#at the end of the day this is the crux of the matter isn’t it?

[rickybaby]

[harrowedsoup]

I’ve been listening to GtN (Moira Quirk is fantastic like I’ve heard she is btw) and I find it so sad how often it’s drilled into us that Gideon has no fealty to the Ninth but how it ultimately it doesn’t matter— the Ninth would have her life, death and afterlife anyway. During her multiple confrontations at the shuttle paid its all the others bring up.

And That’s exactly what happens, isn’t it? Gideon dies for Harrow— who is the Ninth for all intents and purposes. Crux says that Gideon’s body would be used after her death— and there she is.

Like! Gideon has always known her fate! She tried to escape it like 80 times but at the end of the day she walked willingly into it! Her worst nightmare but she did it anyway! Saddest girl in the whole world!!

[owl-with-a-pen]

Outside of superhero emergencies, Kara didn’t tend to lean into her super hearing where she could avoid it. Girl’s night at her apartment, for example, definitely shouldn’t have called for it. Then again, she wasn’t usually the subject of discussion in just about every apartment block on her street.

So, maybe that wasn’t completely true. She’d certainly heard her name mentioned a lot more since the whole secret identity reveal thing; it was just, nowadays, instead of hearing Supergirl, it was usually Kara Zor-El.

She was used to it. She’d been used to it for years; her name was normally a hot topic days, if not weeks after a major save was broadcast. The only difference now was… not all of those voices were as positive as she’d come to expect.

Like right now, for instance. No matter how hard she tried to shut it out, she couldn’t help but listen for that same voice echoing from hundreds of homes across the city, streaming from earbuds, speakers and laptops alike. His voice was charismatic and quick, like a less polished Maxwell Lord, and while he may have been a nobody just a few weeks ago, he’d certainly gained enough traction now to give Kara one hell of a headache.

Unfortunately for her, she’d inadvertently tuned herself in at just the right time for her downstairs neighbour to hit play:

“Alright folks, if you missed our last episode I’ll catch you up to speed. Last week, we rounded off at the crux of the Supergirl Problem; that she hasn’t just been living in our midst this whole time, but that she’s been actively working as a journalist for CatCo Worldwide Media. And, just a few weeks ago, she was publicly put in charge of the editorial process for that same media outlet minutes after she came clean about her alter-ego to the world. And, as I doubt Supergirl will want to speak for herself on the matter, we have one of her self-proclaimed super-fans in the house today to speak on her behalf. Say it with me at home folks, debate me, Supergirl!”

The aforementioned ‘super-fan’ let out a surprised scoff at her introduction. She didn’t waste a minute of her airtime, jumping immediately into the conversation: “Well, for starters, I think you’re taking this whole thing out of context. Supergirl didn’t just become a journalist for CatCo overnight. If you knew anything about Kara’s story, you’d know that she worked her way up the food chain for years! I mean, how empowering is that? She started as a PA!”

“Yeah, a PA with superspeed, how difficult. No wonder she ended up in Cat Grant’s palm! And yes, I do know her origin story, thank you very much.” The host’s voice crackled as Kara imagined him relaxing into his microphone. “Let the audience not forget that she was a PA for Cat Grant before she became a journalist. Are we really going to pretend that wasn’t her foot in the door?”

“Cat Grant wasn’t even her boss when she got into journalism,” argued the young woman. “And by the time Kara made a name for herself, Cat wasn’t even leading the company anymore! She got to where she is now on her own merit, no one elses!”

The host spoke over her: “It begs the question, did Cat Grant know this whole time? She takes a sabbatical only to re-emerge just in time to offer Supergirl a promotion. On top of that, she’s been promoting Supergirl for years! She created her – her words, on record. And now she’s put her in charge of media distribution. Get this: Supergirl is now in charge of the media we consume. Isn’t that a little self-indulgent?”

The young woman didn’t back down. “Kara Danvers was a Pultizer winning journalist long before we found out who she really was,” she argued. “She’s been standing for truth and justice just as much as Supergirl has. In fact, she’s just as much a hero as—”

“But what’s the agenda here?” the host continued with a conspiratorial air. “How can we even believe the news now it’s being headed by a liar? And she did, didn’t she? She lied to us all! She had a secret identity this whole time, and what? We’re just supposed to accept that? What’s the bet that this story will make a headline at CatCo magazine tomorrow morning, with my comments made out as Supergirl’s latest villain story? Or, better yet, will I be Kara Danver’s first official nemesis?” He barked out a laugh into his microphone. “There’s no freedom of the press anymore, folks, not when CatCo is bias towards the very hero that made it so popular in the first place!”

Before she could hear any more, Kara was thrown from her super-eavesdropping rather unceremoniously when a hand shot out in front of her face, waving impatiently.  

“Earth to Kara,” Alex said, snapping her fingers in front of her sister’s nose. “Hey, anyone home?”

“Huh?” Kara said before screwing her eyes shut, swatting away Alex’s offending hand. “Hey, hey, stop that!”

It was only then that she realised that it wasn’t just Alex who had been trying to get her attention. Lena and Kelly were staring at her from the opposite sofa. Nia sat cross legged on the footstool by the coffee table, nursing her drink with an expectant expression.

Kara glanced lamely at the TV. It didn’t look like anyone had been paying attention to the movie for quite some time.

Just how long had she been…?

Kara tried not to cringe.

Kelly cleared her throat, smoothing her hands over her lap. “From your expression, I’m guessing you were listening in on something pretty important.” She hesitated. “Is everything okay?”

Kara’s eyes widened. “What? Oh, oh no, it’s not a superhero emergency, I swear. Girl’s night continues uninterrupted, I promise!”

“Okay,” Nia said with a slow smile. “Then what was with the—” She mimicked Kara’s spaced-out expression a little too well, earning a few grins at her expense.

Kara pursed her lips. “Uh—I mean. It was nothing. Just…” She sagged in on herself awkwardly. “Okay, so I may have been listening to this podcast…”

“Oof.” Alex winced. “You don’t wanna do that.”

Kara groaned, falling back against the sofa. “I’ve been trying not to, but it’s kinda hard when half of my building’s listening to it.” She rubbed aggressively at her ears. “Super hearing can really suck, you guys.”

“Wait,” Nia said, perking up. “Are you talking about the Debate Me, Supergirl podcast?” When everyone turned to stare at her, she shrugged. “What? Brainy’s been keeping tabs on all social channels for this stuff ever since your interview first went public, y’know, calculating the odds on them picking up any real traction. In case things go… south.”

“And what are the odds on this guy?” Alex asked seriously.

Nia made a vague gesture. “I mean, until a few days ago, Brainy had him in the unlikely category. But his latest interview with a Supergirl stan got a whole lot of attention on social media. They were basically at each other’s throats the entire time.” She took a mild sip of her drink. “People ate it up.”

Alex rolled her eyes. “Of course they did. And I’m guessing from your tone, not much of the audience were on this super – uh – stan’s side?”

Nia pulled a face, taking an even larger swig.

Kara groaned again, burying her face in her hands. “This is awful. I- I just can’t believe how little faith they have in me now that they know the truth!”

Lena smiled her sympathy. “Take it from someone who was once deluded enough to fall right into that same category of hatefully ignorant.” She toasted her scotch glass to no one in particular, swirling its contents with a gentle twist of her wrist. “It’s not easy for people to accept that their larger-than-life hero was living amongst them.”

Kara’s head shot up in protest. “I never wanted anyone to put me on a pedestal.”

“Want has nothing to do about it. Like it or not, they did.” Lena paused, tucking her legs into the sofa’s arm. She fixed Kara with a level look. “Kara, I say this as your friend, but you have to understand how powerful you are in the eyes of a regular citizen. You fly, you shoot laser beams from your eyes, you’re bullet proof and fire proof. Your power is limitless and even though this city has seen you fall, they’ve also seen you get back up time and time again.”

Kara bit her lip. “That part I can understand, but it’s not just that. This podcaster isn’t only targeting my Supergirl persona. It’s Kara Danvers, Kara Zor-El that they don’t trust.” She snorted, throwing her hands wide. “They think the fact that I’m working as CatCo’s Editor-in-Chief makes the whole platform inherently bias. And – yes – I know I’ve fought my own biases in the past, and it’s not like being impartial was what won me a Pulitzer, but to them— a superhero in the press just doesn’t appeal. They think I’m a fraud, that I’ve been manipulating public opinion.” Kara could feel her face begin to flush in frustration. She ran a hand through her hair, standing just to put her energy somewhere. She slammed a fist against her palm, taking a step around the coffee table with every beat. “But, I mean, don’t they remember how CatCo turned on Supergirl after the Red Kryptonite incident? And rightfully, too. I lost the people’s trust then, and now—now it’s happening all over again and I just… I don’t know how to win them back,” she laughed through her teeth, “or if I can win them back!”

Alex took Kara’s arm swiftly as she passed her by, tugging her to her side. “Hey, no one said this was gonna be easy.”

“I think those were Cat’s exact words, actually,” Nia said helpfully, pointing in Alex’s direction.

Kara huffed, anchored by her sister’s steadying hand. “Yeah? Well, they didn’t say it would be this difficult, either.”

“Don’t listen to a few angry voices,” Nia insisted, her voice sobering. “They aren’t worth your energy, trust me.”

“Are they just a few?” Kara asked grimly. If she tried hard enough, she was sure she could still tune into hundreds of versions of that same podcast playing from across the city. Whether they agreed with him or not, the people of National City and beyond were listening to this nameless podcaster, and that was dangerous enough on its own.

Nia smiled tightly, balling her knuckles against her lap. “Just don’t listen to them, okay?” She closed her eyes. “Look, people like to make a lot of noise when they feel like they’ve been lied to, but the truth is, they were never entitled to that information to begin with. When I did my Dreamer interview with you, a lot of people were so supportive; some of them even saw themselves in me, but there were always hateful voices that tried to drown out the positive ones.” She straightened her back, opening her eyes. “But, y’know, they make that much noise because they know they’re in the minority, and they do not have the power that they think. Putting it into perspective like that… it’s a lot easier to ignore them, especially when I know how many people I’ve helped by sharing my story.”

“You’re right,” Kara said softly. Because she was. Of course she was. A single podcast spouting a single negative view didn’t diminish everything good that had come out of Supergirl’s identity reveal. Yes, the celebrity-level thing took some getting used to and openly flying to work made her something of a spectacle when it came to the office situation, but for the most part, Kara was relieved to have that weight off her shoulders, and it was a joy to know just how many aliens felt more confident to live as themselves now that they knew Supergirl had also shared their struggle.

In truth, the world knowing where she had come from, who she had been ever since she’d landed on Earth, grounded her to the people in a way that had never struck quite the same as just Supergirl. And that was worth any amount of growing pains.

Kara reached out for Nia’s hand over the coffee table, squeezing tight. “Thank you.”

Nia’s smile softened. “Any time.”

Lena cleared her throat, shifting higher against her pillow. “And, as for your job,” she said with a sly smile of her own, “let’s just say I know a thing or two about the public coming for your throat, deeming you unworthy of the position you’ve fairly worked your way up to. It’s just like Nia said, you ignore it, Kara. You ignore it because you have nothing to prove to anyone, you’re already doing one hell of a job as a journalist. Remain honest with yourself, and eventually people will see it. Not everyone of course.” She tilted her head, raising her glass to her lips. “You’ll never have everyone’s approval. If you did, well, I’d say you were on another planet, because that’s certainly not how the human race are wired.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Nia chimed in, leaning up to clink her glass with Lena’s. She caught Kelly’s glass on her way back.

Kelly smiled fondly, though there was a strained edge to her expression when she said, “We’ve all had to work twice as hard to prove ourselves. And as much as it hurts, that extends to Supergirl as well.”

Kara sat back down with a sigh, leaning into the embrace that Alex readily offered her. “Cat once told me the same thing; right after she’d first claimed Supergirl, actually.”

“Exactly,” Alex said with a sage nod. She kissed her sister’s hair. “And, hey, Cat Grant won’t let a podcast beat down her creation. Hell, her empire is built on powerful women, it always has been, always will.” She gestured to everyone in the room. “You are all prime examples of that.”

Kara nudged her sister playfully, pushing out of her arms. “Hey, well, the amount of times the DEO has personally kept that building from crashing to the ground, I’d say you’re an honorary member of Cat’s empire, too.”

Alex’s nose crinkled. “I think I prefer the title of badass DEO leader, but I’ll take it.” She grinned, rolling her eyes. “The point is, you have us, Kara.”

“Yeah.” Nia beamed. “And our opinion is worth a million times more than some crappy podcast.”

“Oh, cheers to that, too!” Alex laughed and they all converged with their glasses, meeting with a raucous clash over the coffee table.

Cheers rang out all ‘round, and Kara let the simple joy of that moment infect her. Their combined laughter easily blotted out any chances of hearing another word from that podcaster’s mouth.

She'd lost the taste for eavesdropping, anyway.

[cherie-doll]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DROP NEW KEEGAN HEADCANNONS !!! 🙏🙏

i decided to make a sfw hc alphabet js for keegan!! (the template i used is here.)

hope u like it <33

𓆩♡𓆪 Keegan SFW Alphabet

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Lots of casual affection and quiet acts of love. Placing a hand on your back while sharing an umbrella. Laying his head on your lap while on the couch. Anywhere you want to go, he’ll take you. Always has a hair tie (if you have long hair) and a jacket in case you get cold.

When you were dating he’d always walk you to your front door no matter what time of the day or night it was.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

As a friend, he’d be the type to constantly tease and bother you. Always finding a way to make you laugh and have a good time when you’re over. But he won’t hesitate to call you out on your mistakes or wrongdoings and will give guidance when you need it. (Sort of Mr. Knightley and Emma typa chemistry)

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He likes cuddling when in bed. Nudging into the crook of your neck as he returns your ardor with equity.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

At some point, yes. He really does. Keegan isn’t very skilled at cooking other than the basics like eggs and the like. If you have the patience to teach him how to cook you’ll find he’s a fast learner. He is very good at keeping clean after you scolded him once for leaving his dirty clothes on the bathroom floor.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

You’d have to be on the last straw for him to end things. He’d be so desperately hoping there is at least a silver linen of hope between you two. You’re slipping through his fingers and he feels as if it were a mistake. But he values your happiness over his.

With eyes downcast, and heart ready to close he’d start preparing himself to move away from you. He’d tell you late at night, outside in the dark. His heart burns as he starts getting used to the faded feelings.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget you”

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Keegan isn’t afraid of commitment and he’s not brash about it either. Once you got a some months of dating in, maybe even a year he started bring up marriage or living together. He doesn’t see himself not devoting his life to you after a time of dating.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He has his gentle moments where he cherishes the quintessence of you; you in your purest and crux form. He’ll restrain his ardent love to feel you with the tip of his fingers.

To have someone understand you and your mind is the hardest form of intimacy to perform and is never finalized. You have made a slave of him as he strives to discern you.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

In public, no. In private however, yes. He loves spooning you in bed and just coming up behind you at random times of the day to embrace you.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Perhaps shortly after he realized it. He didn’t say it until you looked into his eyes, gazing deeply, beautifully and perhaps a bit strange. He read the same thought in them and the words only seemed to naturally flow.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He’s not the type to be all over you when there are other people around but he doesn’t like anyone touching you. There is no reason to doubt your loyalty to him as a partner yet he knows how little regard some people can have towards you.

He never looses you in a crowded place so he’ll notice right away when someone has malicious intentions towards you. If he observes that you are not left in peace after turning someone down he’ll silently appear next to you, slide in between you, shielding you and protecting you. And he won’t hesitate to throw hands if he has to.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Lots of soft neck kisses in the morning and at night. Sometimes they’re fluttering like a butterfly kiss but most of the time they’re deep and passionate. He lets his lips linger on your neck a little, in idyllic silence basking in the warmth of your body.

When you’re lying bare in bed, he likes it when you place delicate kisses on his shoulders. Despite his intense kisses he adores your silken touch.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Keegan doesn’t have a paternal impulse within him when he encounters children but he doesn’t hate them either. Perhaps will pat one on the head or will tell them a story if he has to entertain a group of kids.

He’s got more of that cool uncle vibe ngl.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Most mornings he has to leave you a lot sooner than he wishes. But if it’s a slow morning, he wants nothing else than to stay entangled within the sheets with you. Stares, sleepily as the golden haze from the sun enters through the window and casts an aura around you. He’ll ruffle your hair to awaken you, greeting you with softened eyes.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

It doesn’t matter what you want to do because he always falls asleep before you. He’s content if he could just hold or be held by you whilst reading, watching tv on the couch or in bed.

