#crafted all suits got all i need for the lifetime suits now its just a waiting game until i get all the daily mats

[momo-shut-the-fuck-up]

I litrally dont have what to do with all my stamina anymore is there anythin i should pre farm for. Hjelp

[soundsfaebutokay]

So I've recc'd this video before, but it deserves its own post because it's one of my favorite things on youtube. It's a Tedx Talk by comics writer, editor, and journalist Jay Edidin, and I really think that it will connect with a lot of people here.

If you live and breathe stories of all kinds, you might like this.

If you care about media representation, you might like this.

If you're neurodivergent, you might like this.

If you're interested in a gender transition story that veers from the norm, you might like this.

If you love the original Leverage and especially Parker, and understand how important it is that a character like her exists, you will definitely like this.

Transcript below the cut:

You Are Here: The Cartography of Stories

by Jay Edidin

I am autistic. And what this means in practice is that there are some things that are easier for me than they are for most people, and a great many things that are somewhat harder, and these affect my life in more or less overt ways. As it goes, I'm pretty lucky. I've been able to build a career around special interests and granular obsession. My main gig at the moment is explaining superhero comics continuity and publishing history for which work I am somehow paid in actual legal currency—which is both a triumph of the frivolous in an era of the frantically pragmatic, and a job that's really singularly suited to my strengths and also to my idiosyncrasies.

I like comics. I like stories in general, because they make sense to me in ways that the rest of the world and my own mind often don't. Self-knowledge is not an intuitive thing for me. What sense of self I have, I've built gradually and laboriously and mostly through long-term pattern recognition. For decades, I didn't even really have a self-image. If you'd asked me to draw myself, I would eventually have given you a pair of glasses and maybe a very messy scribble of hair, and that would've been about it. But what I do know—backwards, forwards, and in pretty much every way that matters—are stories. I know how they work. I understand their language, their complex inner clockwork, and I can use those things to extrapolate a sort of external compass that picks up where my internal one falls short. Stories—their forms, their structure, the sense of order inherent to them—give me the means to navigate what otherwise, at least for me, would be an impassable storm of unparsable data. Or stories are a periscope, angled to access the parts of myself I can't intuitively see. Or stories are a series of mirrors by which I can assemble a composite sketch of an identity I rarely recognize whole...which is how I worked out that I was transgender, in my early thirties, by way of a television show.

This is my story. And it's about narrative cartography, and representation, and why those things matter. It's about autism and it's about gender and it's about how they intersect. And it's about the kinds of people we know how to see, and the kinds of people we don't. It's not the kind of story that gets told a lot, you might hear a lot, because the narrative around gender transition and dysphoria in our culture is really, really prescriptive. It's basically the story of the kid who has known for their whole life that they're this and not that, and that story demands the kind of intuitive self-knowledge that I can't really do, and a kind of relationship to gender that I don't really have—which is part of why it took me so long to figure my own stuff out.

So, to what extent this story, my story has a beginning, it begins early in 2014 when I published an essay titled, "I See Your Value Now: Asperger's and the Art of Allegory." And it explored, among other things, the ways that I use narrative and narrative structures to navigate real life. And it got picked up in a number of fairly prominent places that got linked, and I casually followed the ensuing discussion. And I was surprised to discover that readers were fairly consistently assuming I was a man. Now, that in itself wasn't a new experience for me, even though at the time I was writing under a very unambiguously female byline. It had happened in the letter columns of comics I'd edited. It had happened when a parody Twitter account I'd created went viral. When I was on staff at Wired, I budgeted for fancy scotch by putting a dollar in a box every time a reader responded in a way that made it clear they were assuming I was a man in response to an article where my name was clearly visible, and then I had to stop doing that because it happened so often I couldn't afford to keep it up. But in all of those cases, the context, you know, the reasons were pretty obvious. The fields I'd worked in, the beats I covered, they were places where women had had to fight disproportionally hard for visibility and recognition. We live in a culture that assumes a male default, so given a neutral voice and a character limit, most readers will assume a male author.

