We know this because Kylo tells us so (and Rey). She doesn’t like to be told this, but it’s true. She imprinted on Han right away, and tried to with Luke. And before you go “why would she imprint on Palpatine???”, and I’ll say that Palpatine would probably appear to her in a way that she’d not immediately find threatening, perhaps. I mean, if he shows up looking like good ol’ Sheev Palpatine, senator from Naboo, that guy was the epitome of try-hard father figure. He’s also got a lot of experience on his resume for it thanks to his time with Maul and Anakin. He loves finding orphans and offering them all kinds of good shit.

4.) Rey’s been hearing voices telling her to burn things. I mean, not really, but she has heard voices in her head telling her shit, like to kill Kylo, etc. And this is usually when she’s tapping into her angry Rey dark side shit and going all Darth Maul on someone. She also seemed really concerned when she was trying to explain this to Luke. That “something’s inside me and now it’s awake” shit is coming to full fruition. 

5.) Rey has been trying to compartmentalizing her dark side shit for years. She tries to keep her emotions in check and that’s... not good. Like instead of just telling people “yeah I’m an orphan” she’s like “Oh no its cool my family loves me and just sold me to a guy in a junkyard who would sell me on again to skin traders if he got the right price”. It’s pretty fucked up. This sort of actually reminds me of loved ones who do this sometimes and it never ends well. All that stuff has to come out some time, and with Rey it’s probably going to come out all at once. Big badda boom.

So here’s what I think will happen:

1.) Rey will be in some darker place (mentally) due to her interactions with both Kylo and her Resistance family. Perhaps it will be them discovering her bond with Kylo and Kylo’s continued First Order shit that will simultaneously alienate her from both. It might happen quickly but still make sense in the movie, with time for her to fall and come back.

2.) Her fall will be accelerated by the influence of Palpatine. You better believe Rey is like catnip to a dude like that: angry orphan looking for love and acceptance? Palpatine is going to be all over that. Palpatine will probably offer to resurrect her parents or something. 

3.) Rey’s two outfits we’ve seen are white and black to contrast her false “purity” to her later fall. And when I say “purity” I mean “as a hero”, not sexually. I know when her white outfit came out, people were like “why?” and some people were pointing out it’s her visually trying to turn away from her past looks, where she was more grey than anything, and presenting this purer form to the outside world. And I gotta say those interpretations were probably spot-on. Her trying TOO hard to be pure and good will probably just push her further to fall, and fall hard under the expectations. And so what’s the opposite of white? Black!

4.) Rey’s fall will be quick, but also super temporary. You don’t really need to draw this out. You just need the scenes to get to the damn point. It also helps when you frame scenes from her perspective, as we’ve seen before. There’s no set length requirement to show such things happening, only that they are coded in a way that the audience understands what happened.

5.) Rey will be OK in the end. Rey’s not going to fall and then THE END. Come on. It’s Star Wars. She’ll be fine... mostly. But yeah, she won’t STAY dark, is what I’m saying. Luke had his moments where he could have gone dark forever, but didn’t. He never fell totally, but then again his childhood wasn’t as shitty as Rey’s. Anakin’s fall took years but he was also surrounded by like, what, 10000 jedi? It wasn’t until they were distracted by the Clone Wars and the Separatists and all the other shit Palpatine was throwing at them that Anakin fell. And then it took another three movies to get him back but again that’s Anakin’s story.

6.) What about Kylo? Kylo/Ben will be the one to bring her back, but I’m not taking credit for any of that because it’s what smarter people than me have already observed. Kylo/Ben loves her a whole lot, he’s just a dipshit who doesn’t know how to express it properly. But when he does it will be at just the right time to bring her back. This is basically the plot to Knights of the Old Republic anyway, but I’ve seen it play out similarly with heroes who fall/die etc and their anti-hero/villain counterparts finally get the courage to express their love. 

ACTUALLY that’s what happens in the Care Bears II movie from the 80s. Not saying you should go watch it (it’s largely kinda boring but has some nice songs and moments) but if you do you’ll see a lot of similar themes. And what does this random animated movie from the 80s have to do with Star Wars? It was animated by Nelvana, who actually worked on Star Wars cartoons around the same time because George Lucas admired the studio and their stories. So, there ya go: Six degrees of Care Bears.

Anyway, the movie looks great. Can’t wait to see what actually happens!

[askcarlyle]

[A contribution (in conjunction with @askbarnum) to FanFicFeb on @theothersidediscord for Prompts #2-4, "Vertigo", "Missing Memories" and "Tracks". Edited from the live version, which concluded on server last night.]

Barnum

Blows an impressed whistle as he pushes open the doors to the bank and strolls inside

They've redecorated. Perhaps we should redecorate your apartment like this? Could use some more gold embossing and decorative pillars. We still have ten minutes until our meeting, plenty of time to find the room on the 7th floor. You have all the paperwork in order, right? Nothing can go wrong with this proposal. Do you have any idea how long I have been trying to get a loan for this Circus Train?

Carlyle

pats briefcase

I double checked all the applications and schematics last night. Everything is ready to present.

stops Barnum as he heads towards the stairs

Where are you going? Elevator's this way.

Barnum

They have an elevator now? That's new too.

Fixes his cravat in the mirror before following Phillip

Have you ever been in one of these before?

Carlyle

A few times. Impressive new technology. They say it could lead to buildings taller than 20 stories! We live in a remarkable age.

rings the bell and waits patiently for the operator to open the doors before indicating that Barnum should enter first

After you. Remember, we are here to negotiate for a train, not an upgrade to your house.

Barnum

Pauses before cautiously stepping inside

But just think of it, a house with 20 floors!

Shifts to make room for Phillip as the door closes

Seventh floor please.

Carlyle

watches as the operator cranks the gates and doors closed, then starts to pull levers and twist knobs on a control board. "Yes sir, seventh floor." glances around the small space as it lurches and starts moving upwards, taking in the dark wood paneling, fitted with large mirrors in alternating sections

Barnum

Closes his eyes tightly and presses his back against the wall, feeling the vibrations of movement and letting out a long breath through his nose

Certainly faster than the stairs but I can't imagine it is much use during the busy periods of the day, we barely fit. Do you mind taking your foot off of mine?

Clears his throat

Perhaps we should have our own tracks built. Personal circus tracks, only for us. Can you imagine the image it would give us? Maybe we could sell rides, cram people in with the less dangerous animals.

Carlyle

whispers

An image of being redundant and egomaniacal spendthrifts, you mean? Currently functioning tracks are just fine. And I hope you are kidding, because those poor animals have enough to deal with when you're constantly in there trying to train them to sing for peanuts.

is about to continue when a screeching sound cuts through the air, followed by the elevator car jerking and shuddering to a halt

Funny, that's not how it usually arrives at a floor.

Barnum

Only the bears. No one wants to hear an elephant sing.

Jolts and instinctively grabs Phillip and the operator to protect them in the event of an impact. Holding on for perhaps a few seconds longer than necessary after realising they had just stopped.

...I don't claim to be an expert on these things, but shouldn't the doors be opening?

Carlyle

the operator scratches his head, scrutinizing his controls for several moments before coming to a conclusion. "Greatest apologies, sirs, but we seem to be having some unforeseen difficulties. Sometimes the car does stall a bit. If you wouldn't mind remaining here, I will go check out the situation and give you an update shortly."

Wha... but...

watches as the operator stands on his stool and pushes open a small ceiling panel, then pulls himself up onto the roof and out of sight

Well, this is unexpected.

Barnum

Watches the small operator boy climb out of the ceiling panel with ease, then shuts his eyes tight again

How long is shortly? We are going to be late.

Loosens the cravat around his neck and tugs it off

We can't be far off the seventh floor. I'm sure I can squeeze through that gap, I'll pull you up. We can just take the stairs.

Carlyle

looks up at the hole in the ceiling uncertainly

I don't like the sound of that idea, PT. There's no telling where this thing got stuck, and I think we are very high up.

Barnum

We've been in higher scrapes before. Remember the hot air balloon?

Climbs up on the stool and pokes his head out of the ceiling hole, squinting up at the dark tunneling abyss above them. Tries to push his shoulders through but can't quite squeeze through.

It's hard to see where we are, perhaps if I count the metal riming's? It's high, how many floors did you say there were?

Squints up, trying to calculate a rough distance, after several moments starting to find the shaft spinning nauseatingly. Shifting himself down from the stool and stumbling a bit, dizzily.