In a moment of tranquility, he yearns for you; his deadly desire. In the silvery-toned light of the moon, he wants nothing more than to be close to you and contented by your caress.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He’ll open up slowly, everything at its proper time.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Keegan has the patience to explain things if you’re naive. However, if you show stubbornness and obstinacy he can become annoyed rather quickly.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Most everything you tell him he retains. Even things you don’t remember telling him or haven’t told him. It’s startling almost, how much he picks up on you just off your mannerisms.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Being in the military, he has his slumps and despite his lack of fervor you make him feel better. You hadn’t stopped being passionate, shown resentment or stopped seeing him when he felt he had been neglectful of you or your needs. That’s how he knew you were the one.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Due to him being constantly exposed to cruel human nature, he’s reasonably protective of you. He’s not paranoid when you’re alone but sometimes he can’t shake off that tingling feeling that sharpens his senses and has his body on alert, attentive to his phone in case you call in need of protection.

To him, being protected means being loved. So long as he has you by his side he feels secure and set for life.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He is attentive to detail, never has been dismissive not even in the smallest subject. It doesn’t even have to be on your anniversary or a special date for you to open your front door and find a fresh bouquet of flowers awaiting next to a jewelry box.

Even in everyday things, he’s reminding you of things you said you needed to do or buy and so on.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

His devotion to you can sometimes border on the line of obsession. The thing is you wouldn’t notice. With his stealth and quiet personality it can be difficult to know what intentions lie behind those eyes.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He’s good looking and he knows it. It’s a good thing at least that he cares how he presents himself to others and he’s not overly self-absorbed either but he knows how he bagged you.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Yes. That man very much needs you in his life.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Whenever you’re doing laundry he’ll offer to do it himself, he does this so he can smell your clothes before throwing it into the laundry. Why? He’s got a little bit of a thing for smelling.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Keegan would not be able to deal with someone who is careless. That attitude demonstrates a lack of better sense and rationality of which cannot be compatible with his character.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

A heavy sleeper. It’s one of things you bicker over constantly. He tends to clutch whatever is within his grasp and it’s impossible to get out of his death grip. Other times he’ll drape a heavy arm or leg over you and you can forget about getting out of bed until he wakes up.

(to everyone else who has submitted an ask i see them and i am working on them!!)

[electrosair]

Husband & dad headcanons anemo + cryo ver.

english isn’t my first language, sorry for mistakes

characters: heizou + kazuha + scaramouche + venti + xiao + kaeya

say ty to my best friend because if it wasn't for her this wouldn't be finished in 3 years.

word count: 1.8k

Heizou

how does he propose to you?

He will leave little clues around your house, he is such a good detective that it will get complicated and in the end he will have to tell you in a 'subtle' way. "I think someone is definitely trying to propose to you. And I happen to have a ring in my pocket."

where is the wedding taking place?

The beaches of Inazuma, at sunset. No more questions, right? They are too beautiful not to celebrate your wedding there.

where are you going on your honeymoon?

My best friend came up with this idea and it couldn't be missed. Heizou would be obsessed with solving something in his style to whatever destination you end up at, so why not go to Liyue and find out all about the ancient mountains and legends of the adeptus?

children before or after marriage?

Although it may not seem like it I feel that he is quite hooked on his work in some strange way. His top priority would not be to have children soon.

how many children does he want?

As I said before, I doubt with his job he has much time to offer to a large family, so between 1-2 kids, maybe a third one when he doesn't work so much anymore, but I doubt it.

how is he during your pregnancy?

He would worry about you, but he would hide it most of the time because he is a detective for a reason. He would always have an eye on you in case anything happens to you, and the moment he notices a first kick, his face lights up with a smile.

any memorable moment with his child?

Take the baby to work day, cause an impressive stir in his office and somehow or other end up solving a case thanks to your little kid. How? He doesn't even know.

Kazuha

how does he propose to you?

After one of the tournaments that Beidou organizes, he would use this stop of the ship to take you to the most beautiful place nearby that he could find. Facing the sea and with the wind blowing in the face of both of you.

where is the wedding taking place?

The Crux, please and thank you. All decorated with the wedding theme and the crew and wedding guests gathered on deck watching your union. We will skip the part where several guests got seasick.

where are you going on your honeymoon?

A place he hasn't been to yet, which leaves us with Sumeru, Fontaine, Natlan or Snezhnaya. I assume you would go to Sumeru because 1. it has port 2. it is more accessible 3. there are so many things to see and explore that Kazuha would take you around as excited as a toddler.

children before or after marriage?

Later, but just for the simple fact that you wouldn't be too sure you'd have the best life to take care of babies right now. I mean, if it's already hard as normal, I don't want to imagine it going from place to place on a boat, so you would wait a little bit.

how many children does he want?

He would be fine with whatever you wanted, but I can see him having more or less around 3 or 4 children once you are already settled in a house or at least for the first few years of the children's lives.

how is he during your pregnancy?

He would take you to different places for walks, with short breaks in between so you don't overexert yourself too much. "Breathe, we're almost there. The top is beautiful, I promise, besides, this is good for when it's time to see our baby."

any memorable moment with his child?

He would probably sing lullabies for your baby to fall asleep, when he grows up they will become little stories and I assure you that no matter how hard you try now he will always want Kazuha to put him to bed.

Scaramouche

how does he propose to you?

If he can fly he's going to use it to surprise you, seeing your amazed face when you landed gave him the strength he needed, so he would simply pick you up off the ground and carry you to the prettiest flower meadow he could find.

where is the wedding taking place?

Sumeru is a good place, nice landscapes, good places to eat and a port so that when you finish the wedding he can continue wandering around the other nations with you as a travel companion.

where are you going on your honeymoon?

Is it okay if I discard Inazuma and Snezhnaya? I'll take that as a yes and say Fontaine seems like a good place to go, especially if it's summer and you can enjoy dips in the water, I bet he'd try ducking you but he'd feel too bad since you're just married.

children before or after marriage?

I feel like he's the type of person who tries to delay having kids as long as possible, so you would definitely end up having them after you get married.

how many children does he want?

I would say between 1-3, 3 being the maximum because he might not be able to stand that much. You would start by having only 1, but after seeing that it is not as bad as it seems you would convince him, he would convince himself, to have another one. "You know what I told you about one being enough for me? Well, I've been thinking about it, and I think you're right…. No, it's not at all because I think they're too cute."

how is he during your pregnancy?

He'd tease you about little pregnancy cravings and such, but at the end of the day he'd try to give you everything he could get. And add to that the bonus of giving you little massages just to get you to 'stop complaining'.

any memorable moment with his child?

He would plan little pranks with the child behind your back and if you caught them he wouldn't hesitate for five seconds and say that the idea was your kid's idea. Only to then make the child forget all about it and make an even better plan.

Venti

how does he propose to you?

After a long time without setting foot in the ruins of the northern part of the nation, he decided to take you there himself. He would guide you to the top of the central tower and propose to you in front of the beautiful view.

where is the wedding taking place?

The Mondstadt church, I mean, what is it for? Other than to praise the anemo archon, who happens to be the same as your future husband. What a coincidence that he was the one who chose the site.

where are you going on your honeymoon?

Let's be honest, he likes any place where he can be served a good wine, and if he is accompanied by you while he drinks it, it's even better. So that's his only requirement, you choose the rest.

children before or after marriage?

Venti doesn't really care, what he likes most is freedom. So I doubt very much that he should be carried away by what people say about having children sooner or later. He lets it flow.

how many children does he want?

Neither too many nor too few, maybe 2 or 3, although the maximum would be 4. He would already be burdened with all the responsibilities that only having one entails.

how is he during your pregnancy?

He doesn't have much else to do during the day apart from playing and being with friends, we can say that he has plenty of time to spend with you. He would also do little things like sing to you during the last few months, when he is sure that the baby listens to him too, and he would even try to drink less. "I'm fine like this, I won't order wine today. A tea like the one you ordered would do me good."

any memorable moment with his child?

A chuckle escaped him as you looked in surprise at your baby floating instead of taking the first steps and turned to see Venti frowning. He wouldn't be able to give a vision to a child barely 1 year old, would he?

Xiao

how does he propose to you?

At first you were worried to see Xiao so nervous, he was usually quite calm and even if he was overwhelmed he wouldn't let you see him like that. You thought it might be because of some of his duties as adeptus, but when he took you to a isolated spot on the mountain and knelt down it all came together.

where is the wedding taking place?

It is obvious to say Liyue, but exactly where, I have doubts. I would discard places like The Chasm and the city, but regarding the rest, I don't think he'd care much about where you're going to celebrate it, he wouldn't even care if it was so inaccessible that almost nobody could go.

where are you going on your honeymoon?

Mondstadt seems like a good place, it's close and he could go relatively quickly to Liyue if he really needs it (a lot). Because it doesn't look like you're going to let him go that easily.

children before or after marriage?

Afterwards, but not for the fact that you are getting married, I feel that he wants to be absolutely sure that you and your children are as safe as possible with him.

how many children does he want?

2, a reasonable number. I don't see him as a father of a very large family, maybe even 1 but he would end up wanting more even if he denied it.

how is he during your pregnancy?

Just attending to your needs whenever he can and watching you 24/7, he used to do that before too but now he has an excuse to do it so you don't say anything to him about it.

any memorable moment with his child?

We all know that Xiao ate snow, not at all would he mention it casually in front of your son and his best idea was to try it and follow his father's steps. He got sick. "I promise I won't say those things in front of him again, even though I don't understand wh- Sorry, sorry."

Kaeya

how does he propose to you?

The bar where you were spending the evening was about to close and Kaeya saw his chance coming. He led you to a slightly more private place and kissed your hand as he knelt down in front of you, pulling out of his pants pocket a small object that glowed in the moonlight.

where is the wedding taking place?

Perhaps on the Mondstadt square, a place where you can have a big celebration to which you can both invite all your friends.

where are you going on your honeymoon?

Maybe Inazuma or Fontaine? Even Snezhnaya. I don't see him as the type to withstand very hot climates very well so Sumeru and Natlan would be out of the question. So a good refreshing trip in which you enjoy the new cities and bars.

children before or after marriage?

He's not the type who cares about the whole problem of having children, as long as he can have them with you he's fine with it any time. So let's say both before and after.

how many children does he want?

Large family for Kaeya. I'm sorry that being an only child and that after everything that happened with Diluc and his father they are now like this…. I mean, he definitely wants siblings for your first child. So around 4.

how is he during your pregnancy?

He would spoil you and ask for days off just for you, but let's not fool ourselves, when he sees your belly grow the slightest bit he would hug you and put his head close to it to try to hear something. He talks more to the baby than to you and it's not even born yet.

any memorable moment with his child?

I can just imagine him telling them stories about how his family are all pirates and that's why they never see them and he wears an eye patch. Just like he did to you when you first met. "Your grandfather gave me this treasure map for when you grow up, that's why you have to eat everything to grow up so you can get the buried mora and jewels."

[annabtg]

Hello, you responded to the anon ask re jilyawards, and called for a response…

Not that I have to defend my stance but since you asked, I said I was here less often these days, but I have been here a long time.  

I still read fic, kudos, comment, bookmark and celebrate content.

I want nothing more than for creators to feel a sense of achievement for their work, kudos to hits doesn’t work either but that doesn’t take away from the fact that unless you ‘sell yourself’ to the fandom you aren’t going to win.

The fic with the biggest audience will win, the highest follower count, etc etc.

It is a popularity contest

The loudest candidate isn’t always the best *cough cough* hello, world.

A minority view perhaps. Bummer that it couldn’t just be considered a genuine worry for those that feel it negatively impacts their mental health and instead became something one needs to ‘crack knuckles’ to respond to.

The replies to this have reminded me why I stopped visiting this site, guess I’ll go touch grass.

Also, did you really compare the jilyawards to a Pulitzer? the Nobel prize?

Hi, anon.

First of all, cracking knuckles (in these times and spaces where we generally avoid playing fisticuffs) is visual shorthand for "getting prepared" - for instance, to leave a long ass reply on something. Apologies for the confusion.

Now, to the crux of your post:

The fic with the biggest audience will win, the highest follower count, etc etc. It is a popularity contest

LIFE is a popularity contest. Job hunting, dating, it's all a popularity contest. And fandom is a popularity contest too. The author with the most followers will have their fics read the most, nominated the most, voted the most. Which is why you're not supposed to take the awards so seriously. THEY ARE NOT A REFLECTION OF YOUR VALUE AS A WRITER. Writing skills do matter, to a certain degree, but it's also a combination of popularity, self-marketing skills, and a bit of sheer dumb luck.

The loudest candidate isn’t always the best *cough cough* hello, world.

I specifically pointed out in my aforementioned reply that, in case you didn't know, I am very against "big fic", sorting by kudos etc.. I don't understand how you supposedly read that reply and still you're coming into my inbox to tell me that water is wet. I KNOW THAT. I KEEP SAYING THAT. I KEEP REBLOGGING POSTS THAT SAY THAT. And frankly, you've chosen the worst person on the whole of Tumblr to dump your agenda onto. I don't give a shit about a fic's popularity. For me it's often more of a deterrent than it is an invitation to read and vote for it. People who know me will tell you it is other, very different qualities I enjoy and appreciate in a piece of writing.

(Incidentally, as you may also surmise from my language, I'm also not a very popular person. Just in case you somehow think I am defending the awards because I'm popular and this means I'll win. Lmao.)

Also, did you really compare the jilyawards to a Pulitzer? the Nobel prize?

You're surprised? Aren't you the one who maintains that the jilyawards somehow carry enough gravitas to deal irreparable psychic damage to the people who don't win?

I don't think your problem is "genuine worry", anon. I've seen the likes of you before. As I said, I've done fandom awards for years; there are always the people who don't like the fact that they didn't get nominated/win, who don't trust the coordinators, who don't like the stories that win (or have beef with the authors), and they are always talking about their "genuine, well-meaning concerns". What they really end up doing - whether intentionally or not - is create doubts and discordance out of nowhere. Some people are having a good time with the awards, some people have opted out and they're going about their lives away from them. Now you're here to do what, exactly? Remind people that they'll never be as popular as TLE? We've already made our peace with that.

The replies to this have reminded me why I stopped visiting this site, guess I’ll go touch grass.

The "replies"? I am literally the only one who replied. Plus a couple of reblogs who agree with me, with nowhere near equal verbosity. No one is out to get you, I promise. If anything, it seems we mostly agree. The awards are no big deal. They're not a metric of a writer's value. If they don't work for you, you don't have to participate. Hell, one of my favourite writers and best friends on this hellsite opts out for this very reason every year and I still love her even though I yell at her (affectionate).

And I absolutely agree - if you don't enjoy Tumblr, you don't have to stick around. I suppose, if you're still in fandom as you say, we will meet again on AO3 sometime. Maybe I'll comment on your fic. :)

[sadcoms]

“nine would never do this” “nine isn’t afraid like ten” oh my goddddd they are literally the same alien but they come from different circumstances and are defined by different things:

nine comes from loss. the time war and the destruction of gallifrey is new for him. therefore, from his perspective, he has everything to gain - the main one being rose. that’s why he genuinely has to decide between losing rose and saving the world, because he hasn’t gained the world. if anything it’s a backdrop. but he has rose.

what nine needs to learn is that things and people can change - himself included. he is far less of a pacifist than ten because his morality is giving things a chance, ie the nestene consciousness in the very first episode. this is also the crux of the dalek episode, rose’s point is not entirely “guns are bad” but “it’s changed”. you see this change in the difference between how nine and ten treat cassandra, specifically in how cassandra shows empathy for the sick woman.

ten, in comparison, has gained. he has rose and a family to have christmas with. and that means he really only has things to lose - again, the main one being rose. because nine came from nothing he was essentially content enough to just have rose in his presence and have her choose him. ten now sees his relationship with rose in longer terms (i cannot stress enough that nine was not counting on his survival but was very accepting of his death, so he’s basically just elated to still be alive and to have rose reciprocate his feelings before he regenerates) and therefore has to recognise that he will inevitably lose her one day.

nine is not thinking about “the curse of the timelords” because he exclusively thinks of himself as a survivor.

it’s the fear of loss that really separates the two characters. because ten’s morality is actually pretty similar to nine’s for most of s2. people say that his “you get one warning” speech from school reunion is a prelude to time lord victorious but it feels much more like nine to me. he has compassion, for the cybermen and even cassandra and the werewolf, but he doesn’t really offer to save anyone with the frequency he will in later seasons. when it comes to the wire, the devil, and the daleks (aka the main three that threatened rose) he’s ready to kill them with limited preamble.

but then he does lose rose and he cannot bear it. he loses her and then murders a bunch of children, gets called out, and then goes pretty much the complete opposite way because he cannot bear any more loss. think about it: nine hears the ENTIRETY of satellite 5 get massacred and is horrified but keeps going. if ten had heard that he would be a screaming wreck.