But this was different, because this wasn't just a book I'd edited, it wasn't a story I'd reported—it was me, it was my story. And it made me uncomfortable, got under my skin in ways that the other stuff really hadn't. And so I did what I do when that happens, and I tried to sort of reverse-engineer it to look at the conclusions and peel them back to see the narratives behind them and the stories that made them tick. And I started this, I started this by going back to the text of the essay, and you know, examining it every way I could think of: looking at craft, looking at content. And in doing so, I was surprised to realize that while I had written about a number of characters with whom I identified closely, that every single one of those characters I'd written about was male. And that surprised me even more than the responses to the essay had, because I've spent my career writing and talking and thinking about gender and representation in popular media. In 2014, I'd been the feminist gadfly of an editorial department and multiple mastheads. I'd been a founding board member of an organization that existed to advocate for more and better representation of women and girls in comics characters and creators. And most of my favorite characters, the ones I'd actively seek out and follow, were women. Just not, apparently, the characters I saw myself in.

Now I still didn't realize it was me at this point. Remember: self-knowledge, not very intuitive for me. And while I had spent a lot of time thinking about gender, I'd never really bothered to think much about my own. I knew academically that the way other people read and interpreted my gender affected and had influenced a lifetime of social and professional interactions, and that those in turn had informed the person I'd grown up into during that time. But I really believed, like I just sort of had in the back of my head, that if you peeled away all of that social conditioning, you'd basically end up with what I got when I tried to draw a self-portrait. So: a pair of glasses, messy scribble of hair, and in this case, maybe also some very strong opinions about the X-Men. I mean, I knew something was off. I'd always known something was off, that my relationship to gender was messy and uncomfortable, but gender itself struck me as messy and uncomfortable, and it had never been a large enough part of how I defined myself to really feel like something that merited further study, and I had deadlines, and...so it was always on the back burner. So, I looked, I looked at what I had, at this improbable group of exclusively male characters. And I looked and I figured that if this wasn't me, then it had to be a result of the stories I had access to, to choose from, and the entertainment landscape I was looking at. And the funny thing is, I wasn't wrong, exactly. I just wasn't right either.

See, the characters I'd written about had one other significant trait in common aside from their gender, which is that they were all more or less explicitly, more or less heavily coded as autistic. And I thought, "Ah, yes. This explains it. This is under representation in fiction echoing under representation in life and vice versa." Because the characteristics that I'd honed in on, that I particularly identified with in these guys, were things like emotional unavailability and social awkwardness and granular obsession, and all of those are characteristics that are seen as unsympathetic and therefore unmarketable in female characters. Which is also why readers were assuming that I was a man.

Because, you see, here's the thing. I'm not the only one who uses stories to navigate the world. I'm just a little more deliberate about it. For humans, stories formed the bridge between data and understanding. They're where we look when we need to contextualize something new, or to recognize something we're pretty sure we've seen before. They're how we identify ourselves; they're how we locate ourselves and each other in the larger world. There were no fictional women like me; there weren't representations of women like me in media, and so readers were primed not to recognize women like me in real life either.

Now by this point, I had started writing a follow-up essay, and this one was also about autism and narratives, but specifically focused on how they intersected with gender and representation in media. And in context of this essay, I went about looking to see if I could find even one female character who had that cluster of traits I'd been looking for, and I was asking around in autistic communities. And I got a few more or less useful one-off suggestions, and some really, really splendid arguments about semantics and standards, and um...then I got one answer over and over and over in community after community after community. "Leverage," people told me. "You have to watch Leverage."

So I watched Leverage. Leverage is five seasons of ensemble heist drama. It's about a team of very skilled con artists who take down corrupt and powerful plutocrats and the like, and it's a lot of fun, and it's very clever, and it's clever enough that it doesn't really matter that it's pretty formulaic, and I enjoyed it a lot. But what's most important, what Leverage has is Parker.

Parker is a master thief, and she is the best of the best of the best in ways that all of Leverage's characters are the best of the best. And superficially, she looks like the kind of woman you see on TV. So she's young, and she's slender, and she's blonde, and she's attractive but in a sort of approachable way. And all of that familiarity is brilliant misdirection, because the thing is, there are no other women like Parker on TV. Because Parker—even if it's never explicitly stated in the show—Parker is coded incredibly clearly as autistic. Parker is socially awkward. Her speech tends to have limited inflection; what inflection it does have is repetitive and sounds rehearsed a lot of the time. She's not emotionally literate; she struggles with it, and the social skills she develops over the series, she learns by rote, like they're just another grift. When she's not scaling skyscrapers or cartwheeling through laser grids, she wears her body like an ill-fitting suit. Parker moves like me. And Parker, Parker was a revelation—she was a revolution unto herself. In a media landscape where unempathetic women usually exist to either be punished or "loved whole," Parker got to play the crabby savant. And she wasn't emotionally intuitive but it was never ever played as the product of abuse or trauma even though she had survived both of those—it was just part of her, as much as were her hands or her eyes. And she had a genuine character arc. My god, she had a genuine romantic arc, even. And none of that required her to turn into anything other than what she was. And in Parker I recognized a thousand tics and details of my life and my personality...but. I didn't recognize myself.