Vertigo. You try instead. You're more slight than me, perhaps you can get further out. I'll figure something else out. Maybe if I just-

Tries to force his fingers between the doors to pry them open, grunting as he forces them open by half an inch only to be greeted by concrete

...We could un-wedge it! Enough force will unstick it.

Starts jumping up and down aggressively, making the wooden elevator shift and creak precariously. Then after several failed attempts, stops and instead starts banging on the wall with his fists

It's not moving. Why aren't you helping?

Uses his abandoned cravat to rub the sweat from his forehead

I can't breathe. There's no room in here.

Carlyle

gives Barnum a concerned once over, maintaining as calm and measured a tone as possible

There is no less room here than there was before, and plenty of air is coming in. Especially from that open hatch in the ceiling, which I will not attempt to climb out of because our most helpful car operator has already gone to obtain assistance and will return shortly.

moves a little closer and pulls silk handkerchief out of pocket, hovering just shy of contact

May I?

Barnum

Are you sure? I'm sure that the walls weren't this tight a moment ago. I don't think I could even extend my arms out half way.

Watches the other man for a moment before offering a slight nod, putting his cravat in his jacket pocket to stop himself ruining it further. Clenching and unclenching his empty hands at his side

My apologies, I'm overreacting. It's very hot in here, do you have any water? How long has he been gone now? You don't think he's forgotten us?

Carlyle

lightly dabs at Barnum's forehead with handkerchief, then smooths his hair back gently

There, as fetching as ever.

indicates the mirror for him to see for himself, then knocks on the wall under it

Pretty sure this is made of wood, no worries about it doing anything unexpected. You just take up more space than the average occupant. Blame it on your grandiose notions or perhaps that extra pastry from breakfast.

tucks handkerchief into Barnum's hand and then reaches into another inside pocket, producing a small metal flask and placing it in his other hand

You know very well I don't carry water. Here, have a sip. It's been less than five minutes, I'm sure he will be back shortly.

Barnum

Better than water. Thank you.

Takes a large mouthful from the flask, leaning back against one of the mirrors a little bit and feeling satisfied with it's cool surface.

Hey! I burn off those pastries faster than I can eat them.

Rubs at his head once again with the handkerchief, giving the other a grateful look

They should make these things three times the size. This is unbearable, just between you and me, I've never been fond of tight spaces. Feels like the world is closing in and suffocating you.

Carlyle

nods slowly

I might have noticed. Small spaces never really bothered me... quite the opposite, actually. Is it because of something that happened in the past?

Barnum

I suspect it's a lingering discomfort from something that happened to me as a boy. Hard to pinpoint what exactly. I often find there are some gaps in my memories from certain experiences. I suppose just about everyone has lingering childhood fears hanging over them and missing memories of some sort.

Shuffles over to lean slightly against Phillip's shoulder.

What is it about small spaces that you like?

Carlyle

shifts weight to lean back a corresponding degree, tilting head in contemplation

Hmm. Not sure. It just seems more cozy. You can more easily influence your surroundings and know where everything is. You're not as... exposed?

nudges Barnum in the ribs

I know your childhood was a very long time ago, but you're not quite old enough to be claiming feeble-mindedness. How does one misplace memories?

Barnum

Perhaps I have more important things to fill my head with than ridiculous old memories.

Discretely wipes his sweaty hand on the hem of his jacket before pushing it into Phillip's hand, closing his eyes once more and tipping his head back against the cold mirror

I believe it's possible to erase parts of your memory you do not want to remember anymore. When I was a boy on the cusp of manhood, maybe eleven years of age, it was my job to climb inside the train engine compartments to clean them out. To avoid the filth catching fire and causing an explosion. One morning, I think someone shut me inside and I was trapped for days before anyone noticed. I don't remember much of the experience other than being rescued and a blurry few days afterwards.

Carlyle

blinks in surprise and gives Barnum's hand a small squeeze

That must have terrifying, I'm sorry. You have every reason for wanting to forget.

reaches over to take a sip from the flask before handing it back

I have even more respect for how admirably level you remained during other instances now. Like you said, the balloon incident, the ship... you got out of all of those situations just fine and this will be no different.

Barnum

Smiles slightly at the squeeze, then takes another sip from the flask before screwing the lid back on.

I suppose it's those kind of experiences as a child that build character and make you a man. Though at the same time I'd die before letting either of my children experience that.

Takes a deep breath before chuckling lightly under his breath, cracking an eye open to glance at Phillip

The hot air balloon incident didn't count. I was very distracted.

Carlyle

rubs absentmindedly at the underside of a particular ring with thumb, feeling cheeks go a bit warm

Yes. That's right. I was trying to distract you from our precarious circumstances. Did it work?

Barnum

I think you'll find that I was the one initiating the distractions. Though yes, it was very helpful.

Gives him a playful grin, opening his eyes properly to enjoy the sight of his embarrassed companion

They say the best way to overcome nerves is to have something to do with your hands.

Carlyle

glances down at where said hands are clasped, then back up to Barnum's face, now only inches away, with just the slightest glint of challenge

I suppose an encore would only be appropriate. If you don't think there's too little room to work with.

Barnum

Well I am always open to a challenge.

Gently pushes Phillip back against the mirror, cupping the back of his head and pressing a passionate kiss on his lips

Carlyle

smiles into the kiss, deepening it even as hands wander under Barnum's jacket and down his sides

Hmm. It is maybe a little warm in here.

Barnum

Mm

Slides his free hand down Phillip's waist and tucks it into the front of his pants, using the other to gently stroke the back of his head as they kiss The elevator suddenly jolts harshly, pauses for a moment, then resumes moving upwards.

Carlyle

stumbles backwards and shakes head as if to clear the fog, rapidly patting self down and readjusting clothing just as the elevator comes to a halt at their floor and the operator comes dropping through the hatch to release the doors

Ahem! Figured it out, then?

Barnum

Steps out of the small space in a hurry, taking a few deep breaths before tugging his cravat from his pocket and begining to re-adjust it around his neck. Then reaching over to smooth down Phillip's ruffled hair

Finally! Took you long enough. At least we are only...

Tugs his pocket watch from his pocket

Eight minutes late for our appointment. Let's go, let's go.

Carlyle

grabs briefcase and jogs after Barnum

Fashionably late is the term you're looking for!

Barnum

Is that your excuse for never turning up on time in the mornings?

Nudges him playfully in the ribs as he catches up

We can finish our discussion from in there later.

Carlyle

fade to black

[imjustthemechanic]

Natalie Jones and the Golden Ship

Part 1/? - A Meeting at the Palace Part 2/? - Curry Talk Part 3/? - Princess Sitamun Part 4/? - Not At Rest Part 5/? - Dead Men Tell no Tales Part 6/? - Sitamun Rises Again Part 7/? - The Curse of Madame Desrosiers Part 8/? - Sabotage at Guedelon Part 9/? - A Miracle Part 10/? - Desrosiers’ Elixir Part 11/? - Athens in October Part 12/? - The Man in Black Part 13/? - Mr. Neustadt Part 14/? - The Other Side of the Story Part 15/? - A Favour Part 16/? - A Knock on the Window Part 17/? - Sir Stephen and Buckeye Part 18/? - Books of Alchemy Part 19/? - The Answers Part 20/? - A Gift Left Behind Part 21/? - Santorini Part 22/? - What the Doves Found Part 23/? - A Thief in the Night Part 24/? - Healing Part 25/? - Newton’s Code Part 26/? - Montenegro Part 27/? - The Lost Relic Part 28/? - The Homunculinus Part 29/? - The End is Near Part 30/? - The Face of Evil Part 31/? - The Morning After Part 32/? - Next Stop Part 33/? - A Sighting in Messina Part 34/? - Taormina Part 35/? - Burning Part 36/? - Recovery Part 37/? - Pilgrimage to Vesuvius Part 38/? - The Scent of Hell Part 39/? - She’ll be Coming Down the Mountain Part 40/? - Stowaways Part 41/? - Bon Voyage Part 42/? - Turnabout Part 43/? - The Apple Part 44/? - Vesuvius Wakes Part 45/? - Fire At Sea

Today was a much better writing day.

They chose the panels that disguised the ship’s smokestacks.  Not only would a fire there be easily visible, but it was also away from most of the people.  As a bonus, the huge slats with the Zodiac Lines logo were entirely decorative, so burning them wouldn’t interfere with sailing the ship.  Clint slipped a fire arrow into an overhanging part from on the Lido deck, and then they wandered off to the other end of the ship before he pressed the button to set it off.