"ten is a coward" is literally the ENTIRE point? some of nine's last ever words are "coward, any day" because he is sick of being a killer. and i actually fundamentally disagree with that action of his, but i get why it matters. because it shows he changed, and that's not what he believed when we first met him. he thought he was broken and that humans were a bunch of stupid apes, and by the end he is deeply in love with a human and knows he was fantastic.

it is therefore not surprising that davros is the doctor’s worst nightmare because he comes for two regenerations: he breaks nine when he says people can change, but you changed them for the worst; he breaks ten with the reminder that people have lost their lives for and because of him. so you get this pure trauma response of ten offering actual fascist davros safety and yelling at tentoo for "committing" genocide (and tentoo likely reverts back to that nine-era morality not only because he's "born from blood" but because he's actually born from gain - he got rose back).

ten is also a tragedy (where nine is not) because he is ultimately, utterly, completely defined by loss. nine was resigned to his fate (everything has its time and everything dies) and ten was born from hope and love, which systematically get ripped away from him. he was born wanting to live, specifically with the woman he loves, and he doesn't even get to die in the same universe as her.

also the whole "nine would never gitf" ten wouldn't be ten gitf if it was written properly but may i remind you that a couple of hours before he kissed and died for rose he was also blatantly flirting with lynda with a y? "ten was disrespectful he made rose act as a dinner lady" and nine let jabe ask HIM if rose was his prostitute after he’d called rose his plus one. they are not healthy aliens when it comes to people they like!

[mynamesaplant]

What Lurks in the Dark

Posting here, but also posting here on AO3 in case reading on Tumblr's not your thing!

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Summary:

Dawn finds herself stuck in her mer form. What's worse is that she's been having nightmares.

Content Warnings:

This fic contains blood, violence against children, and PTSD.

Notes:

Thanks once again to all the inspiration from monsoon-of-art on Tumblr and their PLA Mer AU. They are forever a font of knowledge and inspiration.

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Dawn never realized just how dark the ocean got at night. She was usually back on land with man made light banishing the dark back to its dark corners. The sea has no such luxury. Since being stuck as a mer, her dark vision has gotten a lot better so seeing isn’t really the problem. Her swimming and internal navigation was leagues better than before, but neither clan fully trusted her to be on her own just yet. Still so small and inexperienced to what lurks in the ocean. At least one clan member was with her at any given time, trying to prevent her from scratching at the patchy fur.

“Just be patient.”

Calaba’s chiding did not stop Dawn from trying to steal away and dig her sharpening claws into the uncomfortable, and frankly unsightly, adult coat disrupting her previously pristine white fur. She knew everyone was secretly excited, and she was too, she loved to spend time with her mer family… But this felt like one more little taunt from Arceus.

One day with Ingo at the shoreline, he commented that her coat looked longer than usual and a little darker in some spots. Dawn couldn’t say she noticed, but he scooped her up and set her on the rocky outcrop, withdrawing her flute from her bag. The song sounded… wrong though. Even Ingo’s face quirked in confusion, leaning down to look while Dawn twirled the flute in her hands.

“Your flute looks different.”

It looked very different from his. It looked more like a shell and as blue as the sea. He had never seen anything quite like it.

“Why am I not changing back?”

The minor note of panic was not lost on Ingo. Dawn was peering into the holes to see if something was stuck or if it was damaged in some way, but she didn’t see anything that would prevent her from playing and the magic from working to change her back into her human form. He extended his hand out.

“May I see it?”

She placed the flute down and Ingo brought it closer, squinting to look for the same things she had. He picked it up with delicate fingers and turned it over.

“Why don’t we take it to Warden Arezu? I’ve been told she has dexterous hands, so she might be able to do more than I would.”

Dawn had found that agreeable at the time, but they went to the Diamond clan’s settlement the following day and Arezu found nothing amiss. Adaman also took a crack at it but was about as successful as the previous three. Now bordering on hysterics, Dawn went to all the wardens to seek any assistance and the only ones who provided her with any real insight were Calaba and Sabi.

Calaba was a little more straightforward but cynical. The old warden remarked that if the gods that power the flute’s magic did not want her to return to her human form, there was nothing to be done but wait or accept the inevitable. The idea that she would never go back to being human made Dawn shudder. She enjoyed being a mer sometimes, but she preferred having legs and eating cooked food.

Sabi was more cryptic but provided a glimmer of hope. Dawn did her best to wade through what the youngest warden said to get to the crux of the matter, not that Sabi made it remotely easy. What she got from their exchange was that she should go to the drop off and just ask for a straightforward answer. As if Arceus would really just answer her questions without being as cryptic as the Diamond clan warden.

Ingo had planned to accompany her, but Adaman and Irida ended up being her escorts, the area bearing more spiritual significance now since the events of rising tides and the attack of the many-armed serpent.

Unlike all the times she had tried playing to revert back to her human form, the flute played perfectly, and a voice rose from the depths, booming and alien, but somehow also familiar, to the ears of the mers.

You summoned us, chosen?

Dawn felt the clan leaders press closer to each of her sides. Irida’s upper lip curled back to reveal sharp canines and blue eyes hooded by her furrowed brow, ear pressed flat to her head. Adaman’s tail restlessly stirred up the water, his ears twitching which made the scales shimmer and flash in the dim light, and his gills flared and flushed a dark red.

Dawn knew both of these reactions were signs of aggression and warning. The girl took a deep breath and said as loudly as she could into the dark expanse of sea below her.

“Why is my flute not working?”

There was a long pause before the voice responded.

What do you mean? You just played the song to garner our attention.

“You’re right, I did.” Dawn was trying not to sound frantic, trying so hard to be patient to get the answer she needed. “When I play the song that turns me back into normal, it doesn’t work. It sounds wrong.”

Another pause – even longer this time. She half expected the voice to ask her to play, which she was fully willing to do (regardless of the consequences of being so deep and being a poor swimmer).

Observe your coat, chosen, and tell us what you see.

Dawn twisted herself around and looked down at her tail. She took in the little splotches of gray staining the fur. She ran her fingers through it and felt that it was somehow uneven, just as Ingo had observed. The two clan leaders also took a closer look, about as unsure as Dawn as to why a god couldn’t just be forthcoming about an issue for once.

“Oh… Oh Dawn! Your molting!”

“I’m what?”

She barely had time to say as Irida wrenched her around, fingers nimbly working through her uneven fur and producing a tuff of fur between her claws. Adaman scowled and helped Dawn into a more upright position, the suddenness of being jerked around had given her sort of a head rush and she appreciated the Diamond clan leader for righting her.

“You’re getting your adult coat!”

Lady Irida is correct. The flute will not work until you have gone through your molts, chosen.

And thus, it went. Dawn was stuck in her mer form. Her fur slowly – almost painfully so – dappling with dark gray flecks as the snowy fur turned more of a smoky gray with the passage of time.

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Stuck in the water with not a lot of options, she swam up the river that led to Jubilife and hollered at one of the guards to get the professor. Laventon might not be able to help, but he might be able to offer advice.

“My word,” he exclaimed, kneeling by the water as about half of the village was held back by the Security Corp. “Dear girl, why haven’t you played your flute yet?”

She explained morosely what was happening and Laventon’s brow furrowed. He agreed that it was a conundrum but, as predicted, had no solutions for her. His recommendation was that she remain in the water because trying to stay on land would be far too complicated for her in her current condition.

“How am I going to eat? I always ate here.”

“Well, I suppose you could keep swimming back here and someone can fetch you something, but I imagine that might grow wearisome depending on how long this lasts.”

Dawn tried to keep up with it for a while, returning to Jubilife twice a day, but the trip became exhausting within the first few weeks. The clans were coaxing her to stay closer by, she was burning so many calories trying to get back when they could feed her just as well as Galaxy Team could. Eventually, she agreed with them. She did not realize she would be stuck there for the next few months.

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Dawn hadn’t always been afraid of the dark. The key word there being always. She had been afraid of the dark as a little girl. She remembered her mother putting a nightlight in her room, a little rotating light that displayed the stars across the ceiling of her room, but that had mostly subsided when she got older. Now she had entirely different reasons for being afraid.

She didn’t realize it at first – that this fear was gripping her so tightly once again. Not until she was out near dusk and Gaeric had tried to insist they do a little bit of hunting with him and Ingo.

“Gotta pull your own weight you two. Now, come on. You can set up and check yesterday’s traps.”

At first, she wasn’t opposed to the idea. She took it as an opportunity to get used to swimming with low levels of light and to trust the way the water feels against her body, like Iscan and Mai had tried to explain to her.

“You can feel the current. Sometimes it’s warmer or cooler, but they’re like invisible guides. There is so much you can learn just from the feel of the water.”

Although neither warden was too far away and the task at hand wasn’t particularly difficult, as night began to blacken the water, Dawn felt something inside her constrict. Suddenly everything felt harder to see and she froze, muscles screaming in pain because of how immediately they locked up. She didn’t understand! Maybe… Maybe something venomous stung her?

“Dawn!”

It was not Ingo’s voice she heard first, but Gaeric’s. The mer barreling towards her and quickly assessing the situation. All he could tell was that she was struggling for some unknown reason. Maybe not enough air? Her pupils had shrunk to a fraction of their normal size, her head wiping around wildly. Gaeric scooped her up and moved for the surface, Ingo not far behind.

Her body was rigid – cold like a sheet of ice – and Gaeric was surprised when he felt her shaking against his palm. Ingo was trying to talk to her, trying to figure out what happened, but all they could hear was her teeth chattering. She was gingerly pried away, leaving bloodied scratches in Gaeric’s palm, and Ingo took her back to the settlement to let a medic look her over, but nothing was wrong.

“It seems as though she experienced a shock of some sort.”

That was all they could conclude unless Dawn had something to add, which she didn’t. The girl was actually rather embarrassed by the whole affair, her time with Galaxy Team shining through in her assurances that she would not be a burden to the clans. Well, now she felt like a burden. Ingo swiftly silences those worries. These were unusual circumstances and completely out of her control. She had accepted his half scolding, half reassuring speech, and tried to put the incident out of mind. A few weeks later, that’s when the nightmares started.

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Dawn felt the darkness pressing on her eyes, her heart pounding so fast and loud that she was positive that he could hear it from her hiding spot. This area wasn’t even that deep. In the back of her head, she heard an unhelpful Laventon monologue about cephalopod ink and how it was used as a defense mechanism. Not this time though. This time it was meant to confuse and disorientate.

The eerie silence of the water only severed to make her trembling worse, forced to wait until he made a move. Her only defense seemed to be her small size and the flute clutched tightly in her hands. She could not stop the scream that was wrenched from her throat as long, clawed fingers probed the crevasse, and a burning amber eye illuminated her hiding spot.

“Come now, chosen one.”

The words came across bitter, but also a touch playful. He was going to enjoy toying with her for having what he never could – for being the exact thing he mocked, which he craved to be. All his prayers. All his devotion. All his effort. Yet, the Almighty picked this puny, insignificant, blaspheming child? Volo was going to mince her and offer Arceus’ favored up as a sacrifice to the many-armed serpent – Giratina would enjoy that. Volo all but assured her of her inevitable demise.

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Dawn sat bolt upright, swallowing a scream that had been part way out of her throat. The sleeping pups and adults around her were not roused, she was still nestled safely beside Ingo’s flank, and there were a few smoldering fires around the space that provided a warm glow that reminded her of a sunset.

“Red skies in the morning, sailors take warning. Red skies at night, sailors delight.”

Laventon had playfully told her. Dawn pressed herself closer to Ingo, gripping the fabric of his parka tightly in her fingers, and forced her eyes shut.

“Go back to sleep.” She mumbled to herself, trying to keep the shake out of her voice. “Go back to sleep. Just go back to sleep.”

She did eventually, but her mind was still plagued by vague nightmares of sheer cold and oppressive darkness. Thoughts filled with slime and decay, sharp mouthfuls of teeth and suckers hiding deadly hooks cutting into her with ominous laughter filling her dreams.

This fitful sleep did not go unnoticed.

Ingo was a little too direct about it, asking her if she was alright and if she slept well when they both knew she didn’t. He couldn’t help it. It was in his nature to get to the heart of the matter and try to be as helpful as he could. To his surprise and dismay, she lied to his face.

“I slept great! Now, what’s on tap for today?”

At first, it was only occasional. Ingo had trained himself to be attuned to the subtle changes in her sleep and would draw the girl a little closer when her dreams were tipping into nightmares. Even if the knowledge made his skin crawl, he had to accept that Dawn just didn’t feel comfortable divulging her thoughts just yet. He could understand in a way. They were similar in that regard. It was hard for him to place his reliance on others, even if that was against his better judgement. Especially since his clan already found behavior like that weird, as they had always had one another to lean on, Dawn’s experience was entirely unique to her.

All mers had growing pains, he knew he must have even if he couldn’t remember precisely, but she probably did not have the words to describe it. The language was her biggest barrier. Everyone tried to be understanding, but sometimes it did not come across that way. So, Ingo relied on patience and the knowledge that Dawn was a smart girl – impulsive at times, but smart – and she would come to him when she truly needed him.

He wasn’t the only one to notice, however.

Calaba and Palina noticed the dark circles under her eyes, but did not know how to properly address it, especially since Dawn wouldn’t even talk to Ingo about it.

Calaba offered her some remedies. Tinctures and oils that had helped growing pups in the past through their growing pains, those growth spurts often accompanied by sleepless nights.

Palina made an effort to make more food that she liked to help her feel a little better. Who couldn’t have a good night’s sleep with a full stomach of your favorite foods? Dawn accepted them, but the restlessness continued.

Gaeric’s solution was the same as Mai’s, just stuff as many activities into a day to exhaust her and she should sleep soundly. It worked at first, the girl instantly passing out when it was time to rest for the evening, but even though Dawn was thoroughly exhausted, it did not stop.

Lian, Arezu, and Sabi were all of the same mind that what she needed was a good distraction because she was homesick, so the younger wardens spent hours playing with her.

Arezu, always fond of grooming sessions, chattered endlessly as Dawn dozed, half listening to what she had to say but mostly finding brief interludes of sleep between Arezu’s stories. Both methods, like all the previous ones, had been temporary. Adaman personally found all these tactics to be a waste of time.

“Give her to Melli,” he had jokingly told Iscan when he had made a suggestion to have her lay out in the sun. “He can sound like the droning of bees and cicadas, that’s sure to put her to sleep.”

The problem was that nobody knew how to broach the topic, not with Dawn immediately withdrawing into her shell by denying there was a problem anyhow. Irida had learned that firsthand. Dawn flinched at the question and stammered out that she slept just fine. The girl wouldn’t look her in the eyes.

If it was so obvious, then Dawn needed to do something about it. She stole away and returned to Jubilife to ask the professor for his advice. Everyone would scold her later for vanishing without a word, but she needed some time alone to think and seek advice from someone she trusted even more than Ingo.

“Restlessness? Hm, I usually find a nice cup of warm tea usually sends me into a nice sleep. I can try to get you a cannister of tea leaves, a cup… a pot to brew it. Do they have fires at these settlements?”

“Yes, I cook all the fish I catch over them.”

Dawn had to admit though, it was becoming more and more tempting not to wait until she returned to the settlement to have a meal. The idea still grossed her out enough not to, but sometimes she watched Gaeric eating something he had just caught with such vigor, that she had brief moments of morbid curiosity.

“Fascinating! I will have Rei gather up all the necessary supplies. I must ask, are you still filling out your research book?”

She nodded and withdrew a notebook from the standard waterproof bag provided to every Survey corp member. He beamed when she handed it over, thumbing over the worn pages, wrinkled from drips of sea water and bleached almost as thoroughly as her warden friend’s coat. Her illustrations were always exquisite, her notes not nearly as detailed as Rei’s, but Laventon appreciated them anyway.

“Professor, has… Has anyone seen or heard anything about Volo?”

Laventon tore his gaze from the book and looked down at the girl. She was not looking at him, tapping a finger on a rock and taking great interest in her patchy tail, attempting to appear uninterested.