Why? What difference was there in Parker, you know, between Parker and the other characters I'd written about? Those characters, they'd spanned ethnicities and backgrounds and different media and appearances and the only other characteristic they all had in common was their gender. So that was where I started to look next, and I thought, "Well, okay, maybe, maybe it's masculinity. Maybe if Parker were less feminine, she'd click with me the way those other characters had." So then I tried to imagine a Parker with short hair, who's explicitly butch, and...nothing. So okay, I extended it in what seems like the only logical direction to extend it. I said, "Well, if it's not masculinity, what if it's actual maleness? What if Parker were a man?" Ah. Yeah.

In the end, everything changed, and nothing changed, which is often the way that it goes for me. Add a landmark, no matter how slight, and the map is irrevocably altered. Add a landmark, and paths that were invisible before open wide. Add a landmark, and you may not have moved, but suddenly you know where you are and where you can go.

I wasn't going to tell this story when I started planning this talk. I was gonna tell a similar story, it was about stories, like this is, about narratives and the ways that they influence our culture and vice versa. And it centered around a group of women at NASA who had basically rewritten the narrative around space exploration, and it was a lot more fun, and I still think it was more interesting. But it's also a story you can probably work out for yourselves. In fact it's a story some of you probably have, if you follow that kind of thing, which you probably do given that you're here. And this is a story, my story is not a story that I like to tell. It's not a fun story to talk about because it's very personal and I am a very private person. And it's not universal. And it's not always relatable, and it's definitely not aspirational. And it's not the kind of story that you tend to encounter unless you're already part of it...which is why I'm telling it now. Because the thing is, I'm not the only person who uses stories to parse the world and navigate it. I'm just a little more deliberate. Because I'm tired of having to rely on composite sketches.

Open your maps. Add a landmark. Reroute accordingly.

[fictionissocialinquiry]

Zutara Fic Recs

Over in the Spicy Zutara discord, we’re doing a Fic Swap! For one month, we’re buddied up with another fic writer and we get the privilege of reading as many of that writer’s fics as we can!

Lucky me: I got paired with the incredibly talented @markedmage and I thought to myself… why don’t I share a wee fic review as I make my way through her stuff so you, good people of tumblr, can find some new juicy zutara fics too??

Without further ado, here are my top five favourites of MM’s fics, listed in no particular order.

a little like love

Chapters: One Shot

Words: 1,000

Summary: "I don't deserve your kindness, nor your heart, as much as I might want it. I just don't, Katara."

"You do. And I'm going to make sure you never forget it."

Written for the Zutara Fluff Exchnage, this fic should be renamed Soft because holy shit Zuko is so so SO soft in this. Despite the strict word limit, Mage seamlessly sets up a scene of the Gaang at the Western Air Temple. And you feel like you’re watching just another scene of the show. For reals, her writing is so evocative, and I feel like its only going to get better with every new story she posts!

 i count to five (and life passes by)

Chapters: One Shot

Words: 497

Summary: Five heartbeats.

Prepare your body for tears because there will be multitudes. There will be legions. But, in the midst of the weeping— possibly while you’re in the foetal position— you will marvel at how anyone could do SO MUCH with so few words. For real, people, this is one of the best instances of “less is more” I’ve seen in fic <3

MarkedMage is a lady and a scholar and we stan her (and forgive her for the angst) because this little ficlet is beautiful from start to finish! It’s literary and moving and I’ve read it three or four times now just to appreciate the incredible way she has with storytelling. There isn’t one line, metaphor or piece of dialogue that feels out of place.

 In Another Life

Chapters: One Shot

Words: 2,642

Summary: Maybe the world wasn't ready for them.