It took a few minutes, during which time they’d all pretended to be interested in somebody’s game of shuffleboard.  Then a fire alarm began to ring.

Ladies and gentlemen, if you could all please get your lifejackets and go to your designated emergency meeting points, Director Cunha’s voice said over the PA.  This is just a precaution.  We are not abandoning ship.  There is a small fire on the superstructure but it is no cause for alarm.

“Where are the assigned meeting places?” asked Jim.

“They’re posted on the insides of the cabin doors,” Nat said.  “They’re places like the clubs and the theatres that can hold large groups of people and have sound systems to give them instructions.  And they’re all down in the bottom of the ship, because that’s where lifeboat access is.”

“Which means we can set more of the top on fire,” said Clint cheerfully.

“Are you enjoying this?” asked Sir Stephen.

“It’s probably more fun than lobster races,” Jim observed.

“Damn right,” Clint agreed.  “The little bastards refused to run in a straight line!”

“I’m so glad the fate of the world is in safe hands,” said Nat.

It was hard to imagine that a cruise ship, a giant vessel with nearly three thousand people on board, could do anything quickly, but the crews did regular emergency drills and they had it down to a science.  The passengers had less practice and were more likely to panic, but they’d been through a quick emergency muster drill just before leaving port, so the information about what to do and where to go was still fresh in their minds.  All Nat and the others had to do was not get swept up in the crowds as they hurried to their meeting points.

They accomplished this by hiding among the tubes and smokestacks, while crew calmly shuffled the people who’d been on the deck below along to their meeting places.  Others handed out lifejackets.  Passengers complained and refused to leave their martinis behind.  A woman carrying a bichon frise shouted angrily in Italian at the steward who told her she would have to leave the dog in her stateroom, and had to be escorted below decks by a couple of security personnel.  More crew arrived with some industrial-strength fire extinguishers to put out the blaze.

“Now for the big one,” said Clint.  He fitted an arrow to the string and aimed it straight up in the air, and a little ahead and to the right, to compensate for the movement of the ship and the prevailing winds.  It was the sort of shot Natasha would have thought nobody, not even a trained sniper, could just make on the fly… but some part of Clint Francis was still Robin of Barton, the greatest marksman who’d ever lived.  He had an instinct for it that was nearly as magical as Sam’s ability to talk to birds.  The arrow went up, and then it came down, right into one of the smokestacks, where it exploded.

Now it was time to panic.  Not only had the smokestack blown up, but black smoke was pouring out of the hole – from a smoke arrow, of course.

“How many of those things do you have?” asked Sam.

“Oh, I had those two kids come down to the farm for a while and we tossed ideas around,” Clint replied cheerfully.  “Laura taught them to milk the cows, the sheep, and the goat, and then told them they were doing so well they might as well try the pigs.”

“Nobody milks pigs,” Jim protested.

“That’s the joke,” Clint said with a nod.  “Although it sure was fun to see them try!”

Several alarms were going now.  Clint set off a couple more fire arrows just to drive home the gravity of the situation, and then they crouched among the slats and pipes and watched as the crew began to launch the lifeboats.

This is just a precaution, she heard Director Cunha’s voice over the PA.  I’m sure once they have the fire out we’ll all be back on board in time for a nice nightcap!  There was a slightly manic edge to this announcement, and Nat wondered if the woman were remembering what had happened in the casino and wondering what the hell was going on.

There were twelve boats down each side of the ship.  Nat counted as they hit the water in the gathering dark.  The PA started to call specific names, looking for people who’d failed to show at the meeting points.  One of the names was Herr Isaak Neustadt, but it was only announced once.  They asked for Madame Helene Desrosiers several times before giving up.  In the gathering dark, the twenty-fourth passenger lifeboat hit the water with a splash.

“Okay,” said Nat. “The captain and a skeleton crew will still be on the bridge.  We need to get rid of them.”

“Should I put the fire out now?” asked Clint.

“No,” said Nat.  “Wait until we’re moving again.  We can’t put it out until they can’t get back on board. Now split up – as far as I can tell there are two entrances to the bridge, and we’ll have to surround the remaining crew.”

They climbed down, broke into two groups, and headed for the front of the vessel.  They didn’t run, because they didn’t want to arrive out of breath, but they walked with a purpose.

“Why don’t people milk pigs?” asked Allen, who’d gone with Sam, Clint, and Natasha – Sir Stephen, Sharon, Desrosiers, and Jim were on the other side.  “Aren’t pigs supposed to be the animal with the physiology most like humans?  You’d think pig milk would be the best for us.”

“Have you ever tried to milk a pig?” asked Clint.

“Well, no,” Allen admitted.

“They don’t appreciate it.”

“What about horses?” Allen wanted to know.

“People do milk horses,” Clint said.

“And the nomadic peoples in Siberia milk their reindeer,” Natasha added.

They climbed the outdoor steps from the Lido Deck to the Stargazer, and from there Nat vaulted the railing and dropped onto the catwalk to the bridge.  Over the alarms she couldn’t hear if the group on the other side had made it, but she believed in them.

“Masks,” she reminded everyone.  They’d ‘borrowed’ re-usable bags from the shops on board, cut holes in them, and now tied them over their heads as masks.  It wasn’t the surest way of concealing their identities, especially with Sharon and Natasha still in rather distinctive evening dresses, but they were improvising.

Clint kicked the bridge door down.

Inside, crew members were assessing damage, trying to find the source of the fire that they assumed must be in an engine room, while the first mate demanded to know why new fires kept starting instead of the original one going out.  The captain, a Frenchman, was rubbing his temples as if he had a migraine coming on.  Everybody was wearing lifejackets already, which was good – it would make what happened next much faster.

The nearest crew member noticed the door opening and turned, and was surprised to see Natasha. In her pink dress with a bag over her head, she must have been quite a sight.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked.  “Are you passengers?”

“We’re pirates,” said Natasha calmly, and punched him in the face.

The fight that followed was frenzied, but short.  Those who could took down the crew members in whatever way they could – mostly with fists and feet, but Sharon had a gun and was happy to use threats.  Desrosiers opened what appeared to be a makeup compact and blew some of the contents in the Captain’s face, whereupon he staggered back and fell over.

“You couldn’t have just filled the bridge with that stuff?” asked Sam, punching a sailor in the stomach.

“I only had one dose, which I was saving for Newton,” said Desrosiers.  “You’re just lucky he hadn’t done anything to make me use it yet.”

One by one, they felled the sailors and dragged them out to throw them over the side.  Their lifejackets would keep them afloat, and Nat could see the lights on the lifeboats moving to pick them up.  People must be wondering what was going on.

“Twelve!” she said, throwing a groaning woman over.  Nat had broken her wrist.

“Lucky thirteen!” Sharon pushed a man over after.

“And the Captain makes fourteen.”  Sir Stephen had carried him out, slung across his shoulders, and tossed him down to join the rest.  “I believe that’s the last of them.”

“There are probably some emergency workers and crew members still on board,” Nat said, “but we can take them as they appear.”  She brushed her hands off on her skirt and pulled her mask off, then looked around at the others.  “Where’s Jim?”

Other masks came off, and people looked around.  There’d been eight of them who’d set off for the bridge, but now there were only seven. Nat’s stomach sank… perhaps Jim had been injured in the fighting, and something had hit him in the neck?  If they looked around the bridge, would they find another empty tuxedo lying there?

“We can worry about him in a minute,” Sharon decided.  “Right now, before the people in the lifeboats decide to do anything about the fact that it’s raining sailors, we need to get underway.  Does anybody know how this boat works?”  She looked at Natasha, then at Sam, as the most likely people.  “I’m sure we can figure it out, but it would be easier if somebody knows.”

“I’m good at boats,” Clint offered.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Good at boats?” he asked.

“When I was a kid we took a boat across the Channel, and I got to visit the bridge,” said Clint. “I can do it.”

It was therefore Clint who took the wheel.  Somebody had left their peaked cap, complete with embroidered Zodiac Lines logo, on one of the instrument panels.  He picked it up, spun it in the air, and then put it on his head.  “All right, furl the sails!  Man the crow’s nest!”

“We don’t have any sails,” said Nat, already regretting this.

“And we are the crow’s nest,” Sam added.  The bridge was high up on the ship to give it the best view of the surrounding ocean.

“Humour me,” said Clint. “Engines should be this one if I remember correctly.”  He took the handle of the chadburn and pumped it forward.  “Full speed ahead!”