“No, unfortunately. The commander had the team scouring the lands and, per our agreement with the clans, they would keep an eye out for him in the waters.”

“Okay.” Her voice was strange. “Just curious.”

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A frigid limb, colder than all the water in icelands, coiled around her. Tighter and tighter until all the air was crushed out of her, a stream of bubbles escaped her and rushed away, showing her the way to go. She could not follow. Sharp teeth dug into her. Cutting her. Making her bleed. She couldn’t even scream.

“Look at me now, chosen one.”

Dawn was jerked through the water, placed eye to eye with a man she had confided in, she had trusted him – how could she not? He had been so kind. She met a sinister grin and two unblinking yellow eyes. A pair of suns filled with nothing but malice as Volo’s grip tightened around her. There was a horrible crunch.

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Dawn woke abruptly with such a fear and pain gripping her chest that she was completely unable to stop the scream from escaping her. She was still disorientated from her nightmare to realize the hand curling around her was not the one she thought it was. She screamed again, sharp claws slashing into the palm, and, when that didn’t stop it, she lunged forward and sank her teeth into flesh.

“Dawn! Dawn – You must relax. It’s me.”

Although the person cringed, they scooped up her body with her other hand. She could feel the bitter tang of iron on her tongue, a growl reverberating through her throat when she was plunged into darkness. She didn’t want to be in the dark! She needed light! In her utter panic, she did not recognize the familiar scent and the warmth and gentleness in the touch. Just blood and dark and salt and a tension that was more than bone deep, something woven right into every fiber and nerve. She couldn’t even form intelligible words, just sobbing and screaming. The enclosed space smelt so much like blood. When that smell hung so heavy in the air, death was approaching. Nothing could survive without its blood.

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Her tail has been stained pink, the water swirling with blood that sure to draw sharks. The threat was gone. The many-armed serpent (what had Volo called it? Giratina?) lifted her to the surface as one last act of penance before sinking back into the depths. She wasn’t even sure what happened. She didn’t know what she had done to defeat Volo and the ancient serpent. It was the same for the other gods of the deep. All she knew for sure was that she was alone.

She turned onto her side and coughed up water and blood, the mix burning her throat. Hot tears stung her face as she wailed into the hands, the dim light of her namesake began to stain the inky sky from black to blue… The same colors her bruises were sure to have. Every move hurt. Each breath felt like someone jabbing a knife between her ribs. She lay there, bleeding out and condemning herself for ever trusting him.

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“Dawn!”

A deep rumble shattered through her memory. That… That was a familiar voice. She remembered where she was. Who she was with. Her tail was still itching like crazy because she was molting, and she was stuck in this form.

She lowered her shaking hands, red painting the tips of her fingers, a fresh wave of tears coming to her eyes as she realized just who she had hurt.

“Ingo… I didn’t… I’m sorry!” He heard her stifle a sob and gingerly brought her closer, telling her it was okay. It was just a bad dream. “B-But it wasn’t!”

What did that mean? At times, he wished he could be smaller, just to hold her close and tell her everything was alright. Why did she have to be so small? Now that she wasn’t trying to claw her way to freedom, Ingo’s grip loosened a bit and he bowed his head to look down at the poor, distraught child in his hands. She was openly weeping, fumbling at the marks she had made and repeating the same apologies over and over.

He kept his back to his clan mates, trying to give her a bit of privacy. Although he knew their stares and murmurs were not malicious, he could still feel a deep instinct to protect Dawn swelling in his chest, practically hunching over when he felt them pressing against his back and sides. A growl not too dissimilar to Gaeric’s rumbled from his throat, warning them to back off now.

What had gone wrong? The evening had been pleasant enough. Irida had kindly invited the surveyor to join them for an evening chat that had evolved into some pleasant communal time. Grooming, chatting, eating, drinking, and, finally, sleeping – Irida had quietly insisted he and Dawn stay because they could use a little bit of “group time,” as his leader had so delicately put it. It had been relaxing. Even Ingo had to admit it was nice to just rest with his clan mates, knowing everyone was full and safe and at ease.

Now that relaxing atmosphere had turned tense. They all knew she was experiencing her own difficulties, but never had they resulted in such an intense reaction.

“Ingo,” Irida said over his shoulder, a hand coming to rest on his elbow, and he almost jerked his arm away from him. “We’re here to help you… and Dawn. We just want to help.”

The warden swallowed thickly, the growl dying back as he forced a breath. Throwing a glance to his leader from the corner of his eyes and then back to Dawn, who had buried herself in his parka, gripping, ripping, and staining the pale fabric with each fresh wave of sobs. This was not something he was going to be able to resolve on his own. All their attempts separately hadn’t been fruitful – their young friend was not alright. Something had shaken her down to the very core and she didn’t know how to tell them.

Dawn flinched when his thumb flicked over her back, the motion meant to be comforting but her nightmare, her memories, of facing off against Volo and Giratina… She didn’t feel safe here. Not anywhere in the ocean. At least on land she felt like she was in control. She knew her body and mind on solid ground, but not here.

“I-I’m sorry - I hu-hurt you!”

It wasn’t her fault, he tried to assure her. She had been in the throes of a terrible nightmare and terrified out of her wits, so he harbored no resentment or anger toward her, but he did need to know why. He needed to know so he could help her. All this child had ever done and accomplished had been on her own and now, even with a support system ready and able, Dawn did not know how to share her burdens.

“What were you dreaming?”

“Ingo-”

“Dawn – please, what were you dreaming?”

She was sinking lower and lower, trying to avoid his gaze when he raised her up to his eye level. No more beating around the bush. He needed to know. He needed to help her. Dawn flattened herself against his open palms, covering her head and cowering under his scrutiny, a sharp keening sound peeling through the space which made everyone’s hair stand on end. That was what pushed Irida and the other wardens to surge forward, offering comfort and gentle appeals to tell them what had her so petrified.

Lian and Calaba were far too small (by comparison) to get close enough to comfort, but that didn’t stop either of them. The younger warden scrambled up Ingo’s back, not that the orca mer even notice with all this focus on Dawn, and clambered up to his shoulder, balancing there rather precariously before scooching himself down Ingo’s arm to wrap Dawn in a tight hug from behind. He was not usually so touchy-feely, in fact he usually hated to infringe upon other people’s space and vice versa, but there was something so awful about seeing his friend crying.

Calaba barked at Gaeric to pick her up, she could offer some herbs to help settle her nerves, then maybe they could get some answers. Although his palm was crowded, the elderly warden insisted she be put down next to Dawn. Once she was safely situated, she removed her pack and began to rummage through it for a few things for her to chew on. Willow bark and some wolfsbane for pain. Ginkgo leaves for clarity of mind. Lavender and chamomile for anxiety. Lord Ursaluna had been so kind as to gather these things for his warden and her clan to keep them healthy, this would be a good opportunity for Calaba to flex her medical muscles, so to speak.

That left Palina, Gaeric, and Irida; all anxious and keenly aware that they could not solve the problem, at least, not any better than Ingo could. Their speech all overlapped, which ended up being more disorientating than anything else, the largest warden shooting them a withering glare that silenced them all. This was Ingo’s pup.

It took nearly forty minutes to coax and answer out of her and it had only been a single word – a name. Volo. There was a chorus of growls, a collective of hackles raised from the mere mention of the man who tried to ruin everything. Dawn had not spoken a word to anyone in the clans about the incident. The one called Laventon had taken it upon himself to meet the clan leaders and explain that something had happened to Dawn. It hadn’t been his place to get into the nitty gritty, but he warned them about a man, Volo, who had been the source of all the unrest in the region.

“He allied himself with a creature, Dawn thinks its name is Giratina, and riled up your gods. He got an artifact similar to Dawn’s to transform…”

Irida and Adaman glanced at each other, the latter’s scarred eyebrows quirked with concern and the former’s arms crossed tight over her chest. They could tell this was serious since the professor was not asking them such unusual questions. Last time they had come near shore, Laventon had impulsively started asking about diet and social habits, grabbing their fingers to compare and contrast the webbing between their fingers.

Nothing.

His eyes looked tired, his cheeks particularly pallid and gaunt, like he had not been taking proper care of himself. The humans were still dealing with the ramifications of the flooding, the clans had taken it upon themselves to offer what food aid they could while the water continued to recede from the lands. This was serious.

“He’s dangerous and at large.”

Laventon warned them, his tone grave and his fingers nervously fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve. They were asked to keep an eye out for him, the professor giving a description, practically spitting out like venom.

Ingo wanted to ask her to explain, but he could already predict the results. He wanted desperately to know more, he still held a gut-wrenching pain in him from his inaction when Dawn voluntarily revealed her secret and now, he was finding that Dawn was dealing with some lingering trauma.

“I w-want to go ho-home.”

Her sob echoed through the cavern, her request plaintive and wobbly, and the Pearl clan exchanged looks. Dawn couldn’t go back to Jubilife, not yet anyhow. With no legs, she would find living on land particularly difficult, and the humans would not know how to help her. Ingo would have to deny her request, at least temporarily.

“Not tonight.”

He said, trying to be gentle as he denied her, and everyone flinched when she wailed. She was just a scared pup, she needed reassurance – she needed their presence and comfort. All it took was a quick glance at each of his clanmates and they all wordlessly slumped to the ground.

Gaeric took the base of the pile without hesitation, resting his head on Palina’s flank when Ingo settled to the ground with his hands clasping the three mers carefully. With Palina on one side and Irida, who was draped over Gaeric’s tail, on the other, Ingo leaned back against Lord Avalugg’s warden, just as sturdy as his lord. Setting Calaba, Lian, and Dawn down on his chest, the eldest warden asked to be placed between Gaeric and Palina, Ingo setting her down just as Palina rested her head on Ingo’s tail and Irida on his side.

“Don’t lay on your dorsal fin. It’s already bent.”

Calaba growled, so Ingo manipulated himself in such a way as to not crush the fin in question. Lian refused to budge, holding Dawn tightly, and nobody tried to separate them.

“You’re safe here.” Ingo rumbled, placing a hand over the two kids to keep them from moving around too much. “I promise, you’re safe here.”

The surveyor knew he meant it. With him and Gaeric here, this was by far the safest place in the world, but it was hard to dispel the fear and the tears still dripping from her eyes. She listened to the reassuring beat of Ingo’s heart, so much louder than she thought possible in her ears, but it did help her focus and drown out all the other noises.

“If you have any more bad dreams about Vo- … That guy, I guess I’ll just have to remind you that I’d take on a chump like him any day.” She heard Gaeric’s voice distantly, not catching him say under his breath. “Anything for you, kiddo.”

“We would never let anything happen to you.”

Palina echoed his sentiment, casting her eyes toward the mer she treated like a little brother, and he pointedly wouldn’t look at her. A feeling of pride bubbling in her chest because Gaeric was trying to reach out to an outsider.

“Like Ingo might say, safety is a top priority. Especially for pups.”

Dawn shut her eyes tight when Calaba said that, feeling another sob catch in her chest. Lian was mumbling something into her back, the words might have been muffled, but the sentiment was there.

“You’ll always have a place here, Dawn. We will all do our part to keep you safe.”

With that final assurance from the clan leader herself, Dawn finally felt the panic in her chest loosen and a wave of fatigue roll over her. Slumped against Ingo’s chest, her exhaustion finally catching up to her. Dawn had a blessedly dreamless sleep.

[immortalclarareborn]

"Because the ugly thing that, perhaps, it’s finally time to admit is that parts don’t matter. Even if this were largely the good parts, and it isn’t… For all the pleasant and much quoted idealism about Doctor Who in the preface to this blog, it’s not valuable because of the beautiful flexibilities of its structure. It’s not valuable because of the amazing things it can do. It’s not valuable because of some magical breath of mercury at its foundation. It’s not, in fact, valuable at all, at least in and of itself. It’s a flexible container that was lucky enough to be written by people like David Whittaker, Robert Holmes, Ben Aaronovitch, Kate Orman, Russell T Davies, and Steven Moffat—to have had actors like Patrick Troughton, Peter Davison, Christopher Eccleston, and Peter Capaldi, to say nothing of Jacqueline Hill, Katy Manning, Lis Sladen, Sophie Aldred, Billie Piper, Catherine Tate, and Jenna Coleman—and to have intersected the careers of people like Delia Derbyshire, Verity Lambert, Douglas Adams, Bonnie Langford, and Ben Wheatley.

But even that’s just a list of names. What really matters is simply that things like The Rescue, The Mind Robber, Carnival of Monsters, City of Death, Enlightenment, Remembrance of the Daleks, Damaged Goods, and Hell Bent were made—that its theme music was a pioneering piece of electronic music, that it’s a who’s who of British television talent across the ages. It never mattered because it was Doctor Who; it mattered because it was often good, and when it wasn’t good it was often at least interesting. When that quality builds up over decades you get a fascinating and vital lens into British culture. But when that quality is absent, frankly, so does the importance. This, at the end of the day, is the crux of my longrunning beef with much of the spinoff material—they’re simply far too indifferent towards quality."

TARDIS Eruditorum: Not a Trace of the Original (Nikola Telsa's Night of Terror) by Elizabeth Sandifer

[bullet-prooflove]

Doing Time: Jeff Clarke x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @witches-unruly-heart @telepathay @iworldlywriter @caffeinatedwoman @winchesterszvonecek @whateversomethingbruh @burningpeachpuppy @upsteadlogic @skyesthebomb @neapolitantoebeans @olymosity @stxrryswvrld @courtney-elizabeth93 @switchbladeclub

Companion piece to

Bail

Not Now, Not Ever

Conjugal

It’s four in the morning during his second month of incarceration that Jeff realises where the gun is. That weapon had been the crux of his whole trial, his gun, his bullets, his crime.

They’d never found it but the ballistics were enough to put the nail in his coffin.

You had done everything you could to find it, to prove his innocence. You’d hired a PI to follow Lisa, trying to track down the location, and Jeff had wracked his brain trying to figure it out. The two of you had created a timeline, Haye’s death up until when his body was found and the police had turned up at Lisa’s place and then subsequently Jeff’s. There were only a limited amount of places that Lisa could have stashed it in that short space of time.

Now that he doesn’t have your visits to look forward, he has lot more time on his hands. The guys still take it in turns to visit. Severide had reamed him out over ending things with you, but he knew the other man understood. Hermann had promised to keep an eye on you, you were part of the family after all and so was Jeff, it doesn’t matter that he’s locked up. Capp regales him with firehouse antics whilst Casey assures him they’re doing everything in their power to work on his appeal.

After each visit he lies in his bunk and he thinks about you, the snippets of news he’s received from his visitors. You’re working more shifts, burying yourself in your work. You’d almost gotten yourself arrested for harassing Lisa, but Antonio had let you off with a warning. It had been the day after Jeff had terminated his visits with you. He wishes you’d just let it go, that you’d forget about him and move on but he knows it isn’t that easy. If your roles were reversed, he would be doing exactly the same thing.

He had never told you that Lisa had come to visit him a few dayss before Hayes was killed. She’d drove past the old house and found herself sitting in the garden underneath the tree they used to have picnics under in the summer. It had been sold almost six months before but the family had decided to renovate it before moving in, leaving it vacant.

“Do you remember carving our initials into that tree before you were deployed the last time?” She had asked him as they’d sat on his porch. He didn’t want her in the house, that was your place, the home you had created together, he hadn’t wanted this ex-wife to taint it. “They’re still there Jeff.”

There had been a nook in that tree, a vacant space. He used to hide Easter eggs in there for Lisa’s nieces and nephews so they could hunt for them over the holiday.

“I want to try again,” She’d told him, reaching for his hand. “I know we can be happy.”

He’d withdrawn then, crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the railing. If it had been a couple of years before, he would have jumped at the chance to rekindle their marriage but now he has a home, a family and he wouldn’t give that up for the world.

“I am happy.” He’d told her. “I’m building a life with someone else, I’m in love with someone else.”

She’d been furious after that, angry, tearful. He’d tried to pacify her but she’d climbed back into her car and he couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief.

He has to wait to make his phone call to Antonio Dawson, it’s a tedious process but he’d gotten used to it back in the military. He plays solitaire to pass the time because he can’t focus on the book he’s been trying to read. He doesn’t dare allow himself to hope that he’s right.

It’s the next day that Antonio comes to see him, the two of them sit across from each other. The convict and his arresting officer.