I want you to know that MarkedMage is master craftswoman and her craft of choice is angst. This is a beautiful, bittersweet little story that tracks the “what if” of zutara. The conflict of the story isn’t them fighting or not suiting each other or some external plot point, instead it’s like this vast, cosmic “not the right time/lifetime” thing that is so much more painful because you can’t even fight that. It’s fate, destiny. Not meant to be. Throughout the story, they continually acknowledge their pull towards one another at the same time they acknowledge it wouldn’t work out. Like I said: Master Angst Bender.

  And Maybe We're Like Fire and Ice

Chapters: One Shot

Words: 4,522

Summary: It's an easy kind of love, the way Zuko loves her, and the way she loves him. It's simple in the way a turtleduck needs a pond to swim, the way a dragon needs fire to breathe. How the airbenders rely on the wind to carry them to the highest turrets on the temples, how the blood in the human body needs the heart to live. It's simple in the way fire ignites the world, and water soothes the burn. Like yin and yang, push and pull, hot and cold, ice and fire.

(NSFW)

I’m trying to put my finger on what MarkedMage does that makes her writing stand out in this story and I think (the baseline fantastic writing aside) it’s because she often adds these little throwaway details that give the characters more depth and life. Like “the way he laces his fingers through hers as he thrusts.” Just little moments that make the story more alive. There’s a lot of humour in this, not to mention 70% of it is Zuko pining like the absolute idiot that he is. We stan MarkedMage in this house.

 Things We Lost to the Flames

Chapters: Can be read as a one shot but also part of a series

Words: 11,688

Summary: Love is a weakness, her father tells her. Katara is here to prove him wrong.

Select moments set after chapter three of 'make sense of all my broken parts', told in Azula's POV.

One of my favourite fics to read about in this fandom is those that give Azula redemption. There are quite a few out there but none like this one. MarkedMage plants you in the bitterness Ozai has seeded in his daughters head and takes you through her discovery that love isn’t weakness but strength. I don’t have words to describe how moving the transformation is, Azula’s slow discovery of her and Katara’s similarities. That they’re both strong, prodigies, but that Katara chose a different path, that Azula’s recovery is her choice. I think this line from the story sums it up nicely: “Because if the strongest thing in the world, darkness and hatred, can be driven away by this mere little thing called love, then maybe he's wrong.”

[aftgficrec]

U have any fix like we destroy everything we need by monochrome_madness? Preferably something unconventional exploring the darker aspect of humanity

haunt--me asked:

Hi!! Your blog has been so helpful to me so I have a fic to recommend!! It is very dark and chaotic and strange, written like poetry with an undercurrent of malevolence running through. Its enchanting how all of the words spin together to craft a spider web of pure poetry and heartache. It explores mental illnesses and the portrayal is perfection. Called "we destroy everything we need" by monochrome_madness

We always welcome fic recs! The fic mentioned really has a unique style - which is great, but consequently this means it is a little harder to find other fics that compare to it. Nevertheless, we’ve done our best to find you some material depicting the darker side of life with more unconventional elements. - S

The following tags might also lead you to fics that suit you:

butcher!Neil

butcher!Andrew

raven!Neil

mental health issues

For your consideration...

find darkness here:

dark academia aus here

deadly class aus here

A Dark Neil here

Raven/Butcher!Neil to Fox here

scary Neil here

‘appendages’ here

‘Ignominy’ here

‘Shinigami’ here

...and add a little more here:

‘dreaming on fire’ series here

‘Adronitis’ series and ’A Soliloquy For Stolen Hearts’ here

‘I’ll make you a crown with rubies of pomegranate’ here

‘skeletons in the water’ here

‘Foxes in Arkham’, ‘Lifelines’ and ‘both hungry and awake’ here

‘The War Behind Your Face; And I'll Express My Inner Rage’ here

‘The Reaper’ and ‘A TALE OF A MARTYR IN XII PARTS’ here

‘(don’t fear) the reaper)’ here

‘Metanoia’ here

we destroy everything we need by monochrome_madness [Rated T, 4580 words, incomplete, last updated Jan 2020]

“There is a halo in Andrew Minyard’s mouth,” Neil purrs, his words laced with poison.

He turns his eyes towards Renee. A fire rages. Her skins sears.