They felt the same shudder run through the vessel, which had been stopped, as had when they’d left port in Naples.  Nat looked out, and saw them begin to move relative to the lifeboats.

“Hard a’port!” Clint declared, spinning the wheel left.

“That’s starboard!” Nat, Sharon, and Sam all said at the same time.

“Hard a’whatever!” he said cheerfully.  “We’re turning around!”

[frejaultor]

So, uhhhh, I made an Overwatch OC.

I had an idea of what her intro video would look like, hence why this is in present tense which I really don’t like using. 

               The first blue light of dawn peeks through the blinds of a small apartment, illuminating a sparse set up. No couches or chairs of any kind to be found here. This might seem like a government agent’s squat while he’s on a mission, especially with the map covered in color-coded push pins—red, yellow, white spread out, with blue ones limited to a small area—but a few items show that to be a falsity. A gathering of pillows and blankets are pressed into a makeshift bowl against the wall, just big enough for a person to curl up, with indents of said person only just beginning to recede.

               A dresser under the map holds the most signs of life. An anime figurine given the tender care of a glass case. Books untouched by dust arranged with no obvious system in mind. A broken smoke detector with a since disabled listening device inside; ripped from the ceiling the looks of it. An enormous, event-themed, plush pachimari is returned to its dwelling of the nest, from the spot it rolled to in the middle of the night, with a kiss on the face and a pat on the head.

               Then, on the right-hand side of the dresser and pinned along the side of the board, are pictures. A girl and her father stand in formal attire with light smiles and arms linked. A photo booth reel of the same girl, now a woman, with a green-haired man, not much older than her, in a series of poses: kissy face, “gangster”, tongues out, silly, making a heart with opposing hands, and faces pressed together, smiling brightly. Another photo of the pair, this time with a man with the grudging expression of someone dragged into the shot but the genuine grin of a person glad he was. More photos of the trio ranging from formal, (with their parents present), to an arcade setting (with the woman triumphantly cuddling the plush, the men standing proudly behind her), cover the area.

               Fingers gingerly trail over the men’s faces in one of these, as they have many times before. The woman stands before the board, aviator goggles around her neck, appearing older—and more tired—in the eyes than her body. Gazing intently at the info tabs on the pins, she pulls a white one from its place and slips the tiny card in her pocket. Squaring her shoulders, she pops her neck, slides on a pair of reflective shades, and leaves her abode.

               She makes her way through crowded streets and even more populated squares, finally reaching the civilian airstrip. A pilot waves to her with a grin that widens upon payment. The jet soon rockets over the city, the surrounding landscape, and eventually, the sea. Staring out the window, she absentmindedly plays with her necklace; a delicately crafted piece of jade, depicting two dragons intertwined. Shadows cast by the sun shift and a clock on the control panel fades in and out of focus, displaying hours have passed.

“Just about there, Miss Eld,” the pilot informs her through the headset.

               “Has Chuck checked in yet?”

               “Yes, ma’am. He says the boats are ready whenever you are.”

               She nods mostly to herself. With a breath to collect herself, she removes her glasses and headset, unfastens her harness and stands by the hatch door towards the back. Once she has her goggles in place, she yells to the pilot, “READY.”

               A few flicks of switches and presses of buttons and the door opens. “Good luck!” the pilot shouts over the howl of the wind, but the recipient is no longer there to hear.

               Wings of flame spread to catch the gusts, and with a shriek not entirely of this world, she blasts above the water at a speed the tiny jet could only dream of achieving. It doesn’t take long for her prey to come into view. Large boats with no colors and speckled with guards cradling guns.

               Pirates.

               Blazing sun beginning its descent directly behind her, she remains undetected. Sharp eyes begin a headcount of those on deck from a couple miles away. Lowering her flight with the gaseous orb, she dives beneath the waves, using her momentum and residual heat to propel herself towards the closest ship. The darkening waters keep her form near invisible to the eyes above while she gulps in air.

               The tiring day watch fails to notice a borrowed translocator soaring over the railing. How humiliating it must be to have one’s own gun whacked into the windpipe and the head. After emptying the gun’s magazine over the side, Eld removes a comm from her pocket.

               “Get the wagons ready, Chuck.”

               A voice crackles through, “On the way.”

               Everything is going smoothly. More guards lie unconscious than stand at the ready. Three out of five ships’ decks have been cleared and the other two are small fry in comparison. Blood pumping, adrenaline running, the predator laughs softly, thoroughly enjoying the rush of the hunt. She lands deftly on the next target, the surrounding air simmering in her presence. Limbs tremble slightly in exhilaration that the mission is almost complete.

               Wait.

               Too easy.

               Now everything is taut. Eld calms her breathing so she can hear over the sound of her heart pounding. No alarms have been raised but something is wrong. A trap? She chides herself under her breath for not checking the shipping containers on the first vessel.

               CRACK.

               Just in time she lets the flames consume her and incinerate the bullet that would have hit her side. A cry in an unfamiliar language springs up but its meaning isn’t necessary. The time for stealth is done. Now the horns blare on all the ships as armed people swarm to her, not bothering to aim as they pull their triggers. Flipping two metal batons into her palms, she lets out a battle cry of her own.

               Squishy flesh bags of mostly water are hardly a match for fire, especially when quite a bit of it is friendly. Her batons bounce off the ship’s body to slam into faces, knees, and ribs, return to her hand by the call of a strong magnet only to be sent out to wreak more havoc. The pirates’ pleased smirks vanish completely when all the wounds they’ve managed to inflict disappear as the woman’s flames flare brighter and farther.

               Another cry goes up as more boats appear, cutting off any escape route. It’s Eld’s turn to smile as she leaps high in the air. Flinging her arms wide, the blaze around her shifts into the symbol human and omnic traffickers have learned to fear. An enormous bird’s body flares with the woman at the center. An earsplitting screech is the last thing the pirates hear before the phoenix’s wings flash-fry them. The creature swoops over each vessel and lets its flames seek out each and every pirate, no matter where they might hide.

               Landing with a great huff, Eld shivers as the fire beast recedes back inside her. Hurrying to the nearest shipping container, she melts the locks quickly and scrapes the door open. Inside, at least fifty young or metal faces look at her from the other end where they are huddled together in one trembling mass. Gratitude, relief, and shame all move across Eld’s face at the revelation this wasn’t a trap.

               Slowly, she enters with hands raised in placation. “I’m not here to hurt you,” she tells them in English and a few other languages she’s learned these key phrases in. “I’m here to help. I can get you out but I ask you to be patient while I get the others. Do you understand?”

               Several of them nod with clear relief in their expressions, while some speak in languages she doesn’t know to others until their faces also brighten. Eld backs out as slowly as she entered and the huddled mass begins to carefully shuffle out onto the deck. The smaller boats have positioned themselves alongside each of the larger ones, ready to receive those in need of rescue. She directs those who understand her to help lead the others across the walkways being placed. Getting all the victims loaded takes more time than Eld’s infiltration.

               Finally, the smoking husks of the pirates’ vessels fade into the distance. Blankets and food are passed out while personal info—name, home town, names and contact of family members that can be contacted—is taken to help everyone get back where they belong with as little stress as possible. Medical attention is given to those who need it and counselors do their best to speak with each person. Eld watches over all of them from her perch on the top deck with a happy, tired look. A man climbs up to join her.

               “Avis, you gotta stop doing this. We don’t make nearly enough money to cover the expenses of relocating these people, especially those who don’t have homes to go back to.”

               She sighs through her nose before reminding him, “It’s not your money being spent. The funds come from the traffickers’ profits. We are basically buying these people their freedom with their own blood money. No, it doesn’t make them feel better, but other people looking to exploit the weak will think twice about whether the risk is really worth it.”

               Chuck crosses his arms and shakes his head. “It’s all about supply and demand with these people. Sick bastards have a demand, and there are equally sick people willing to fill it with them,” he gestures to those below. “Not all of them have money, so how are we going to afford housing, shelter, food for all of them? We don’t get paid enough to take care of them ourselves.”

               Avis’s face loses all softness and a glint that had not entered her eyes even while fighting fills them now. “Take care, Charles,” she says softly, “you’re beginning to sound greedy.” He scoffs and tries to reply but her expression and biting tone cut him off. “If you have a problem with the financial structure of this organization, do feel free to find another place of employment. I have no patience for those who look at people and see dollar signs.”

               “You need me,” he states with the arrogance that says he doesn’t believe otherwise.