“We found the gun, along with her bloody shirt in the tree, just like you said. Her fingerprints where on both the weapon and the bullets.” Antonio tells him, his hands clasped together on the surface of the table. “The family moved into the house a few days after Haye’s death, she couldn’t risk going back to retrieve them.”

“When she came over that day, she wanted to get back together…” Jeff says, shaking his head. “I wonder if she had this in mind all along.”

“When she found out Hayes was cheating on her, it looks like she came to you for comfort and when she couldn’t get that she decided to take out two birds with one stone by killing him and framing you.” Antonio tells him, his jaw clenching as he looks around at the other tables. “You don’t deserve to be here Jeff, and I’m sorry for my part in that.”

“You were doing your job.” Jeff tells him, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his seat. “I don’t love how it turned out but I couldn’t say I wouldn’t have done the same thing if I was in your position. I just need to know what happens now.”

“Your lawyer will be getting in contact later today to go through the process with you, it may take a few days but you’ll be released, your record expunged, then I’m guessing they’ll be a conversation about compensation.” Antonio explains before meeting the other man’s gaze. “I’ve spoken to Boden about getting you reinstated, he’s working on and Noelle…”

Jeff’s body tenses at the mention of your name because he can’t allow himself to entertain the possibility of you stepping back into his life, not after all of this.

“She said she’ll be waiting for you when you step outside those gates. Both her and Rocco can’t wait for you to come home.”

Love Jeff? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[jeffannieftw]

JeffAnnie timeline (as I see it)

Season 1: she becomes attracted to him at the Halloween dance. He becomes attracted to her during debate 109. obviously attracted to each other, but neither willing to act on it because of the age gap and the fact they are friends. Until Annie kisses him in the finale (to see if she could win something that slater and Britta could not, to prove she was an adult), he reacts without thinking (men are monsters who crave young flesh). over the summer, he sits her down and explains that it can never happen again, the age gap is too weird, and if anything happened between them, he would be a social pariah. She is too infatuated and stubborn to listen.

Season 2: After the Irish singer wedding fiasco where she punches him in the nose, her infatuation is gone, and he is relieved. But the attraction to each other is still there, and they are still friends, so they start to slide back into a weird tension. This is the era of him tackling her. But he’s also sleeping with Britta. It does not bring out the best in him, and he doesn’t want to admit what’s going on, not even to himself. Annie meanwhile correctly sees they have a flirtation and calls him out for trying to chase off other guys she likes. But, since Jeff is an asshole, and feels severe guilt about their age gap, as well as fear at how much he likes her when he prefers more casual relationships, is all “ I can’t give you a clear answer” and “ I think you’re looking into some things”. Annie can’t resist a challenge and wants to win his love.

Season 3: Both of them know and accept there is attraction. He tries to force a father-daughter role so they can stay close without him having to deal with this being weird. But also, he’d screw her if she asked. Annie is frustrated with herself that she can’t shake him from her system, even though he’s gross and older and occasionally says the same things as her dad. Annie admits as well that sure, Jeff is hot, but what she really wants is to win him - get him, the narcissist who won’t settle down, to love her so that she’s lovable.

Here’s the pivot, where we get to the crux of the matter - they’ve both reached a weird point. Jeff knows that she’s in his heart (it terrifies him so he gets drunk at Shirley’s wedding), he knows that she’s an adult now, he knows the age gap will never not be weird. He knows he wants her and likes her. Annie knows that her desire for Jeff isn’t pure - it’s competitive, it’s cold blooded, but it’s still there. They aren’t willing to stop being friends. So where does that leave them? (I would’ve loved to see what would have happened here if Dan Harmon had stayed in charge, but he didn’t. So moving on.)

Season 4: Jeff and Annie are BFF with attraction. They are that girl/guy best friend couple that you are pretty sure will end up together one day. He attempts to get her to dress sexy (and honestly, a different season Annie would’ve jumped at the chance for male validation). He beams when she suggests threatening professors for a grade. She daydreams they are married. He pretends to protest when she redecorates his apartment. They make plans together. If there’s ever a season in which they are having secret sex, it’s this one.

Season 5: Peak JeffAnnie, honestly! They’ve been apart for a bit and now that they’re together again there’s no denying they are two adults who like each other. They don’t want to admit it though. If Jeff likes her, he has to be in a serious relationship, and that’s terrifying. Annie has an easier time admitting the truth. They team up without a second thought this season - ass crack bandit, floor is lava. They work well together. She suffers when he couples up with Britta. And finally, at the 11th hour, he looks at her with that weird emotion machine and realizes - it’s not a heavy like. He’s in love with her. He’s in love with Annie Edison. She looks at him, and he can’t face it. He looks away.

Season 6: Jeff drinks more and avoids cutesy capers to avoid the truth of his love for Annie. He’s a bit of a dick this season. Besides, he figures he has plenty of time. They’re still friends, they still hang out together all the time! In wedding videography, we see that they still fall into the old patterns - helping makes her feel good. Being near her makes him feel young. But then at the end, she can’t wait forever for him to confess. She’s moving on, moving out, moving up to better things. Jeff is confident that she’ll be president someday (how could she not? She’s beautiful, and smart, and vicious). But he has to tell her that he loves her. That he wishes he was young and could go into the world with her and he can’t, so he’s going to let her go. She wishes she could settle down with him, but she can’t. They kiss.

The movie: who knows???

[samwpmarleau]

fic: beware the jabberwock

whumptober day 6: regret masterlist: tumblr, ao3 Created by Dark Dimension magic, the Framework is a world all its own — which means it can be portaled to like any other.

Dr. Elias Morrow dies in an industrial accident, leaving his modest estate to his two nephews, Roberto, twenty-three, and Gabriel, twelve.

At least, that’s what Robbie gleans from snooping. Though, does it really count as snooping if it’s technically your house? It’s jarring, waking up in a bed that’s his own, yet not his own. He doesn’t recognize his bedroom, nor the rest of the house. It’s nice, nicer than his actual home, that’s for sure. There are no engine parts strewn on the kitchen table or car manuals on the bookshelf.

No, that’s not entirely true. There are car manuals — but they clearly haven’t been touched in years. On the table instead are books of concepts and blueprints way beyond his understanding, which Robbie at first assumes belong to Gabe. Then he sees the framed diploma on the wall: It’s his name on there, Caltech conferring upon him a master’s cum laude in mechanical engineering.

It makes his head spin a bit, until he remembers Gabe’s voice from long ago in quite literally another world.

How come you didn’t go back and finish school? We’re doing okay now. If you went back, maybe you could be an engineer, like Tío.

“An engineer …” he mutters to himself, running his fingers down the wooden frame.

He takes in the other photos scattered around the living room. Many are the same: Mom, Dad, Uncle Eli, him at high school football practice, Gabe at a science fair. One in particular catches his eye, however, of what appears to be his graduation. Various colored tassels hang around his neck as he rests his hand on the back of Gabe’s wheelchair. It gives him pause. He’d have thought that if Robbie — this Robbie — did go back and finish school, there’d have been no accident. That his path, and Gabe’s, would’ve been set on too different a course to end up on that same stupid road. No accident, no paralysis, no Ghost Rider.

A regular accident, then? Maybe Gabe was in the car with Mom and Dad when it crashed and survived where they didn’t. Or maybe it was the same as in the real world, except Robbie’s injuries hadn’t been fatal, so he’d had no occasion to beg the universe for help? Or was it none of those things and Gabe had simply been born that way?

Five minutes he’s been in this world and he’s already frustrated. It’s disconcerting to not know even the most basic of facts about his life.

The Rider had warned him about this, that this world could be alluring. Distracting. In fact, this was the exact reason the Rider didn’t want him to go into this dimension in the first place, seeing as how he could not follow. The constructed world was nearly perfect — but it existed in a reality all its own without a hell for a demon to attach itself to. At least, the Rider was not willing to gamble his own existence by jumping into a dimension that might swallow him whole.

Robbie himself, however, mortal and moping, the Rider was reasonably sure could survive if he were careful.

Which had felt so utterly patronizing that Robbie had walked through the portal mid-warning. Besides, it wasn’t like he could just not come. He wasn’t about to let a robot armed with the Darkhold have free rein over the people he’d come to consider … well, not friends, really, but coworkers. Allies.

The crux of it all is that regardless of what the intrepid S.H.I.E.L.D. team is or isn’t, they’re people he’s honor-bound to rescue. Maybe they can do it themselves — but he’s not about to take the chance that they can’t, that they’ll be trapped in this place forever under Aida’s thumb to do with what she will. Robbie knows all too well what it is to be someone’s puppet. If he can spare others that fate, he’ll do it no matter how strange or dangerous the circumstances.

The smell of smoke hitting his nose brings him out of his ruminations. He looks down to see it seeping from beneath his fingers, the wooden picture frame beginning to char. He drops it in alarm, glass shattering upon impact with the floor.

Robbie stares at his hands. Though there’s no active flame, he can feel the power running through his veins. It’s not exactly the same as he’s used to, like drinking off-brand Coke, but it’s close enough.

He doesn’t understand. The Rider had said this world couldn’t accommodate him, and Robbie doesn’t feel him inside his head, so how …?

Robbie jumps at the sound of a phone ringing. He reaches into his pocket for his cell, and finds nothing. The ring is coming from the kitchen wall — an honest-to-god landline. No bells or whistles, not even caller ID. Tabling the power mystery for later, he picks up the handset.

“Hello?”

“Robbie! Glad I caught you. You headed into work yet?”

He doesn’t remotely recognize the voice, nor does he have the slightest clue where “work” is. “Uh, no, not yet. What do you need?”

“One of the guys called out, some family emergency, and half the DMV metro has decided to have car troubles today. Mind filling in for old times’ sake?”

“Fill in as … a mechanic?”

“You said if I ever needed a favor —”

“Yeah, that’s fine, just …”

He has no idea if it’s fine. For all he knows, wherever he works would cap him for missing a day. But that’s a bridge he’ll cross when he gets to it. Fixing up some rides would not only be a welcome return to form but give him ample opportunity to learn some more about this place.

“Can you give me that address again?” he asks.

“You serious?”

“Moved on to bigger and better things, man, what can I say?”

After some indignation, the guy on the other end does give him the address. Robbie manages to find a map of D.C. in his office and charts the route to the shop.

The Charger sitting pretty in his avatar’s garage is a sight for sore eyes. Apart from having apparently been retrofitted with seatbelts, she looks the same. Sounds and feels the same, too, as he starts her up and eases out onto the road. While using a portal for transportation has its novelty and convenience, there’s nothing quite like the rough purr of his baby’s engine.

The only thing that mildly dampens his enjoyment is the realization that if ever there were a time to obey the speed limit, it’d be now. With the Rider, having a lead foot never mattered — the power that imbued the Charger with regenerative capabilities and pyrokinesis also prevented cops from noticing her speed.

Now, he’s got no demon to fend off law enforcement, and although he doesn’t know what the penalty here is for speeding, he assumes it’s more than a fine. Which is heat he definitely doesn’t need. He’s got a mission to carry out.

The farther he drives, the more he decides speed isn’t the issue anyway. It’s the surroundings. Everything is gray and uniform, with HYDRA symbols stamped on every available surface. Electronic highway signs tell people to report their neighbors. Dilapidated neighborhoods are a dime a dozen. Even the few people that actually walk the streets look miserable. The only familiar thing about any of it is that his car gets double-takes of admiration. He wonders if his avatar had gotten special dispensation to keep it. There is very little variety in the other cars he passes.

He walks into the shop with what he hopes exudes confidence, even as he takes in with disgust all the HYDRA propaganda posters littered on the walls. Required reading, no doubt.

“Reyes!” comes a voice across the shop. Its owner Robbie recognizes in person no more than he did over the phone. With a proffered uniform, the man greets, “Appreciate the help. Got a full slate for you as soon as you get dressed.”

Robbie nods, then heads into the back room to change. He hopes he can get the lay of the land quick enough to point him in the direction of how to find the team. If HYDRA’s running the show, he doubts S.H.I.E.L.D. will be up and running out in the open, which means it’ll take precious time to figure out where they are.

—

“A flat tire?” Robbie blinks in bewilderment as Phone Man — whom Robbie has since learned is named Perry — tells him the reason for pulling him from an accident repair job. “That’s what you’re sending me out on a call for?”

“What, you’re too good for it?” says Perry, frazzled and perturbed. “The call came from a HYDRA number, it’s top priority.”

If Robbie never hears the word HYDRA again after all this is over, it’ll be too damn soon.

“All right, I’m going, I’m going.”

The address leads him to a deserted stretch of highway outside the city, which makes him a little apprehensive. It doesn’t seem like a normal place a HYDRA agent would be. Then again, even after several hours of being in the shop conversing with both ex-work buddies and customers alike, the biggest things he’s gathered are that this world well and truly sucks, and that HYDRA has a habit of popping up when it’s most inconvenient for its citizens.

The vehicle is easy to spot, at least, halfway onto the road’s narrow shoulder and predictably emblazoned with HYDRA’s ostentatious sigil. A young woman leans against the side, looking annoyed rather than concerned or in trouble. Maybe he can delay, ask her some questions. While it’s been a good decade since he’s had reason to charm anyone, he can give it a shot.

“Need some help, ma’am?” he asks cheerily as he approaches with a toolbox. “We got a … call …”

He stares at the woman, stunned. She stares back at him, equally so. Because it’s not just a woman, it’s Daisy. She looks different, hair past her shoulders with a drab wardrobe and distinctly less eyeliner, but it’s unmistakably her. He’d know her anywhere.

“Robbie?”

She recognizes him, too, then. Thank Christ.

Dryly, he replies, “Surprise.”

“Wait … you’re you? Real world you?”

“Yeah, I’m me. Mostly.”

“How? And what do you mean ‘mostly’?”

“Long story. Short version, I’m here to help.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard in months,” Daisy says with a tired yet brilliant smile. “God, I can’t wait to see Aida’s ass get lit up.”

If only.

“About that … Ghost Rider’s not in the building.”

“Excuse me?”

“Part of that long story. I was able to portal to this dimension, but he couldn’t.”

Daisy grimaces. “Not gonna lie, it would’ve been useful to have that firepower.”

“Well,” Robbie says, trying not to be offended, “there is this.”

He focuses on the frenetic energy that sluices through his every cell down to the very marrow of his bones, then watches with satisfaction as a ball of fire forms in his palm.

Daisy’s eyes go wide. “Okay, hold up. You’re an Inhuman?”

“I think so.” Robbie extinguishes the fireball with a sizzle. “It’s probably the closest Aida could get to what I actually am.”

“Nice of her to activate your powers. That makes one of us.”

“You can’t quake anything here?”

“Nope. I still have the gene, but I haven’t gone through terrigenesis. Guess Aida didn’t bother making sure you hadn’t since that showdown with Eli seemed pretty final.”

As shameful as the feeling is, he can’t help but be a little happy that he’s here. It may not be a physical realm, and it may be run by the worst humanity has to offer, but he’s as close to being on Earth and his own person as he’s likely ever to be again. No fire except that which he can make himself. No brimstone or unholy screams or blood, guts, and ichor staining his hands. He tries not to think about the fact that once the team gets out of this place and Aida is dealt with, he’ll be bound once more for hell.

This world, Earth, Daisy, it’s all fleeting.

Focusing on the woman in front of him and not the after, he asks, “did you really call for a flat tire? You don’t know how to change one yourself?”

“Of course I know how to change one. There’s no spare in this thing, and the car called the closest mechanic. It was either try to get somewhere on foot or wait for a tow.”

“And your plan was what? Steal the truck?”

“Maybe. I don’t need powers to commit grand theft auto.” Daisy glances down at the hand that a few moments ago had held a fireball. “How’d you get yours anyway?”

“No idea. I think the accident Gabe and I were in still happened, but it’s not like I could Google it. Aida really went full fascist, didn’t she?”

“Absolute power, blah blah blah. So, are we gonna go or what?”

“Go? Go where?”

Daisy grins. “How’d you like to become an enemy of the state?”

[journeythroughjourneytothewest]

Chapter 26 Recap: "Amid the Three Islands Sun Wukong seeks a cure; With sweet dew Guanshiyin revivies a tree"

After presenting a short poem on how for as much as “The proverb says the sword’s the law of life” it’s assured that “The strong man will meet someone stronger still,” this chapter begins where the first volume ended; the Zhenyuan Great Immortal grabs the Monkey King, and tells the simian to stop “playing with your magic” and restore his Ginseng Fruit Tree. As is becoming typical for Sun Wukong, the monkey laughs at hearing the angry proclamation of his foe, and even goes on to state that if the Master Zhenyuan had but made this demand in the first place, “we would have been spared the conflict.” The Monkey King then tells the Great Immortal to untie Tang Sanzang, and that he’ll “give you back a living tree.” Master  Zhenyuan declares that if Sun Wukong manages to restore his tree he’ll become the monkey’s sworn brother.