“and the beast within me likes how it burns.”

tw: rape/noncon, tw: nonconsensual drug use, tw: blood, tw: hallucinations, tw: alcoholism, tw: self harm

you say i'm a dreamer, but i'm not the only one series by Idnis [Rated T/M, 65417 words, complete, 2017]

part 1: you say i'm a dreamer, but i'm not the only one. (M, 58259 words)

Neil Josten wouldn’t say his life was very magical.

His dreams on the other hand.

They always seem too real.

And then there's the fact that he finds himself returning to one person's dreams.

tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: nightmares, tw: blood, tw: guns, tw: knives, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: panic attacks

part 2: dreams (T, 5158 words)

A short story from Andrew's point of view. Ties in with 'you say i'm a dreamer, but i'm not the only one'.

tw: blood, tw: implied/referenced torture

The Dream Keeper by minyards (carxies) [Rated M, 13022 words, incomplete, last updated June 2021]

Ever since he could remember, Andrew experienced people’s pasts as they had – from their point of view, for they were not able to process the reality any other way. He touched them and in a dream, his soul joined the rightful one in a stranger’s body. Through their eyes, he had lived a thousand nameless lives. Over the years, he had forgotten not even one of them, his mind storing them like they had been his own.

Then, Kevin introduced him to Neil Josten.

tw: mentions of blood, tw: implied/referenced murder

The Moriyama's Dog by JellyTits_Hoe [Rated E, 16548 words, incomplete, last updated July 2021]

Nathaniel can’t move a muscle and he doesn't even know if he would if he could. He’s in such a petrified state that he could barely even hear his father's words. All he can hear and feel is his heart beating in his chest. Lola giggles so loud Nathaniel knows she did it so he could hear her loud and clear. The screaming stopped a while ago. Nathaniel can’t really point out when. Perhaps it was when he started to go numb all over.

-

In which Nathaniel Wesninski never escaped and instead became Ichirou Moriyama's personal dog.

tw: blood, tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: depression, tw: hallucinations

Unstitch That Shed-Off Soul by JRaylin441 [Rated M, 10024 words, complete, 2021]

Historically, promises from anyone else have meant about as much as blowing on a forest fire to put it out, but fuck that, actually. Andrew is a machine fueled by spite, but he knows that spite isn’t going to last him very long, not when he can feel exhaustion and anger dragging at every step he takes. Now, he has a promise, and he’s going to keep it like it’s the last thing motivating him to stay alive.

Here is his good thing: a twin brother.

Here is the price: he’s going to kill his mother.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: rape/noncon, tw: self harm, tw: car accidents, tw: panic attacks, tw: dissociation, tw: suicidal ideation, tw: homophobia, tw: withdrawal

A Thousand Lifetimes Over by demesh [Rated T, 51101 words, complete, 2021]

Neil's been having strangely vivid dreams, about him and some blond boy, for months now. He didn't think much of them, until the day he got to Palmetto and saw that very same boy looking right back at him.

Despite having never seen him before, Neil could swear he knew him. And he could tell that boy was keeping something from him.

Whatever it was, Neil was determined to find out. He just wasn't prepared for what it might cost him.

A reincarnation AU.

tw: violence, tw: fire, tw: temporary major character death, tw: nightmares, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: self harm, tw: suicidal ideation

[concussed-to-pieces]

Stay Safe Part Nine: Swan Song

Fandom: The Mandalorian [Star Wars]

Pairing: Eventual Mandalorian [Din Djarin]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Heh. Enjoy!

Tag List: @wrestlingfae @huliabitch @toxiicpop @renegademustelid @helplessly-nonstop @culturalrebel @sinnamon-bunn @hoodedbirdie @literal-fand0m-trash @thyestean-feast @fioccodineveautunnale @kateb013 @hxldmxdxwn @lizajane3 @thewaythisis @nellyneko @oh-no-who-am-i @crownofmanga @talesfromtheguild @robbinholland @kylolover96 @lukesrighthand @lackofhonor @lightan117 @misssilencewritewell

Part One: Should Have Known Better

Part Two: Tranquil Turmoil

Part Three: Vibroblade Mettle

Part Four: Reaching Out

Part Five: Dark Past

Part Six: Go Alone

Part Seven: Like A Ghost

Part Eight: Savior At High Noon

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains character death and depictions of vomit/bile. Stay safe!]