               She turns to face him fully, sharp eyes boring into him. “There are a number of people who would be more than happy to have your position so they could feel they were doing something in the world. Perhaps even be willing to do it for free.” His jaw clenches as that peg hits home and she turns back. “You might not have enough to buy a third yacht, but I will make sure you have more than enough to get by, as I always have.”

               He nods and leaves her to her post, watching the ships and sweeping the horizon for pirates and government transports. It’s been a long day, but she needs to keep all of them safe until they reach safe harbors.

                 Home once again; Avis Eld replaces the white pin she had taken out with a red one. There are still far too many pins on the board for her liking, and even more traders she doesn’t know about. Maybe it’s like Chuck said, and there will always be demand, or maybe tonight has sent ripples of fear so one less person is ripped from their home. Either way, the Firebird would be there to help them however they need her to.

               Placing her goggles down on the dresser, she gazes fondly on the friendly faces of her past. “One more day,” she whispers to them, herself, and the spirit inside.

               She collapses in her nest, wrapping herself in a ball around the tightly cuddled plush, and pulls a blanket around her shoulders. Almost immediately, she is asleep. There is life in this quiet place despite the Spartan decoration. Life and love that flow out from the pictures, even ones as seemingly cold as the newspaper clipping that reads, “Shimada to Sign Contracts with von Brandt.” Several family members fill the photo with names listed underneath. The woman is tagged as Celandine von Brandt.

[mogadichu]

SOAST- Chapter 2: The Scholar’s Jewel

An archiver’s visit to the western monastery usually lasted under twelve minutes. For Sahn, it was over an hour. The Kelshin monks walked silently around him as he wandered up and down the rickety stairwell of the monastery library, practically gliding in their thick wool robes. Sahn breathed in the tower’s musky scent, wanting more than anything to vanish into the hundreds of scrolls that surrounded him. Every wall was covered, floor to ceiling, in octagonal shelves filled to the brim with sacred texts, all coated with a thin layer of dust. He ran his fingers along the carved wooden covers, leaving a stark trail behind him. These stolen moments were Sahn’s only opportunity to lose himself in perfect silence. Today, however, silence could not drown Aurie’s words out of his mind.

I want to see a joghon. Just once.

The phrase had repeated in his thoughts like a song ever since he left her in the fields. It was not the first time she had shown her interest in the monsters that lived beyond the horizon, the monsters whose very presence, according the sacred words written on the stone walls of the High Temple of Shianyi, perverted the very nature of the Kelshin soil.

The Only Order Is the Natural Order

They were sacred words, to swear by, to never be questioned. Yet, Aurie had practically walked out of their mother’s womb asking question after question about the monsters. “What do they look like? How do they live? Do they pull magic from the air? From the earth? Do they truly sacrifice animals? Do they truly dance naked in their blood?”

Their mother’s earlier response was tame compared to the usual slap on the ears and wild-eyed command to not ask such “heathen acquisitions.” Sahn never blamed her for it. They did not need magic curiosity to add to their oddness.

Sahn circled around the tiny scriptorium, peering over the monks’ hunched shoulders. With steel fingers, they painted a map of Kelsh along the thick beige paper.

Kelsh and only Kelsh.

A hiss from the dark-eyed men signaled that Sahn had once again overstayed his welcome. He strapped the newly-copied scrolls into the wooden pack on his back and, with a bow of gratitude, set off in his little raft. His long, thin oar pierced into the rocky bottom, pushing him along Rin River. The land on either side of him was sprawling rice terraces and grain fields, copses of birch and curved tiled roofs. No mountain, not even a hill large enough to block the view to the blurred line of the horizon.

Devoid of mountains and magic, eh, boy? Novoyai chuckled, sitting cross-legged on the braided reeds, sliding a flat rock along his ethereal cutlass. What am I going to do with my qigara blade, then?

What the exact purpose of a qigara blade was, Sahn did not know. But, he still chuckled at his imaginary friend’s quip. “Let’s hope you never have to use it.”

Oh, come now. No need to be such a pacifist. The hero’s thick black whiskers curved in a cold smile, his braided beard wrapped around his neck like a scarf. What about your grandfather?

Sahn stiffened. “What about him?”

He could use a close shave, I’m sure.

“Novoyai…”

I bet I could slice him clean in half, and I’d never hurt him half as much as-

“No,” Sahn shrieked, startling a flock of sparrows off a nearby willow. “No magic blades on my grandfather. There’s no…” His face heated again at his own silliness. Of course, Novoyai would never be able to even touch his grandfather. Still… “There’s no need for violence, Novoyai.”

Tell that to-

“No,” he said again. “No violence, and-” his teeth gritted behind his lips. His fingers drifted to the long, thin scar at his collarbone as he whispered, loud enough only for Novoyai to hear, “and no magic.”

Novoyai snorted before returning to his sharpening. Where’s the fun in a world with no magic?

 The citadel stood at the tip-top of Gleaner’s Hill, first to touch the light in the morning and last to touch it at night. The building was of rich burgundy wood carved in patterns of leaping carp and blooming water lilies swept up in lapping waves. A gleaming gold sun stood at each curved tip of the green tiled roof. The inside was paneled with dark wood, the walls varnished with oil murals of sailing ships and groves of cherry trees. The floors were inlaid with shining squares of gold and turquoise stone. Sahn’s footsteps echoed as he weaved through the maze of the same octagonal shelves, stacked atop each other like honeycomb, filled with newer, sleeker copies of Kelshin history and lore, folktales and sacred texts, from the adventures of Tuma and Moyane to simple accounts of village residents. Most of Kelsh’s books were archives of the nation’s history, retreading its many great achievements in its five thousand years of existence. Their fiction, what little there were, held no magic in them, not even their children’s stories. They held monsters and otherworldly beasts, they even held gods. But never magic.

Each citadel was meant to be a beacon of knowledge, a scholar’s jewel, a place for every Kelshin, no matter their station. Everyone of Gleaner’s Hill being illiterate was either an unfortunate accident or a cruel twist of fate.

Their citadel may have been a marvel to behold, but the scrolls remained unread, the gleaming stone never grew faded from the feet of a curious reader. All but few of the people of Katha ate and slept and plowed from the cradle to the grave without ever learning their letters. “I’ve got no time for letters,” Old Maga, a rice farmer with thin arms and a pot belly, grunted when Sahn had asked about it. “I wake up in the morning, I plow, I muck, I seed, and I go home and sleep. Besides, knowing your letters doesn’t make you smart.”

“But, my ma and da know their letters,” Sahn had protested, “and they’re smart.”

Old Maga had scoffed. “If your ma were smart, she wouldn’t have married a foreigner.”

Kale never spoke of Vyorn, never spoke of his family (if he ever had one) or what his life was at all before Kelsh. “There is nothing to tell,” he would say. All his children ever knew about his heritage was from his sheer size, all shoulders and legs and scraggly brown beard.

Of the three of them, Sahn bore the least resemblance to his gentle giant of a father. Jerra inherited his massive stature and copper skin, arms taught with hard muscle, flecked with scars from years of plow work, and a beard that grew like mad if he did not shave regularly. Even Aurie, with their mother’s kind amber eyes and clear sandstone skin, obtained Kale’s curved mouth that made her seemed to always smile, even when she was not.

Sahn, inherited everything from his mother, only in short supply. His figure was tall and wiry, his hair thin and black as mulch- kept a short, straight mop so as not to fall into his eyes as he read- and his skin the sallow yellow of aged parchment. Not to mention his rather humiliating inability to grow facial hair. His features were soft, unthreatening, “effeminate,” some said. The only thing he gained from his father were his large angled eyes, a bright, striking peridot green.

He unloaded the strapped scrolls onto a nearby table, the noise echoing off the polished walls despite his delicate touch. He noticed silhouettes showing through the paper windows of the mezzanine. Okan-Isan was pacing back and forth, flailing his arms. Another figure, hunched shoulders and bent knees, was standing still. Voices rang as Sahn silently slid the new scrolls into their shelves, his movements slow and deliberate. “… don’t care who they are and why they are here. We are under treaty.” Okan-Isan’s voice, high pitched and raspy as a crow. “How dare they come into these lands. Who do they think they are?”

Sahn blinked. He glanced at Novoyai, but he did not seem quite so interested. He pulled a scroll from the shelves and tapped it rhythmically against his forehead. Sahn gasped, nearly dropping his satchel. “What are you doing?” he cried.

I’m bored.