Reckoning that the other pilgrims won’t be able to escape, the Zhenyuan Great Immortal has Tripitaka, Zhu Bajie, and Sha Wujing freed from their bonds. Zhu Bajie accuses Sun Wukong of wanting to “flee and take to the road all by himself” using the excuse of finding a way to revive the Ginseng Tree. The Monkey King declares he is “speaking…only the truth,” and that he plans to travel to the Three Islands and Ten Islets of the Great Eastern Ocean in order to ask the Immortals and Aged Sages that live there for a way to revive the three. He also declares he should be able to get the job done in three days. Likely feeling a bit suspicious of the monke, Tang Sanzang agrees to Sun Wukong’s three-day grace period, but also states that if the simian doesn’t return by then “I’ll begin reciting that ‘Old-Time Sutra’!” Fearful of the potential massive headache (but not enough to not threaten the Great Immortal’s kitchenware if Tripitaka isn’t given the best of care), the Monkey King sets off on his arboreal mission.

“Moving through the air like lightning and meteor,” Sun Wukong’s first stop in the Great Eastern Ocean is the “immortal region of Penglai,” a series of islands. There, he soon encounters a group of three immortals who look like old men playing encirclement chess. These are the Star of Longevity, the Star of Blessing, and the Star of Wealth. After the old men and the old monkey greet each other, Sun Wukong explains his situation while the immortals call him a “completely ignorant” dumb ape for having stolen the ginseng fruit and acting like it wasn’t a big deal, and of course for having broken the Ginseng Tree in the first place. The crux of the matter is that the “level of cultivation in Dao of the Great Immortal far surpasses” that of these three immortals, and that this is equally true for the Ginseng Tree; while “all you would need is one grain of my millet-elixir” to revive an earthly creature, the ginseng fruit “is the very root of all divine trees.” As such, these more lowly immortals have no way to heal it.

The Monkey King is dejected at this news, but the Star of Blessing encourages him by suggesting that there might be a cure for the tree somewhere else. The three immortals are also delighted upon learning of Sun Wukong’s fillet and the sutra that squeezes his head, for had “it not been for this little means of control, you would be crawling all over Heaven again!” Even so, the Star of Longevity promises that though the Great Immortal is these immortals’ senior, they’ll pay him a visit on the Monkey King’s behalf and also ask Tang Sanzang to not recite the Tight-Fillet Spell while the monkey is sincerely looking for a cure. Sun Wukong thanks them, and travels on.

The Stars mount the clouds and travel straight to the Abbey of Five Villages, where their arrival is announced by “the cries of cranes.” Zhu Bajie acts very familiar with the Star of Longevity, even calling him a “blubbery old codger.” The Star of Longevity calls him a “stupid coolie” in return, and the pig yaoguai and the three immortals get into a small name-calling contest before the arrival of Tripitaka and Master Zhenyuan. The three immortals are then able to give their account of Sun Wukong’s actions, all while being pranked by Zhu Bajie.

In the meantime, the Monkey King makes his arrival at the Fangzhang Mountain. It’s a beautiful place, but the simian is “in no mood to enjoy the scenery.” He is able to find an immortal quickly who we learn is the “Grand Thearch of the East,” said to have “saved the world a few times from distress.” Greeting this immortal “somewhat shamefacedly,” Sun Wukong is soon invited into to the Grand Thearch’s palace for tea. While waiting for the tea, the Monkey King is also greeted by a “lowly immortal named Dongfang Shuo,” who we learn had “palmed from Heaven’s gods’ peaches three times.” After Sun Wukong and Dongfang Shuo greet each other as “old burglar” and “little crook” respectively, the Grand Thearch orders Dongfang Shuo, religious name Manqian, to bring them tea. Manqian leaves, and Sun Wukong makes his request for a cure for the Ginseng Tree. The Grand Thearch calls him an “ape” who has “no care for anything except to cause trouble everywhere.” He also tells the Monkey King that Master Zhenyuan is “the patriarch of earthbound immortals,” and that even Sun Wukong doesn’t have the power to escape him. Furthermore, as the Ginseng Fruit Tree is the result of a “spiritual root that came into existence at the time of creation,” there’s no cure that the Grand Thearch knows of. Hearing this, old Monkey decides to take his leave, not daring to stay for an offered cup of jade nectar.

The next stop is the island of Yingzhou, another lovely realm for immortals. Here he finds nine immortals “with luminous white hair and beards” and “youthful complexion” “playing chess and drinking wine, telling jokes and singing songs.” Sun Wukong walks up to this gathering, and these immortals “quickly rose to greet him.” After the Monkey King and these Nine Elders exchange pleasantries (and Sun Wukong is lightly chided by the Nine Elders because had he “not disrupted Heaven, he would be even more content than we are), the monkey gives an account of his so far fruitless effort to restore the Ginseng Tree. After being told that he causes “too much trouble! Just too much trouble. Honestly, we don’t have a cure” but also being invited to “drink some jade nectar and eat some lotus root,” Sun Wukong swiftly takes his leave of the nine elders and heads straight to the Potalaka Mountain. There he finds “the Bodhisattva Guanyin giving a lecture to the various celestial guardians, dragon-ladies, and Moksa in the purple bamboo grove.” Noticing the Monkey King’s arrival, Bodhisattva Guayin sends the Great Mountain Guardian, formerly known as the Black Wind King, to meet him. After almost getting into an altercation with this yaoguai-turned-divine-guardian because he addressed him too familiarly, Sun Wukong “at once became solemn and earnest” when he hears that Bodhisattva Guanyin had asked the Great Mountain Guardian to greet him, and follows the bear down to have an audience with the bodhisattva. The Monkey King bows down and gives an account of what happened. The bodhisattva scolds him as a “mischievous monkey,” and Sun Wukong agrees that he “was truly ignorant.” Bodhisattva Guanyin also asks the Monkey King why he didn’t come to her sooner, which secretly pleases Sun Wukong as he assumes this means she as a cure. And indeed, the bodhisattva reveals that the “sweet dew in my immaculate vase can heal divine trees or spirit roots.” Declaring himself “lucky! Truly lucky!,” Sun Wukong flies behind Bodhisattva Guanyin back to the Abbey of Five Villages.

Master Zhenyuan was in the midst of “having lofty conversation with the Three Elders” when he notices the bodhisattva has arrived. Soon after all the assembled immortals, yaoguai, and one mortal man greet her, Bodhisattva Guanyin leads the party to where the Ginseng Tree lies dead. She orders Sun Wukong to stretch out his left hand, and, dipping her willow twig into the sweet dew of her vase, she “then used it as a brush and drew on the palm of Pilgrim a charm that had revivifying power.” She next tells the Monkey King to “place his hand at the base of the tree and watch for the sign of water spurting out.” Sun Wukong does so, and soon a “clear spring welled up from the ground.” After making it known that only something made of jade should be used to scoop up the water, Bodhisattva Guanyin then says the tree should be pushed back into an upright position and that this water should be poured over it from the top down. And so the Great Immortal “asked the little lads to take out some thirty jade tea cups and some fifty wine goblets with which they scooped up the clear water. Pilgrim, Eight Rules, and Sha Monk raised the tree into an upright position and covered its base with topsoil. They then handed the jade cups one by one to the Bodhisattva, who sprinkled the sweet liquid onto the tree with her willow branch as she recited a spell.” Before long, “the tree turned green all at once with thick leaves and branches.” Furthermore, twenty-three ginseng fruits ripen as well, one more than they had before.

The Great Immortal is very pleased by the restoration of the Ginseng Tree, and has ten of the fruits gathered so that he could host a Festival of Ginseng Fruits in honor of Bodhisattva Guanyin and the Three Elders. Sun Wukong, Zhu Bajie, and Sha Wujing each get a fruit, and seeing a bodhisattva and immortals consume the fruit convinces Tang Sanzang to eat one as well, meaning that he is now quite the immortal monk. After Sun Wukong thanks the Bodhisattva Guanyin and the Three Stars for their assistance they go back to their respective homes. To end the celebration, Master Zhenyuan “also prepared some vegetarian wine for a banquet, during which he and Pilgrim became bond-brothers.” And it is on the note that both Tang Sanzang and his disciples go to bed happy and have a restful night at the Abbey of Five Villages that this chapter ends.

[victorluvsalice]

Valicer OT3 Week, Day Seven: Free Day!

It's the finale of OT3 Week! Thank you @ot3-week for bringing it to us! And, as is tradition, the final day is a "free day" for anything you may want to write --

And without a prompt to guide me, I naturally went back to my beloved Valicer In The Dark trio! :D Because my favorite AU of the moment definitely needs to be represented during this week as well. So have the trio hanging out in their lair after they've gotten established and fixed the place up some, with Victor bringing up an interesting topic of conversation...

--

“This is about as far from how I expected my life to go as possible.”

Smiler looked up from their spot on the floor, hand still wedged in the brushes of their Smile Sweeper automaton. “Hmmm?”

“It’s just – whenever I pictured my future, I pictured the plan my parents had made for me,” Victor continued, absently picking out a melody from the piano. “An arranged marriage to whoever was most likely to get them the status and the house in Brightstone my mother so craved. A job working in, then running Father’s cannery once he was ready to give up the reins. Children whenever Mother decided she wanted grandchildren. Things like that. I never – I hoped that I would come to love whoever my parents picked out for me, and that they wouldn’t mind me having a dog, but other than that...I didn’t really have any dreams for myself.” He looked around the living room. “Certainly not any that included me running away from home, becoming a Whisper, and setting up house in Six Towers with two people who actually and truly love me.”

“Don’t forget becoming a semi-famous criminal,” Alice put in, eyes still on her sketchbook.

Victor snorted. “That too. But yes – it’s really not where I thought I’d end up in life.”

“I don’t think any of us expected to end up here,” Smiler pointed out, finishing unwinding the thread that had tangled in the brushes. They flipped the Sweeper back over and switched on its electroplasmic battery, causing it to come back to life with a happy ping! “On my end, I thought I’d be living in Advocate headquarters for the rest of my life. Helping out fellow Advocates, advancing our causes, eventually trading Joy Serum sales on the street for taking over the shop in Nightmarket from Mum and Dad. Maybe get married and have children, maybe not – I wasn’t going to commit until I knew for sure it was going to make me happy. But in my future, I always put the Advocates first.” They grinned. “Then a man fell out of a wall in front of me and Alice, and everything took a big old left turn.”

“It was more to our side,” Alice said, smirking as she looked up. “But they have a point, Victor – do you think I expected any of this to happen? I couldn’t picture a future for myself at all for years – all throughout my time in Rutledge. It was too hard to think of a life without my family. And even when I realized I had to and defeated the Queen of Hearts to get myself out of there, I never thought much beyond the next week or so – simple survival always took precedence. Hell, even when you caught me on the way to Nan’s to talk to her about Bumby and what I should do, Smiler, I didn’t have any plans beyond taking care of him.” She bit her lip, lowering her sketchbook to her lap. “I think, subconsciously, I assumed I’d immediately get caught for his murder and Hollowed out.”

“Alice,” Victor started, getting up from the bench.

“I’m fine,” Alice assured him, holding up a hand. “And that’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it? I’m fine. Not perfect, but – bloody hell, in a better state than I ever thought I might achieve after Rutledge. I still talk to things that aren’t there, sure, but it’s not nearly as bad as it was. Wonderland’s even gone from hindrance to help, in fact – you two know my hallucinations are better at picking up things than I am sometimes. And as for the rest of it – I’ve got a roof over my head, I’ve got time for hobbies, I’m making a difference for those less fortunate than myself – in a very illegal manner, granted, but fuck the Bluecoats and all the corrupt shites they stand for–” She looked from Smiler to Victor, expression softening. “And I’ve got two people who love me, which is two more than I ever imagined.”

Victor smiled, going to join her on the couch. “Me too. I’m – I’m so happy I fell out of that wall in front of you two. Or, to the side, or – near you,” he finally said with a laugh. “Let’s just say near you.”

“I’m happy too,” Smiler said, releasing the Sweeper onto the floor and getting up to join them. “I don’t even want to imagine life without you two now. You’re my best friend, Alice – and you’re the best partner I could have ever dreamed of, Victor. I love you both so much.”

“I couldn’t have put it better myself,” Alice said, taking Victor’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “I know it was a bit of a long, bumpy road to get here, what with all the nonsense surrounding how we met and our chosen profession, but – I am so glad we put in the work.”

Victor squeezed her hand back, then took Smiler’s as they sat down next to him. “Me too. I am truly blessed to have you both in my life. I can’t wait to spend all our remaining years together.”

“Same,” Smiler said, leaning their head against his shoulder.

“Same,” Alice echoed, doing the same. “I just hope we have plenty of them – we have ticked off a lot of powerful and important people.”

“Well, they have to find our heavily-warded and ghost-protected house first,” Smiler said with a cheeky grin. “And good luck to them.”

“Mmm – though, that reminds me,” Victor said, looking between them. “I overheard in the greenhouse the other day a woman talking about how she was looking for someone to steal a brooch back from her estranged husband...”

[heliads]

everything is blue • conrisa space au • Chapter Nine: Stay Whole

Risa Ward escaped a shuttle destined for her certain, painful death. Connor Lassiter ran away from home before it was too late. Lev Calder was kidnapped. All of them were supposed to be dissected for parts, used to advance a declining galaxy, but as of right now, all of them are whole. Life will not stay the same way forever.

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Connor is used to the routine. It keeps him sane. It keeps him whole. He wakes in the morning and he sleeps in the evening. The schedule may be arbitrary, oriented around a central sun somewhere light years away from him as required by Coreworld standards, but it makes sense. Connor has just enough energy to get through his day without dragging, and when he closes his eyes each night, he’s so exhausted that he can travel through the dark hours in mostly dreamless sleep. The repetition is clinical. It keeps him grounded, or as much as it can when he’s locked in a tin can stuck somewhere in space.

Connor tells himself that having each day be damn near identical is good for him. He believes it at least half the time. When he’s stuck trying and failing to get various ship systems to function properly for the billionth day in a row, the message is a little harder to get across, but it’s better that Connor sees it through than not. He and Risa celebrated one year since their arrival in the Graveyard last week, so it’s not like his blind hatred is really going to do anything to get him out of here any faster.

After all, it may be a little bit mindless, going through the same day over and over again, but at least it’s safe. Out there in the never ending galaxy, there are always new turmoils and bigger troubles. Connor isn’t actively running for his life. Hiding is more efficient, and you die at least twice as infrequently.

At this point, Connor is pretty sure that he could do the whole day in his sleep. He wakes, he eats, he tells Risa to have fun in the med wing so he can see that adorable glare she gives him every time. Connor waits in the crux of the corridor in which they part ways so he can watch her go until she disappears out of sight, and then he turns and goes his own merry way towards the engineering sector. Once there, he’ll toil among stardust or spanner wrenches until the day is done, stopping only for a quick midday meal before throwing himself back into his latest project. 

Finally, Hayden’s voice will sound over the ship intercom system, announcing that the day’s work is over. Then, and only then, can Connor join the teeming mass of other Deadmen to get the final meal of the day. No one likes lingering in their workplace longer than they have to, so the corridors are always a sprawling mess of kids going every direction so long as it’s away. Even still, Connor manages to find Risa in mere moments every time. No matter how many distributes are surrounding them, each and every day Connor turns around to spot her instantly across the crowd. It’s the easiest thing in the worlds, somehow. Finding her. He knows her like he knows himself.

And so Connor has become accustomed to the cycle, the cycle that never ends. He gets up and he gets older. He’s taller, maybe; he’d like to think so, at least. He told Risa that once and she told him he was kidding himself, like she knew better. He’d asked her why she would be such an expert on his appearance and she just blushed and looked away. Connor has hopes as to why that happened. They’re probably not true, of course, but what else are hopes for except to want too much too fast?

The little things, the offhand conversations, make the days better anyway. Connor knows how to fix the parts and walk the halls, but the people change from day to day, they always change. Sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. But they’re always different.

Connor reckons he can tell the good differences from the bad ones. He’d know it in a flash, probably, like a spy from one of those old action movies he used to love as a kid. A man in a dark suit, walking into a room, pausing to whip off his sunglasses and announce ominously:  Someone’s been here. I can feel it.