While the Armorer spoke quietly with the Mandalorian at length and continued to smelt the reclaimed armor down, you remained out in the hallway with the IG unit to scan for threats. You couldn't bring yourself to go into the forge and just sit quietly like Karga and Cara, your whole body still buzzing with the vestiges of the huge rush of adrenaline you had received earlier. 

The robot's many sets of eyes swiveled back and forth, silently observing the tunnel in front of you. It also seemed to take note of your fidgeting. "Never fear. I am programmed to protect." The droid assured you. 

"As comforting as that is…" you grimaced, obsessively checking your blaster over yet again. "I'd feel much better if we didn't have to fight. Or if we had decent cover. I never know what will explode." An explosion echoed faintly down the tunnel as if in response to your words and you went rigid. You gripped the blaster even tighter, feeling the stock dig into your palm.

"I would advise not shooting at the inanimate objects to avoid possible damage."

"Wonderful." You muttered, a reluctant grin making its way onto your face. "This is why I prefer my knife."

"If you would like to attempt such an inadvisable tactic, I am unable to stop you." The droid commented. 

"No, no no. I promise I won't be that dumb." Your laugh was too high, choking off in your throat when you caught sight of several headlamps down the tunnel.

"Engaging the enemy." IG-11 announced, the spindly ex-bounty hunter droid striding forward into the spillway with purpose.

"IG, wait!" You protested. "How am I supposed to-"

"Do not worry about hitting me. Aim for them." The robot interrupted you calmly.

"Aim for them, no shit!" 

You knelt beside one of the many, possibly-explosive crates, tucking the stock of your rifle up against your shoulder. You then used the flat surface to steady the gun as best as you could, gritting your teeth probably a bit too hard. 

IG-11 was a force to be reckoned with. The droid barely even needed you, only once caught off-guard by one of the eight troopers that bore down on it like an unstoppable (but ultimately doomed) wave. 

One well-placed shot from you blew that particular stormtrooper's elbow out, making him scream in agony. You froze at the sound, your body stiffening before you could fight it off. How many men had you killed today? You had pushed it down, shoved the thought away, but-

IG-11 spiraled and struck with terrifying accuracy, it's blaster searing a hole in the side of the last trooper's helmet. "You have been protected." The droid droned quietly. It went on to ask, "Were you harmed?"

"No, n-no, I'm...I'm fine." You breathed. "Sorry, I get all…" 

"You did well. It is advisable to use cover at any and all opportunities." IG-11 mused sagely. 

"No kidding."

A nerve-wracking five minutes later the Mandalorian finally walked back out of the forge area, Dune and Karga close behind. "We push forward." The armored man said, answering your unspoken question. "We'll hit the river, and it'll take us to the flats. All we can do now is hope that the Imps won't head us off." 

Karga passed a large, square object off to IG-11 while the Mandalorian spoke. The boosters on the bottom of it seemed to indicate that it was a portable jet pack of some kind. You also saw a shiny new addition to the Mandalorian's pauldron.

"What's…?" You trailed off, gesturing at the insignia that had been welded seamlessly to his armor. It looked like a stylized mudhorn, which, when you thought about it, suited him immensely.

"My signet. I...I'm considered a clan now." The Mandalorian hesitated, his hand finding the child's in their little bundle of robes. "I have a Foundling in my care." His voice was warm, an almost incredulous wonder shining through his words. "She used...she used some of your beskar to make it. The ingot that I took from you, I-I asked her to use it," he continued, rubbing the back of his neck. "I hope that's--i-is that alright? I'll compen-"

"It's definitely alright." You interrupted him, nodding rapidly and certain that you were smiling like an idiot. "Don't even worry about that. Obviously, you guys can put it to better use than I ever could."

"Thank you." The Mandalorian said sincerely.

Greef suddenly looked incredibly uncomfortable. "How did you get ahold of that ingot of beskar, anyhow?" He asked narrowly.

"I was paid with it when I got hired to clean his ship." You explained. "But I guess the person that hired me was actually only interested in having me jimmy the boarding ramp open for them, because as soon as I got it open I was clocked with the ingot. They ended up leaving it with me, though. Maybe they didn't know what it was worth?"