Sahn gently set his satchel down on the table long enough to snatch the scroll out of his imaginary friend’s hand. “Have some respect, Novoyai,” he said as he caressed its carved wooden cover, green rice terraces filled with water. It was a document of Great Batti, the lonesome shepherd who brought the groundbreaking art of irrigation to the Kelshin fields. Sahn knew every scroll in the archive forward, backward, and sideways. “This is nearly four hundred years old.”

Old. Everything is old, in here. Novoyai hopped onto the table and returned to his whetstone, his gaze lingering on Sahn. Would you hold a girl like that, boy?

Sahn put the scroll back, his face heating.

“How do you think I feel, Okan?” the stranger’s voice cried from above. “I’m the one who had to let them port.” Sahn stopped altogether. It was Matsu-Isan, of Agaoka. The last time he was in Okan-Isan’s quarters, Sahn and half the nation had been bed-ridden with pox. “I had to watch them set their filthy feet on our beautiful cobbles,” he continued. “I had to look into… look into their…” He did not finish. Moths fluttered in Sahn’s chest. “Let us hope it’s only temporary.”

“Temporary,” Okan-Isan snorted. “And how long is ‘temporary,’ Matsu? Weeks? Months?” His voice grew higher with every question. “Years?”

Matsu was silent. Sahn turned to Novoyai, who had finally ceased his sharpening. “What in the world are they talking about?”

Novoyai said nothing. He was interested now, his narrowed eyes focused on the windows. The shadows danced behind the mural of golden Tuma and silver Moyane stretching their hands to each other.

“It doesn’t matter, Okan, and it doesn’t matter what we think,” Matsu-Isan finally spoke. His silhouette shook with his voice. He was as afraid of Okan-Isan as Sahn was. “They won’t listen to the Shianyi Council, and they certainly won’t listen to us. If you want to go down there and tell them to leave, be my guest.” His figure backed away, toward the door. “See how long you last.”

He raced through the threshold, slamming the sliding doors shut, denying Okan-Isan the last word. He shuffled down the ornamental staircase, shivering like an excitable dog, his large brown eyes darting back to the mezzanine over and over. Sahn called to him from his place in the corner.

“Matsu-Isan.”

The old man jolted at the sound of his voice, his eyes widening to extraordinary size as they fell on Sahn. No doubt Okan-Isan had informed him of the Mad Darru on his arrival. “What were you two talking about?” Sahn asked, attempting to sound bold, and failing. “Who is staying?”

Matsu-Isan wrung his hands, plagued with gnarled skin from fish hooks and sea water. He was much older and thinner than Sahn remembered, bony and malnourished. His hair grew in clumps of silver fuzz. His back made a perfect curve beneath his stained, threadbare robes. He glanced once more at the murals (Okan-Isan’s silhouette was no longer there) before speaking. “Joghons,” he whispered, too softly to echo. “Joghons are here.”

Sahn’s breath caught. “What did you say?” Surely, he had not heard him right.

“Joghons are here,” Matsu-Isan whimpered. “The disgusting, defiled perversions are on Kelshin soil.”

It was as though the room no longer had a floor. Joghons, monsters, majysts, here. “Why?”

Matsu-Isan shrugged.

The scroll in Sahn’s hands twisted and creaked. There had not been a majyst in Kelsh since- a pang rippled through Sahn’s heart. So many questions suddenly crowded his tongue all at once, climbing and clambering over each other, fighting for the chance to be asked first. How long had they been here? How many were here? Were more coming? Sahn had thought the terms of the treaty were unbreakable. But perhaps they had found some sort of loophole? If that were the case-

           “All Kelshins are forbidden to approach the port towns of Orutan and Agaoka. No exceptions.”

           Sahn’s thoughts shattered like glass. “Why?” he repeated.

           Matsu-Isan loosened a sigh laced with irritation. This was a question he had been asked a lot already, a thought that surprised Sahn. “It is Moyane’s will to remain among the green, to keep to the natural order.” Sahn swallowed back a sigh. Moyane’s will. Always with Moyane’s will. “Besides, if we come to them, interact with them, it might tempt them to enter further. It is best to… leave them where they are.” Sahn knew what he had wanted to say. It is best to keep the disease from spreading. He also knew that Matsu-Isan was not a human man saying his own thoughts in that moment. He was a silver-winged kess repeating Okan-Isan’s words in a monotoned squawk. “Agaoka and Orutan are being evacuated as we speak.”

           “Why?”

           “To keep our people from the joghons,” Matsu-Isan snapped. “Moons, have you heard anything I said? Or is that the only word you know?” His mouth clamped shut as he looked away. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I haven’t really been myself lately.” His hands pressed into his stomach as though furthering his point.

           Beside him, Novoyai fidgeted in his spot. His trembling fist clutched the jeweled hilt of his cutlass. Oh, there’s no need for that. We already know a majyst. Sahn’s gaze darted between the two men standing before him, one real, one imaginary. Go on, boy. Tell him.

           Now is not the time, Sahn wanted to say. Matsu-Isan still held his stomach, gritting his teeth.

           Tell him, Novoyai pushed. What’s the matter? Are you ashamed?

           Sahn gulped.

           Ah, Novoyai said disappointedly. You are ashamed.

           Stop it, he thought.

           Don’t know why I’m surprised. After all, is it not Moyane’s will to hate anything different-?

           “Stop it,” Sahn blurted out to him, immediately thinking he might burst in flames from the heat that exploded through his face. Matsu-Isan looked in Novoyai’s direction and, when he saw no one was there, Sahn watched in horror as he turned from beige, to pale, to bone-white.

           “Stop what?” he asked slowly.

           Sahn mouth opened and closed. “Are you hungry?” he asked far too loudly. He rifled through his satchel and pulled out Aurie’s uneaten breakfast box. “Here. It’s a bit cold now, but…” His gaze remained on the checkered tiles.

           Matsu-Isan chewed on his lip, his fingers wiggling, aching to take the box, but he hesitated a moment before tentatively closing the space between them and plucking it from Sahn’s hand. He gulped at the sight of the food. When was the last time he had properly eaten? Sahn wanted to ask, but he felt he had asked this poor man enough questions, though more still burned his tongue.

           “Thank you,” Matsu-Isan croaked, gawking at the boy, wondering why he would give him such a gift. Sahn did not know himself. He only nodded, flushing a bit.

           Matsu-Isan left the citadel licking his fingers, his belly full for the first time in days. He had been in such a hurry getting his people out of Agaoka, making sure they were housed and fed, that he had entirely forgotten about himself. He glanced back through the lattice window, watching the boy reading the archive scrolls, still as a tree in dead wind, his free hand always on that little satchel. “Stop it,” he had said to the air. Matsu-Isan’s eyes narrowed into slits. What are you hiding, boy?

[117--087]

Two Hundred And Four Reasons

Spartan-117 & Spartan-087

[Preface] // [Part 1] // [Part 2] // [Part 3] // [Part 4] // [Part 5] // [Part 6] // [Part 7]

With this past month marking the 4-year anniversary of this blog, I was somewhat at a loss as to what to do to commemorate the occasion...until I remembered there was one more thing I could post as an addendum to my essay series chronicling the development of John-117 and Kelly-087′s relationship throughout Halo canon. There were a few additional pieces of media featuring SPARTAN-II Blue Team that were released in the wake of 2015′s ‘Halo 5: Guardians’ that I think are worth taking a quick look at in regards to how they carry on the tradition of highlighting the bond between a certain Blue-One and Blue-Two.

Through All These Years

The first of the two is an animated miniseries (though more akin to a motion-comic) that loosely adapts the content of both the novel ‘The Fall of Reach’ and its comic book counterpart (which I’ve previously discussed). Like the comic before it though, this miniseries includes a few minor details that differ from the original source text in interesting ways.

The second is a short story from the comic anthology ‘Tales From Slipspace’, called “On The Brink”, and features some panels and dialogue that I feel are very relevant to the content I’ve analyzed so far in regards to Kelly-087′s character and her dynamic with John-117.

We’ll start with the ‘Fall of Reach’ miniseries. Most notably, the animation is bookended by a rather touching scene involving Blue Team returning to the glassed surface of the planet Reach (some time in between late-2557 and mid-2558) in order to hold a private memorial for Samuel-034. But I’ll get back to this after looking at the body of the animation’s content.

To preface: it is worth noting that the animation includes Fred-104 and Linda-058 in events at which they are not canonically present - mainly the “ring the bell” exercise as part of John-117′s team, and as participants in the assault on the Unrelenting in 2525. This was done in order to better familiarize a general audience with them as characters and the roles on Blue Team they would eventually come to fill in the years after the Spartan-IIs’ training in actual Halo canon.