Connor thinks he feels it now. There’s an unsteady lurch to the recycled air pumping out around him. Connor’s fixed it up enough times to recognize the hum of the beaten motor inside. It’s working fine, though, so that’s not it. Maybe the lights– are some out? No, the glow is steady, if a little dim, but that’s just because they’ve been running on reduced power for a month or so now to try and conserve supplies. Connor thinks, and then– and then he knows.

The Graveyard is quiet, and it is the quiet more than anything that tells Connor it’s finally over. He’s had a long and varied history with trouble, and after several offenses, Connor recognizes the pattern as it repeats itself. It’s quiet first. It’s always quiet first. The quiet makes you let down your guard, and that’s when they strike. Always. Even now, on a cruiser in the outer reaches of space somewhere not even Connor knows. Things will always end the same, and they will always end badly. 

(Later, he will find out that they used signal cloakers, which had the added effect of not only muting their presence to any Graveyard scanners but also beginning the preliminary shutdown of the Graveyard systems themselves. The quiet can be explained scientifically, but that does not change the way it felt, nor the fact that Connor should have known it was coming. There is no hiding from Them. Even if you run from the shuttle destined for a distribution colony, even if you spit in the eye of the Collective with your little contraband radio show, even if you’re the starsforsaken Akron AWOL himself, you’re still a filthy unwind, and that means They’ll always find you. He knows this. He thought he could be the exception anyway. Everyone does.)

The Graveyard is quiet, and the Graveyard is doomed. Connor slinks into the corridor outside, a wrench slack in his hand from where he’d been trying to fix up an old recirculation unit in the back of one of the engine rooms. He wanders aimlessly for a little bit, not sure what he’s looking for, just that he needs to find it. It, which he will recognize when he sees it.

Connor turns a corner and then he knows. He freezes in place in front of a large window. The glass is dingy with the faded dust of asteroids that disintegrated in the empty space around them decades ago, if not centuries, but the panel is still clear enough that Connor can still see through it to the score of warships outside. Their exterior lights aren’t on, not yet, in fact, they’re still pulling off their camouflage settings so they can ripple into view, but Connor has spotted them anyway, and he knows what they are even without the extra identification. This is the Collective. This is the end.

The shout that rises from his throat is louder than anything Connor has heard before, guttural and emanating from deep within him. “They’re here!”

At first, no one responds, and then the first kid pokes his head out a nearby door, looks at Connor then past him through the window, and his eyes bulge like he’s been strangled. “Juveys!” He shouts, and then another kid appears behind him, and another, and another.

The message spreads like wildfire, and then a thousand footsteps echo in the hallway, a swarm of synth-bees leaving a burning nest. Maybe Connor shouldn’t have done it like this, maybe he shouldn’t have caused a mass panic, but he figures everyone should have as much time as they can to put their lives in order and prepare for the worst. If he had kept his mouth shut, someone else would have looked out the window soon enough anyway. It might as well have been him to end their world.

Connor pauses for one last moment, drinking in the sight of his soon-to-be killers, then remembers himself and tears off down the hallway towards the nav center. It’s slow going at first, as he pushes through crowds of terrified distributes, but then they clear up and he can run again, forcing himself to go faster than he ever has before in the name of trying to do something, anything, to delay the inevitable.

The nav kids are pacing back and forth, and they all flinch when Connor throws open the door. One of them starts to ask timidly what the fuss is about, but Connor cuts him off, fighting for breath even as he spits out the words. 

“Juveys outside,” he gasps, “At least a dozen ships. Too many for us to fight. We have to go.” 

Even as he says it, Connor knows it’s pointless. There’s no way in sunfire this ship can move. It’s become bloated with temporary fixes to constant problems, continuously smoothed over just to break back open again. With this many kids on board, with the fact that it hasn’t been used to actually fly in decades, the chance of it moving more than the length of one teenager lying down is abysmal.

The kids exchange nervous glances. They know it too, don’t they? There’s no way any of them are making it out. “This thing hasn’t tried to fly any distance since before we got here,” one of them starts nervously.

“Well, it’s this or distribution,” Connor says, and the color drains from their faces. “Try anyway. We have no other choice.”

They spring to attention, hurrying to the banks of controls in front of them. The oldest, clearly the one in charge, flicks several switches, calling out directions to the others. They all work with urgency, good for them, but even their focus won’t be enough to convince what’s essentially a self-contained colony to make a jump between star systems. Nothing can save them. Not even hope.

After several failed attempts, the leader looks up, shaking his head sorrowfully. “We don’t have enough power from the engines. Nothing we can do.”

Connor lets out a particularly vicious string of swears. “Thanks for trying, though. I mean it.”

The leader takes a hesitant step towards Connor. “What do we do, then? If we can’t move?”

Connor feels sick to his stomach as he takes in the expectation in the faces surrounding him. Even after facing the truth that they cannot fly away, that there are more than a dozen fully stocked warships of Juvey-cops surging ever closer to them, these kids still think that Connor can come up with a master plan to get them all out alive and intact.

“Why do you think I would know?” He asks bitterly.

A girl next to him lifts a shoulder. “You did it before, right? You got away from the cop back in OH-10. You’re the Akron AWOL.”

“That was one guy,” Connor says desperately. “And it’s not– Look, there’s nothing I can do against that many cops. Get as many kids as you can into the escape pods. If they leave before you can get on one, hide. Maybe they’ll pass over you.”

It sounds absurd even as he says it. There are escape pods on the ship, but not enough, not nearly enough, and there’s no way that the Juvey-cops are going to let anyone go. They’ll be scouring this ship for weeks. No kid can hold out that long. They’re just kids. Just kids who wanted to be alive. What a terrible crime indeed.

Connor is saved from the burden of having to watch their expressions crumble when the entire ship shakes. He nearly loses his balance and has to cling onto a nearby table to stabilize himself. Other kids who weren’t as light on their feet go sprawling, joining the debris on nearby desks in an untidy mess on the floor.

There’s a brief hissing from the intercom system, and then a grown man who definitely isn’t Hayden starts to speak. “This is Officer Reed of the Juvenile Authority. On behalf of the Collective, this ship is now under our control. Come out quietly and no further harm will come to you.”

The man’s cool tone does nothing to assuage the fear on the faces of the distributes around Connor, obviously, because despite his promise that none of them will be harmed, they’re still definitely going to get distributed after this. The other kids stare back at him, and Connor takes one last moment to memorize their faces, the way this room looks, because odds are he’s not going to see it again.

“Run,” Connor repeats urgently, and throws himself out the door and into the hallways, which are even more chaotic than before. He’s got to get to Risa, got to find her first. Once they’re together, they can figure something out. They always do.

Connor forces himself through throngs of people. The crowds are becoming unmanageable as so many Deadmen realize that they really are, at last, about to die in every way that a person can die bar one hypothetical exception. His feet are trampled about a dozen times in a second, and when a hatch at the far end of the hall opens up to reveal the silhouettes of rows of Juvey-cops ready to board their shuttle, the insanity only becomes worse. 

Suddenly, everyone’s pushing and shoving each other in an effort to get away. Connor tries to keep his head above the fray, but he’s continuously pushed back and down. He might get pulled underneath if this gets any worse, but just as he has this terrible thought, someone reaches through the crowd and yanks him to the wall of the corridor, out of the way of the main surge.

“Thanks,” Connor gasps.

Glancing up, he realizes that Hayden was the one to save him. He frowns. “What in the worlds are you doing over here? The ComBom is on the other side of the ship.”

Hayden just sighs, gesturing for Connor to keep moving. “I was called away about half a standard hour ago so I could help some of the security kids. They said they picked up some strange readouts overnight and they couldn’t figure out what they were. Someone thought they were from my show, but it wasn’t me. I think someone else sent out a broadcast behind my back, but they weren’t too good at keeping their tracks hidden.”

Connor’s stomach drops. “You think that’s how they found us? Someone tried to reach out a little too far?”

Hayden’s face is ashy even in the weak light of the crowded corridor. “I recognized the signature, Connor. It was from the ComBom. Maybe even from my computer. It wasn’t me, though. I swear it wasn’t me. I’m always careful.”

“I believe you, man,” Connor assures him, but on the inside his mind is abuzz with this new information. 

If not Hayden, then who? None of the kids in the ComBom would be stupid enough to send out any broadcast without thoroughly vetting it to make sure it wouldn’t give them away. It would have to be someone else, someone who was less familiar with the equipment so they wouldn’t know how to keep everyone safe. Someone who maybe didn’t even care about keeping the rest of them safe so long as they could send out their message and really stick it to the man. Someone who would have learned just enough about how to work the radio systems through word of mouth, or, for instance, eavesdropping in a hallway while Hayden talked to Connor and Risa about it.

“Starkey,” Connor gasps out in the midst of a thunderous realization, “It was Starkey. He must have heard us talking. Damned runners are always trying to learn all our secrets. He listened in and thought he could one up your little show with his own message.”

Hayden swears, although half of it is drowned out with the calamitous roar of the warships surrounding them. A kid is screaming somewhere behind them, yelling bloody murder like they’re actually distributing him on the spot. Connor doesn’t dare turn around to check if they are.

“Gotta be him,” Hayden agrees, yanking Connor down a nearby hallway so they can start to shake the crowd, “None of my guys in there would have done something so stupid as that. We always checked what we sent out to make sure it couldn’t get traced back to us. Always.”

Connor risks a glance towards his friend and feels another wave of grief wash over him at the sight of the look in Hayden’s eyes. The blond boy has always been upbeat, always quick to a joke, but right now, he looks totally destroyed. Even if Hayden wasn’t the one to send out the one transmission that led the Juvenile Authority to the Graveyard, it was still done on his machines, in his precious ComBom. It may not have been his hands to reveal them, but it was his fault nonetheless. Months, if not years, of being careful, of never letting the Juveys know where they are, and it’s all over now for Starkey’s one bright, bold moment of fame. What a way to go.

Something rocks the Graveyard again, sending both boys tumbling against the corridor wall. “Must be the nav kids trying to get us moving again,” Connor says, wincing as he prods a quickly forming bruise on his hip. “I told them to run, but there’s nowhere for us to go. They’re doing the best they can.”

“I can help too,” Hayden breaks in. “The ComBom is not far from here, I can get on and try to tell kids what to do.”

Connor shakes his head. “That’s a pointless risk. It’s chaos in here anyway, a few directions won’t save anyone. The soldiers are going to go for the ComBom first, you know that. You’ll get caught in seconds.”

Hayden’s mouth is a thin grim line. Connor wonders how it could have ever smiled before. “I have to, Connor. Let me make this right.”

Connor wants to persuade him otherwise, but he knows it’s a lost cause. Hayden will never forgive himself for letting that one transmission pass by him. If he thinks staying behind will make things right, who is Connor to take that from him?

“Alright,” he says at last, “But stay safe, Hayden. Make it to one of the escape pods. Promise me that. The galaxy needs more Radio Free Hayden.”

“Don’t I know it?” Hayden cracks wryly. A ghost of a grin flickers over his lips, perhaps the last one he’ll ever get, and then he takes off down a nearby hallway and is gone for good. Connor has no idea if he’ll see the blond again. He hopes to the stars themselves he will, and not in parts of someone else.

Having lost Hayden, Connor’s main priority will now be getting to Risa. He runs along, dodging around the madness surrounding them. The nav kids are trying to pull away from the Juvey-cop shuttles, but making the Graveyard move at all is a hopeless cause. Every bit of energy directed to the engines, every inch they crawl along, just serves to tear the cruiser apart from the inside out. The lights are flickering more than ever, and smoke is starting to fissure out of some of the vents as he passes by.

The destruction is only aided by the Juveys. They’ve swarmed into the corridors by now, dragging kids off to their ships. The Deadmen are putting up a fight as best they can, grabbing parts of pipes and wrenches to use as weapons, but there’s nothing they can do against that much firepower. Connor catches a glimpse of one officer aiming a tranq gun at one of the older kids who used to guard the Admiral. The kid dodges and the blast goes into a nearby instrument panel, sending up a shower of sparks.

Each pull of a trigger sends Connor’s heartbeat to new, dizzying levels. When he passes a girl unconscious on the side of the hall, he drags her to safety. He checks her face at least five times to make sure she’s not Risa, but even after he keeps running, Connor is not entirely sure that he hasn’t just abandoned her by accident. The roar of sound around him makes him dizzy, unable to think clearly. He’s going to get himself killed if he doesn’t– if he can’t–

A hand on his arm. Connor whips around, ready to fight off a soldier, but it’s her, it’s Risa, and he can breathe again. Forgetting himself for a moment, Connor clutches her to him, one hand against the back of her head, another pulling her close. For this one brief and glorious instant, he’s got her tucked against him, he can hear her heartbeat, cool as ever, against his own, and he thinks that he might just make it out alive.

A round of gunfire too close to them makes him startle away again. Even still, he can’t stop himself from looking over her constantly to make sure she’s not injured. “You’re alright?” He asks.

Risa nods, although she looks a little shaky. “For now, at least. We have to get out of here, the Juveys are everywhere.”

Connor sees no problem with that. As if he’d just heard them, the intercom system crackles to life above their heads and Hayden’s voice rings out like an avenging angel. “Ladies and gentlemen of the Graveyard, it’s been an honor to live with you. I want to invite you all to get on the escape pods located along the southern and eastern edges of the ship. I hope we see each other again soon, and until then, stay whole. Hayden, signing out.”

He’s gone in another loud rush of static, and thus the Deadmen are abandoned to their fates. “He said it too late,” Risa mutters sadly. “Most of the pods will be gone by now. There aren’t nearly enough for everyone.”

“I know,” Connor says back. It’s all he can do. “Let’s hurry over now, though. Maybe some will still be there when we arrive.”

Distributes are disappearing by the second. Connor yanks kids out of the way of rogue tranq shots as he goes, but he can’t go up against the soldiers teaming up in groups of three or four to pull Deadmen down the corridors and into their awaiting ships. There’s nothing he can do to fix this, but that does not stop the relentless surge of guilt from boiling in his chest.

“Wait,” Connor says, skidding to a stop as a terrible thought occurs to him, “The Admiral. We have to get the Admiral.”

Risa shakes her head sorrowfully. “He’s a traitor to the Collective, Connor. They won’t be giving him a stern talking-to or something like that. We can’t help him any more than he can help us.”

Connor’s mouth feels dry. “That’s why we need to get to him, though.”

Risa looks away. “Connor. It’s too late.”

He follows her gaze back down the corridor to see a squad of Juvey-cops breaking down the door to the Admiral’s office. There are shouts that turn into a terrible, drawn-out scream, and then the resounding bang of one final gunshot and everything turns quiet again. Risa was right. It was too late, and now the Collective has taught a lesson to the Admiral and anyone within their ranks who thinks about trying to save kids from distribution:  take them away from their fates, and they’ll deliver you to yours faster than you expect.

The squad appears in the doorway again, scanning the corridor in an almost mechanical motion, and then one of them spots Connor and Risa and points, “There!”

The cops start to run in their direction, which is all the goading Connor needs to stop wavering and start moving again. He grabs Risa by the hand so they don’t get separated in the chaos and they take off, moving as fast as they can despite the chunks of debris now littering the floor. Everywhere around him, Connor hears terrified yells, the shattering of equipment. It’s carnage out there. No one’s getting killed, but kids are vanishing anyway, dragged into the bowels of the Juvey ships. 

Everyone here thought they could escape distribution, but this is the grim reminder that no one ever can. Some ferals have spent years on this ship. They probably thought they could make it, but no more. Never again will they be stupid enough to dream of survival.

As they draw closer to the eastern edge of the ship, Connor picks up the pace. The number of kids has dramatically increased, and Connor can see fights breaking out not just between distributes and Juveys but among the Deadmen themselves. Kids who used to be best friends are shoving each other to the ground in an effort to make it to the few remaining escape pods.

Even from here, Connor can tell that they’re running out fast. “Down here,” he blurts out, pulling Risa into a side corridor, “We can cut around to the back edge of the sector. Maybe there are still some left.”

They race down the corridor, pausing briefly at the end so Connor can tap into a control panel and check on the status of the escape pods. Judging by the rows of blanks, most are gone, but there’s still two left on the very end, single seaters that have been neglected by the rest of the kids because they’re just far enough out of the main thoroughfare so as to avoid detection by the stampedes of desperate teenagers.

The two of them duck around a corner, rejoining the sector with the pods. Connor can make out the bays for the two remaining pods; they’re hidden in a shadowy crevice of the sector, but still there, and that means there’s still a chance for them to make it out alive.

The rest of the sector is in chaos, but Connor isn’t looking. He’s got tunnel vision now, able to think about two things and two things only:  one, the escape pods, still waiting in their bays, and two, Risa’s hand on his, reminding him that she’s still here, still with him. That’s all he needs. All he’s ever needed. He has lived two lives in the past sixteen years, first a child in a home that was never truly his and then this, now, a runaway distribute with a girl who wanted him like no one ever had. If he wants to survive, he’ll have her. He has to have her.

They skid to a stop in front of the two pods. “You first,” Connor says, opening up one of the pods and helping her inside. 

There’s just enough room for one person to sit, but they’ll be able to follow each other down to the nearest planet surface, plus the comms systems should be functional, so they can talk if something goes wrong. The engineers have ensured that the escape pods work properly, there are mandatory checkups every month, so there’s no issue there. They just need to get in, that’s all, but they’re already here, and no one has noticed them yet, so it should be fine.

Once Risa’s in her pod, Connor reaches in to help fasten her in. She allows him to set up the nav system, but once he tries to do much more than that, she bats his hands away. “I can figure out the rest. Get in,” she tells him.

He manages a half smile. “So bossy.”

She rolls her eyes, but her returning smile is taut with nerves. “I’ll let you complain all you like once we’re out of here.”

Connor nods and pulls away, but before he can access his own escape pod, there’s a loud juddering of machinery and large chunks of the ceiling start to rain down, sending metal panels tumbling to the ground. Connor hits the floor immediately, rolling away just in time to dodge a particularly sharp section. 

The sharp tang of copper fills the air, but other than a few mild scratches, Connor’s not hurt badly. The same cannot be said for everyone here; several of the teenagers who were fighting over the few remaining escape pods earlier are lying motionless on the ground now, crushed beneath chunks of steel. The kids they’d been fighting with stand over their bodies, horrified, then rush back to the pods, now with significantly fewer defenders than there had been just moments before.

Risa cries out in fear, and Connor doggedly pulls himself up. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he mutters, although from the way his head is ringing, that might not be entirely true.

He’ll have time to sort out his injuries, though. If you’re going to strand yourself in the farthest reaches of the galaxy, it’s not a bad thing to have an expert healer like Risa out there with you. He just has to get into his pod, and then he can slump against the seat and try not to pass out before he lands.

Connor forces himself to his feet, and his vision is so spotty that it takes a few moments for the black dots to clear from his sight, and a few more seconds after that to come to terms with what he’s seeing. Or, more specifically, what he isn’t seeing. Connor had been able to dodge that chunk of the ceiling panel that had come so close to killing him, but the pod hadn’t been able to move, and it had been thoroughly wrecked. 

Escape pods are meant to take a wide variety of blows, all part of space travel, but that’s when they’re sealed off from the elements. This one had been open and awaiting a passenger, but now it’s only host to a smoking pile of metal, which has sliced cleanly through the control panel that controls both nav systems and life support. There’s no way in all the worlds it can fly anymore, which means– which means–

Which means Connor isn’t getting out of here anymore. Risa leaned out of her seat to see what he was looking at, and the second she sees the sparking mess of what was supposed to be Connor’s ticket out of here, her face crumbles to pieces.

She starts trying to stand up and get out, but she’d already fastened the harness, and her hands are shaking so badly that the clasps refuse to undo themselves. “No. No. Connor, get in here. We can both fit. It’ll work out. We can still both make it.”

Connor shakes his head. “They’re designed for one passenger. We’ll run out of air.”

Risa glares at him, but the tear tracks on her face ruin any impression of hostility. “If we suffocate, at least we’ll be together. Don’t you leave me, Connor. Not after everything.” 

Connor doesn’t realize he’s crying until his hand touches his face and comes back wet. “It’s okay, Risa. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” she argues. “None of this is okay. We were supposed to make it out. It was supposed to be us.”

Risa finally manages to get the harness off, but Connor slams his hand onto the control panel outside the pod, locking the door shut. Risa pounds her fist against the glass, but this, unlike the interior of Connor’s escape pod, was designed not to break, and it holds firm.

“Thank you,” he says over the thunder of her fists on the hatch, “Thank you for everything, Risa. Live your life, alright? Make it a good one.”

He presses another button on the escape pod, shutting it off from the ship and beginning exit protocol. Once the pod seals, Connor can’t hear her anymore, can’t tell when her screams turn to a broken, pleading goodbye except by watching her lips. The pod finishes disengaging from the ship and launches itself into space. Connor watches Risa pull away from him, and then she’s gone, and Connor is on his own for the first time in more than a year.

He rocks back on his heels. This is it, then. This is how he goes. He turns to a nearby control panel and repeats what he’d done before to check for any more pods, just in case, but only turns up blanks. All of the escape vehicles have launched, and there are no more shuttles or smaller ships on the cruiser. Everyone left in the Graveyard will die or be distributed. A ghost of a memory in his head, a laughing voice:  which is worse?

Connor still isn’t entirely sure of the answer, but he doesn’t have to decide now, he doesn’t. He can still hide. Connor is great at hiding. He’s done it for the last year, and even if they’ve found the Graveyard, the soldiers won’t know every last nook and cranny, not like he does. They won’t risk blowing the cruiser to pieces either, the explosion would probably incinerate their ships as well. 

An idea is blossoming in Connor’s head, a terrible death wish born of this last twist of fate. Connor begins moving again, walking then running towards the engine room. The ship is tearing itself to pieces at this point, unable to stand against the combined threat of the guns of the Juvey-cop warships outside and the nav kids’ unsuccessful attempts to fly away. Several times, Connor attempts to head down one corridor only to find it blocked off by mountains of rubble. 

He keeps having to dodge Juveys, but they’re easy enough to shake. The cops are moving slower now, taking their time. They know there’s nowhere any of them can go. It’s like trapping synth-rats in a rotting house. The floorboards can be burned away, the carcass of their hideaway ripped to pieces. The vermin will always be found.

The engine room is worse off than anywhere else in the Graveyard. Connor has to fling an arm over his mouth, instantly doubled over and coughing on the fumes. Something’s leaking, maybe fuell, which doesn’t bode well. Connor is here to hide, but his hiding space shouldn’t kill him, too. 

No Juveys linger in the engine room. They’re cocky, but not that stupid. The whole ship is tearing itself to pieces, the last place anyone rational would go is the room with the power sources. If the engines were to stall and implode, the subsequent reaction wouldn’t just tear the Graveyard to bits, it would take out those warships, too, and every soldier of the Juvenile Authority on board. No one wants to mess around here, which makes it perfect. All Connor has to do is lie low long enough to wait out the cops, even if it takes days, and then crawl out long enough to send a distress signal. He can figure this out. He can still make it.

Pulling the neck of his shirt over his nose and mouth to avoid the bite of the fumes, Connor plunges further into the engine room. All of the overhead lights are out, leaving only the beeping pinpricks of the panels near the engines themselves. The machinery in here is massive, practically the entire height of the cruiser. Connor climbs up the precarious structures in search of a spot no one will look at. At least if Juveys come in here, he can see them coming and try to avoid their gaze.

Just as he has this thought, a silhouette appears in the doorway. In the darkness of the engine room, Connor can’t make out if they’re a kid or a cop. If it’s a Juvey, Connor can probably run before the soldier drags him off. There’s no chance of remaining hidden since the guy obviously followed him in, but Connor might be able to give him the slip in these shadows.

“Just a moment, officer,” Connor shouts, still squinting to make out details on the guy’s face, “I don’t want to be locked away quite yet. Give a guy a few more minutes of freedom, will you?”

“I’m not a cop,” the stranger chides, and Connor feels his body start to lock up.

The boy stalking into the room certainly isn’t a cop, he’s Roland. Somehow, some of the last few Deadmen left alive on the cruiser include himself and Roland, and of course the older boy has taken it upon himself to track down Connor. What a great use of his last moments whole.

“What do you want? A friendly conversation before we’re both dismembered?” Connor asks, moving even more frantically than before.

“I don’t want to talk,” Roland drawls, and Connor swears he’s halved the distance between them in the time it took to blink. Connor can barely hear the guy moving over the clanging of the machinery behind him, which isn’t good.

He peers over the lip of the structure he’s on and sees Roland clambering up the machinery after him, eyes locked in blind hatred on Connor’s form. “What’s your plan, Connor?” Roland shouts up. “Going to hide until they went away? Like that’ll work.”

“It’s this or distribution, you tell me which is worse. I can pull this off, have some faith.” Connor calls back, but his voice wavers.

Roland cackles, sensing the hesitation in his voice. “Are you sure? Do you really think you can outsmart an entire army of Juvey-cops? And either way, are you just going to ignore every other kid they’re dragging off out there? I thought you really cared.”

Connor scoffs, still backing away down the narrow walkway surrounding the machinery. He swears the thunder of noise from the hall outside is getting louder, but maybe that’s just the panic setting in. “It’s sweet of you to care about my conscience. What, do you want to team up and stop all of our little friends from dying?”

“I’m not interested in their deaths,” Roland spits, “Just yours.”

Connor wheels around again, panicked, just in time for Roland to strike him across the face. Connor slams against the control panel, which probably does more to sabotage the ship than any of the chaos from before.

Roland’s face is barely recognizable in the dark. Connor can only make out harsh planes of his countenance as Roland looms over him. “This is our last shot, Connor. I’m taking you out before I go. Consider it revenge.”

Oh, this is bad. This is bad. Connor flees, but already reeling from the collapsing ceiling in the eastern sector, plus the punch, plus the darkness, he trips almost immediately on the thin railing of the walkway and bites it. 

Roland laughs somewhere above him. “On the ground already? And here I thought you were a fighter.”

“Stop talking,” Connor grimaces, one hand rising to clutch at his aching head while the other helps push him up and off of the floor.

Roland, surprisingly, does as told, and the walkway rattles as he heads towards Connor again. The older boy swings again, but Connor manages to duck this time, and he hears the whoosh of air moving as Roland’s fist glides through empty air.

It occurs to Connor now that Roland is just as blind as he is. Neither of their eyes have adjusted yet, so even though Connor is struggling to see a thing, Roland is no better off. He surges forward, knocking into Roland, and manages to drive a fist against his nose.

Roland yells, crashing backwards into the railing. Connor can taste blood in the air again, so it must have been a good hit. When Roland speaks again, his voice is funny, so maybe he even managed to break a bone. “Oh, you’ll pay for that, starspawn.”

Connor readies himself for another blow, but instead of aiming another punch at Connor’s shifting silhouette, Roland grabs something from his belt. The faint light from the beeping buttons on a nearby instrument panel casts just enough light that Connor can see the glint of a metal barrel in his hand and he realizes with a sickening lurch that Roland is holding a gun.

“Now you’re not the only one to have shot a Juvey with his own tranq,” Roland hisses. “I grabbed a souvenir too. Only, this one isn’t a tranq. I got the real deal.”

Connor’s eyes widen in the dark of the engine room. He had wondered if Roland would have the stomach to actually kill him, but a shot in the dark wouldn’t take as much guts. All this kill would require is the pull of a trigger, and anyone with flighty reflexes can do that.

Connor flings himself backwards, scurrying further into the darkness. If he could just shake Roland long enough to get away, if he could just get out of range of that awful gun– The weapon goes off, sending a bullet flying off the walkway and into the endless shadow below them.

“Careful with that,” Connor scolds, “These engines are on the verge of blowing up anyway. One bad shot and you’ll kill us all.”

“I’ll hit you next, not the engines,” Roland threatens, and gives chase once more.

Connor peers back over his shoulder when the footsteps on metal stops, and it registers that Roland can’t run and fire the gun at the same time. If he pauses, it means he’s readying to shoot again. Connor flings himself down, feeling the smooth chill of the metal walkway against his cheek. Seconds later, another bullet flies overhead, but this one doesn’t go off towards the ground. Instead, it whistles towards the overheating engines, punching a hole in several of the connective pipes as it goes.

“You idiot, you’re going to blow this place up,” Connor yells.

This only serves to give Roland a better idea of where he is in the shifting blackness, and another round shoots by, even closer than before. This one doesn’t just strike pipes, though, it goes directly into the roaring machinery itself. This one is bad.

Connor has about half a second to understand just how bad it is before the explosion begins. It’s that one moment of silence, again, in which it all ends. Connor has just enough time to wonder how he keeps getting so close to finding his way out just for another sour twist of fate to take it all away, and then the engine behind him ruptures and Connor loses track of the walkway beneath him. All is open air. 

Roland is falling too, he thinks. They collide midway through the descent. Roland’s grip on him is heavy, impossible to escape. A voice by his ear, hot and guttural:  “If I die, you’re dying with me,” and then the explosion consumes them both and Connor can’t think about anything else.

The engines of the Graveyard are unusual. The Deadmen in charge of maintenance have taken to outsourcing power as much as they can in an effort to maintain the central engine system as long as possible. Some power comes from solar panels, others from various electrical and chemical systems throughout the ship. The engines, though, make up most of it. Derived from hugely capable power cores, they keep a behemoth like the Graveyard functional even decades after it was initially created.

They’ve also been suffering from extreme wear for far too long. This means that bullets shot through the regulators will finally allow the pent up energy to expand quite rapidly, triggering a reaction that could consume the entire engine room in seconds flat. It wouldn’t just be a typical fiery explosion, it would be laced with nuclear remnants and quantum particles. It would melt the very divisions between elements. In the case of two boys falling together, some of their limbs and organs would separate during the first onslaught of radiation and then reattach almost instantaneously. Most of that would be done correctly, but mistakes might be made here or there.

Mistakes, for instance, like a genetic mutation, an arm recoupling with the wrong person. A boy loses a shark tattoo and another gains it. An arm for an arm, a life for a life. When they collide with the ground, one dies on impact and the other survives. Some time later, when the radiation has sufficiently cleared away and soldiers can be sent out from scout ships to survey the wreckage and collect bodies, they’ll find that the boy they were looking for, the one they were specifically directed to collect, somehow stayed alive. The very explosion that destroyed the Graveyard has used the other boy’s life force to keep this one alive. 

They pull him out and put him in a medical cubicle to heal quickly. Even still, they won’t be able to solve the mystery of why Connor Lassiter’s right arm is no longer his, but of all the worlds to struggle with someone having pieces that aren’t theirs by birth, this is the most welcoming. If you think about it, it’s kind of like the universe decided to distribute Roland’s arm to Connor during the supernova of the exploding power core. Someone bigger than any of them out there in the galaxy knew that it would be more important that one of them stay alive, that Connor keep that piece of Roland. Something knew that the reshuffling of body parts would be necessary. Isn’t that what Connor has been fighting all along?

Ah, well. He’ll have plenty of time to grapple with that when he wakes up. If, of course, he does.

a/n: sorry for the delay, i have been super stressed with the engineering workload. technically, this is posted at 11:45 pm so it's still thursday right haha? anyway i hope you enjoyed and none of you are worried about our guys!!

unwind tag list: @schroedingers-kater, @sirofreak, @locke-writes

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[scorpiongrassfield]

The Shadow Leaves

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The heat returns, light comes streaming in through all the windows, and Pat is sitting in the driver’s seat. 

“Soooo…” They say, tapping out an anxious rhythm on the steering wheel. The car is still parked. 

Something is setting off alarm bells in the back of your mind. The atmosphere is Extremely uncomfortable. 

“I’m gonna need you to come clean on whatever’s been going on with you lately. I did some thinking and y’know... As much as I would love to honor our little ‘don’t ask any questions and pretend like everything is normal’ agreement I am Actively Worried about you,” Pat says. 

They have their sunglasses on, so you can’t read their expression, but it’s safe to assume they mean business. 

So you try to get back out of the car. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” they scold as they press the lock button before you can get the door open. 

You could pry up the lock and get out anyway, but a point has been made. Running away will only make this situation worse. 

“We have to talk about this, kid. It’s been two years. I’ve given you time and space, and if the issue is that you still don’t trust me you can say so. If you don’t feel safe with me we can find somewhere else for you to go. But if that isn’t the problem here then I need to at least know what the godsdamned issue is!” Pat says, throwing their hands up in the air. Their tone is thoroughly frustrated by the end of their rant. 

The crux of the matter is this. You’ve known Pat for maybe a few days. Pat has known you for two years, apparently. It seems like you might even live together, based on context clues. 

Pat wants to help you. Pat wants you to trust them. 

Do you?