Unlike the comic book version of ‘The Fall of Reach’s events, this miniseries does make sure to include the crucial lesson that John-117 learns from Chief Mendez after putting himself first during the trainees’ initial obstacle course exercise.

“You don’t win unless your team wins.”

Much like in the novelization though, Kelly in particular takes a stand against John’s selfish behavior before he proves he is willing to make amends for his mistake and commit to being a team player.

After the young members of Blue Team reconcile, we are then shown the Spartan-IIs’ wilderness training exercise that takes place two years later. And, in a new addition to this part of the story, we see Sam make a pit-stop to carve the symbol of an eagle and a lightning bolt (which would later become Blue Team’s insignia) into a tree in commemoration of the group’s friendship as John and Kelly look on and consider their next move. As described in ‘The Fall of Reach’, Kelly is noticeably taller than John as a child, which is a small detail I appreciate being included in the animation.

From here things follow the comic adaption pretty closely through the augmentation procedures and the Spartans’ first official mission to Eridanus Secundus to capture insurrectionist Colonel Robert Watts. A few nice asides are made throughout the entire animation where the members of Blue Team casually converse like normal teenagers (making jokes, encouraging one another, offering advice, invitations to do activities, etc.) when not directly engaged in mission-relevant dialogue. So it is good to see this kind of additional humanization of the S-IIs based off of what has long been established about them in Eric Nylund’s books.

Finally the last section of the miniseries is narrated by Kelly-087 herself in flashback (with Michelle Lukes reprising her role from ‘Halo 5: Guardians’), which covers the Spartan-IIs receiving their first sets of MJOLNIR Armor and Sam’s death at the hands of the revealed alien Covenant.

Without quoting every line she says, I will simply say this portion of the animation is well worth watching just for Kelly’s commentary. After Blue Team is outfitted with their suits of Mk. IV armor on Chi Ceti, we come to the Spartans’ infiltration of the Covenant ship Unrelenting. In a small departure from the novel and the comic book, Kelly is actually pulled aboard the vessel by John just as she is about to fly off into space - and though I doubt it was intentional, I find it is an interesting reverse-parallel to what we see in the ‘Halo Legends’ animated short “The Package” all the same.

From here events proceed in general accordance with canon, with Sam’s armor eventually breached by a plasma bolt after being shot while pushing John out of the line of fire. Once Blue Team makes it to the ship’s reactor, they hold off a few waves of Covenant while reading the bomb they brought with them to destroy it. John and Kelly work in tandem as Blue-One and Blue-Two; and in an amusing exchange of roles at one point, we see Kelly take charge of the situation and sprint across the bridge to shut the doors leading to the reactor room while ordering John to complete the work on the nuke.

“I’ll seal the door. John, finish arming that warhead!”

“I remember thinking that no matter how dark the future, we could face it as a team.”

However, as we all know, things reach a breaking point when Sam admits that he has to stay behind on the ship due to the irreparable damage to his armor. This part of Nylund’s book always struck me right in the heart, and the scene here is no exception. This moment is then bolstered by Kelly’s reflection on how this first loss in battle deeply affected not only her and John, but all of Blue Team.

“I know Spartans don't cry...but for once, I was glad for the helmet.”

“We thought training, augmentation, armor made us untouchable, invulnerable, immortal. Blue Team. But we were wrong - we were children. This was the only thing John was ever afraid of: losing one of us. And we knew we weren’t finishing this fight, we were just getting started.”

The animation then ends with the Spartan-IIs visiting the same place Sam originally “carved their mark into the world”. They take a moment to remember their fallen friend and reflect on the meaning of his heroic sacrifice, as the Chief sincerely asks his remaining comrades if they will continue to have faith in him to lead them through whatever lies ahead.

“Last time we were here, I asked Sam to trust me to take us home, to follow me. Will you trust me now? Will you follow me?”

...which plays perfectly into the next section of this write-up.

"On the Brink” is a short comic featuring Blue Team that was relased as part of the ‘Tales From Slipspace’ anthology book in the fall of last year. It takes place in 2558 and is a fairly self-contained story about one of the Spartans’ many exploits after their reunion in 2557. Specifically, they are looking to stop a Mammoth that has been hijacked by some splinter-Covenant from running into a UNSC nuclear reactor. Once again the events are overlayed with a narration by Kelly-087.

The 12-page comic can be viewed in its entirety here. And while it is brief and rather straightforward in terms of the story’s content, there are a few panels that I would like to take a closer look at. Most prominently, this section where Kelly muses on the steadfastness of the Chief’s leadership.

I love How Kelly notes that even though she’s dog-tired and in the middle of a violent firefight, hearing the voice of her best friend is all it takes to renew her focus, confidence, and determination to complete the mission - in a way nothing else can. For his part, John continues to rely Kelly to back him up and talks to her throughout the operation even as her discovery of some civilian scientists aboard the Mammoth forces him to make a risky evasive maneuver in order to save them. And honestly I don’t know what could speak more for the strength of the bond that these two characters have and the kind of trust they have in each other.

After the massive vehicle finally comes to a complete stop, the reactor remains intact and some extensive property damage to the surrounding area is the only fallout of the Covenant attack on the UNSC base. This does not appease the site’s foreman however, and he confronts Blue Team. John keeps his cool while Fred reacts angrily in turn to the man’s disrespect and thankless attitude. Kelly looks on, and can’t help but wonder when John will finally grow weary of the tumultuous and unsure environment the Spartan-IIs have found themselves mired in in the wake of the Human-Covenant War.

The end of this story presents us with quite the conundrum from Kelly’s point of view. Because while she will always support John and believe wholeheartedly in his ability to triumph over adversity, her final thoughts reveal that she does indeed recognize that for all the ways he’s remained stalwart he still has limits too. Just like the rest of them. Which once again works to emphasize how human these characters still are.

These pieces of media continue to paint the same picture of these characters that we have gotten for the last 15+ years: two people who have grown together over a lifetime of experiencing all manner of hardships and yet they maintain a healthy mutual relationship based in respect and honest care. How this may come into play later in the series after the events of ‘Halo 5: Guardians’ remains to be seen, but for now it is good to at least have a few more moments to add to John-117 and Kelly-087′s catalog of positive representation.

[silver-ninja-of-the-tides]

Silver and Gold

Chapter 15--All That Glitters

(AO3 ver.)

(Prologue Tumblr ver.; AO3 ver.)

Cole's POV

The screams of the team echoed in my head, and my eyes flew open before I shot up with a gasp, coughing up water afterwards.

“Easy,” Garmadon urged gently.

“What . . .” I skimmed over my surroundings. There was nothing but ocean and sky, and the dragon was floating in the water. “What happened?”

“Zane said the Leviathan found us before he disappeared,” Nya explained.

“Where’s everyone else?”

“We haven’t seen any signs of the others,” Misako answered.

“And Janet and Des?”

“Long gone, I presume,” Garmadon replied.

“The others must have been relocated,” Zane answered.

I slipped my hood off. “Then we better start looking for them.”

Sensei's POV

​The darkness was the only thing I saw for a very long time, and the muffled sounds of the past events replayed in my mind. My eyes twitched open, and the high noon sun almost blinded me. Closing my eyes again, I slowly sat up as I opened my eyes once more to let them adjust to the sun. I heard crashing waves in front of me, so I could only assume we had washed up on the Dark Island.

Getting up with the help of my staff, I spotted Lloyd not far from me in his usual ninja attire. I briskly walked to him and felt his pulse. “Lloyd, wake up.”

He groaned and squeezed his already shut eyes tighter before sitting up. “Where are we?”

I looked to the forest behind me. “Not on the Dark Island.”

He got up and rubbed the back of his head. “Where’s the rest of the team?”

“They may either be on another side of this island, or on a different island entirely.” “Let's hope they're on the other side. But hey! At least we can spend some quality uncle-nephew time, right?”

I patted his back with a smile. “Yes, that much is true.” With an arm behind me, I began to walk toward the dense-looking forest. “Come. We must find the others quickly.”

Jay's POV Waves brushing up against the shore was the first thing I heard. Oh good! Land! Now we can figure out what Blake intends to do here. (You know without getting ourselves killed.)

I quickly had to shield my eyes from the sun, and when I sat up, I found myself on a nice beach. Yeah, I’m pretty sure the Dark Island has worse beaches than this one.

As I looked around, I couldn’t find anyone else nearby. Oh this is just great.

“Hello?! Anybody?!”

Nothing.

“Ugh, great. Now I’m stuck here by myself and—”

“Jay?” Wait. I’d know that voice from anywhere! “Kai?! Over here!” I jogged down the beach and managed to pick out Kai's suit from where I was. “You find the others?!”

“No. Looks like we’re the only ones here!” The two of us caught up to each other. “Think they might be on another island?”

“Oh who knows? The point is we’re stuck here with no way off this island.”

“Hey, I’m not too happy about being stranded here, either, but we might as well start figuring out where the others are.” He turned his back to me and headed for the forest. “Maybe they might be here, too.”

After looking around for a bit, I followed him on our trek into the forest. The air had this kind of foreboding feel to it. Something’s off around here, and I’m pretty sure I’m not going to like it.

“Call me crazy, but aren’t trees supposed to be . . . I dunno, not shiny?”

“We’ve only been on this piece of rock for a few minutes and you’re already going crazy.”

“Okay. Then explain how that trunk over there looks like bronze.”

Kai stomped to a stop and whirled around. “Jay, trees are not made of—”

His eyes flickered to the tree, and with a raised eyebrow he walked to it. He squinted hard at it, clearly not believing what he was seeing. To make absolutely sure, he knocked on the tree.

“You’re right . . .”

Our eyes travelled up the tree, and we practically marveled at the jade and emerald leaves. The sunlight caught in the emerald leaves casted millions of green dots all over the ground. I could even see amber flowers up there!

A red flash caught my eye, and I was immediately drawn to a garnet rose. "Woah-ho-ho, check this out, Kai! I can’t believe this!” His attention was still glued to the canopy of leaves above us. “The whole island must be like this . . .”

More glittering drew my attention to the path ahead of us. In every direction you looked there were plants of all kinds in every precious gem, stone, and metal you could think of: a bush of aquamarine and pearl roses, a tree littered with gold orchids, everything! Even the sand had gold particles in it! Gold—particles! “Aw this place is unbelievable! Think of all the stuff I could invent with these things!”

Across from me I spotted a ruby rose paired with a sapphire one. I practically darted toward them and plucked them out of the ground, and I marveled at the way they captured the light when I turned them. I bet Nya would love these!

I heard Kai finally start moving in a dazed way, and I turned around to see him locked onto a group of topaz tiger lilies. He squatted down to examine them a little more, and his hand slowly reached out to pick one . . . His fingers curled, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he turned his head. Abruptly he stood up and walked off. “All right let’s get back on track. The sooner we find the others the sooner we can get off this island.”

Sensei's POV

​We have washed up on a forbidden island whose name I have long forgotten. Nothing was as it seemed here, and I only hope that the others are careful should they be here.

“Hey these are pretty cool,” Lloyd commented. He placed his hands on his knees to analyze silver and gold pansies and tulips. “Really . . . cool . . .” As if caught in a trance, he reached out to them. “Don't, Lloyd!"

My nephew jerked his hand away and stood up immediately.

“This is a forbidden island. We cannot disturb anything here. If we do there will be dire consequences.”

“What kind of dire consequences, exactly?”

“If you want to find out, then pick one.”

Lloyd hardly needed a second to answer. “I uh, I don’t think I wanna take any chances.”

“Then let us keep searching.”

Nya’s POV

“They have to be around here somewhere,” I said. The sun had begun to set, and we haven’t found any sign of the others or heard from the falcon. “Who knows where they went?”

“Look!” Misako exclaimed. The rest of us spotted the falcon flying back to us.

“Eh hello? Can anyone hear me?”

“We hear you, Father,” Zane replied, and the mechanical bird landed on the earth head. “Have you found the others?” “Well, uh, not exactly, but I did find an island they could be on. It may be a bit of a long journey, but I think there’s a good chance they just might be there.” “Lead us there,” Garmadon said. “Who knows how much distance those three have made?”

Blake's POV

Janet glanced over her shoulder at her sister, who was still recovering from the stunt she had pulled earlier.

“Are we there yet?” Des breathed. The three of us dropped dangerously, and I could see Janet straining to keep us steady. Up ahead was a patch of land speedily approaching us.

“Just a little more . . .” I said, resting a hand on her forearm.

I felt us slowing down and speeding up repeatedly like a train climbing a steep set of tracks.

“A little more . . .”

Just when I thought we were going to splash down, we dropped onto solid ground. Spitting out sand, I pushed myself up, the Gold Ninja breathing heavily beside me. Off to my right was a shipwreck that seemed long since abandoned. Huh . . .

“Stay here. You’ve both done enough for today.”

None of them protested as I got to my feet to inspect the tainted ship. As expected, there was no sign of animal life—only the waves against the dark beach filling the silence.

Approaching the ship, I ran my hand against the prow. The eyes of the dragon head were empty, desolate—just like the rest of the vessel. The sail was battered and torn, and several spots of the deck were in splinters. The glass windows of the bridge were entirely gone, but the wheel was still intact. Dead screens inside were cracked along with an almost untouched control panel. Sand even littered various sections of the ship. Whoever owned this ship must’ve crashed here, and there’s no doubt her crew is long since dead.

“Must’ve been a cool ship.”

I turned my head slightly at the sound of footsteps. Moments later Des appeared at my side. “Des, you’re supposed to be resting.”

“I can do that later. Now what are we supposed to do?”

Calmly, I faced her and placed my hands on her shoulders. “I want you to rest. Okay? Especially since you used all of that power. There’s nothing I want more than destroying those Ninjas with you, but there’s no point in doing that if you don’t have all of your strength.”

She tilted her head at me, a trace of a smile on her lips. “All right. I will—if you tell me what we’re supposed to do.”

“Persistent, aren’t you?”

Des smirked in accomplishment.

Sighing, I started to walk back to the shoreline. Passing Janet, my fingers brushed against Des’s, and surprisingly she hooked her fingers onto mine. My head twitched down to our hands in slight surprise, and she was quick to let go. Shoving what that tiny moment brought aside, we came to the shallowest part of the shoreline, and she mirrored me as I squatted down.

“You see how this part of the shore is darker than the rest of it? This is where you really get your power from—the Dark Waters. Once you get control of it, you'll be able to manipulate and corrupt any water that's around, even in people, making you more powerful.”

“Huh. Sounds good to me.”

Both of us stood up, and she got into her position. Concentrating on the inky water, it remained as still as ever for the longest time until slowly, it began to rise up like molasses. As soon as she had it, the water plopped back down. Easily getting frustrated, she tried again. The water rose a bit more than last time, but she couldn't hold it for more than a few seconds. She growled in frustration. “It just takes practice. You'll get it.”

She kept her eyes on the water, crossing her arms. “I bet I can get it before they get here.”

“Get some rest first.”

“Uh hello? What about me?” Janet asked, now sitting up.

I couldn’t help smiling. “You, have the most important job. But you’ll be preparing for that in the morning. For now, rest.”

That light was going out whether it likes it or not, and nothing is going to stop me.

Zane's POV

We had landed on the island the falcon had found by nightfall, and the dragon was more than exhausted.

“That jungle looks like it goes in pretty deep,” Nya stated. “They could be anywhere on this island.”

“This is the Island of Forbidden Riches,” Garmadon said. “Nothing is to be disturbed here, no matter how tempting it is.” Cole, Nya, and I exchanged looks.

“Let's hope Jay didn't touch anything.”

Illuminating myself to provide light, we entered the forest with the dragon following close behind. “Sensei? Lloyd? Anyone?” Cole called.

Garmadon was right—these plants were made of actual riches, and they appeared exceedingly tempting. The vegetation that caught my light provided for an extremely coaxing appearance.

“So, any idea where to start?”

“We could start by making camp,” Misako suggested. “We're going to need all our strength if we're to survive here. There are untold beasts here that guard each of the four sides of the island.”

“Well that certainly adds some charm to this place,” Nya replied with little enthusiasm.

Eventually we had come across a pair of tall peridot plants large enough to shield all of us. “You did good today, boy,” Cole said. “Now go get some rest. You earned it.”

Without question the dragon settled down as I took my place outside of our shelter, dimming my light.

“I hope we can find the others before Blake, Janet, and Des get to the Dark Island. Judging by the looks of this place, this island is pretty huge. It'll take us days to find them!”

“Days that we don’t have,” Garmadon added. “We’ll need to be up extra early in order to find the rest of the team.”

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