The Mandalorian turned towards Karga and you could feel him glaring, while Greef simply hummed and looked anywhere but the glowering man. "Karga, did you-?"

"Whatever it is, the answer is no! But I can't take responsibility for the actions of every hunter under me." The older man protested, waving his hands. "You know the rules, Mando, no questions asked."

"You were the only other person who got paid in beskar, Karga." The Mandalorian growled. "If I find out that it was one of-"

"We don't have time for you guys to have a beskar-based pissing match." Dune interjected, "we have to keep moving, or we're Imp chow. Squash your shit now or deal with it later."

"I apologize for anything my associates may have done to you that, er, caused you inadvertent discomfort." Karga addressed you hurriedly.

"Uh, I...forgive...you?" You replied, more than a little confused. 

"There, you see Mando? No issues here!" The Guild leader said brightly. The Mandalorian shook his head, growling something under his breath and then stalking off in the opposite direction.

...

The rickety old lava skiff, while originally half-welded to the dock, didn't stay stuck too long in the wake of Cara's heavy blaster fire. Karga quickly grabbed the side of the craft, steadying it before it could drift away from the dock.

"Watch your feet, it's molten lava." IG-11 warned. When you turned to give the robot an incredulous look, you saw the Mandalorian and Cara doing exactly the same thing. Your deadpan stare cracked a little and you were caught off-guard by a giggling fit, clumsily stumbling over the lip of the boat as the armored man followed after you.

"Fucking droids." The Mandalorian groaned while shaking his head, though he sounded less irritated and more amused.

The droid that normally piloted the skiff appeared to be out of commission, but it was no matter. Even though the lava moved slowly, it moved enough to carry the boat along with it.

The child was still limp in Cara's arms, the former dropship trooper absently rocking them back and forth. Weariness dragged at you as well, grey static slowly encroaching upon the corners of your eyes, but you did your best to push it away for the time being. You weren't sure how much longer you could get away with that, though. Stars, once this was over you would sleep for a thousand years.

A sudden crackling noise behind you made everybody whirl, respective blasters and knives brandished. But it was just the ferry droid, emerging from the ashen lava that had entombed it. It held a punting pole in its hands and began to beep, sounding almost inquisitive.

The Mandalorian finally muttered, "I don't suppose anybody here speaks droid," his tone one of long suffering.

IG-11 helpfully supplied, "I believe he is asking where we would like to go." 

"Downriver. To the lava flat." Karga ordered. The droid gave a chirp of confirmation and jabbed its pole into the lava, propelling the boat onwards at a much less leisurely pace.

The Mandalorian sat down heavily beside you after a moment, his helmet in his hands. "I can't believe you came back." He mumbled. "I didn't think...I figured you wouldn't. Thought I did a pretty good job at ruining everything."

"I can't believe I did either, honestly." You answered him, wincing when you realized how bad that sounded. "Wait, no, I uh...I just mean I didn't really know what was going on. I followed the noise and found IG-11."

"So, nothing new." The Mandalorian replied, his voice wry. Then, he murmured, "my little mudhorn."

You shot him a confused glance from beneath your lashes, but for all you could tell he was staring at the floor of the boat. Your eyes shifted to the silvery signet on his pauldron, taking in the vicious contours of the mudhorn's silhouette. I'm considered a clan now. 

"What will you do after we take care of this?" Your words were audacious in their optimism and you knew it. He knew it too, if his snort was anything to go by, but he humored you.

"I have to find the kid's people. I can't train him, he's...well, he's not really the Mando type. But he's a Foundling in my care, so I'm to act as his father until I can either return him to his people or...or until he comes of age." The Mandalorian heaved a sigh. "And seeing as he's fifty now, I don't think him coming of age is something that'll happen in my lifetime." His hand sought yours out on the bench seat after a moment. "If you...I mean, I know that...uh, the kid likes you. So if you wanted, I'd...I'd consider…" He trailed off, squeezing your wrist gently.

You opened your mouth to stammer something and then Greef inadvertently cut you off with an excited, "That's it! We're free!" The older man pointed ahead, indicating the daylight coming into view in the distance. You couldn't blame him for being relieved, really. This underground canal was stifling.

But the Mandalorian was already shaking his head, fingers tapping at the button pad on his gauntlet. "No. No, we're not." He said bitterly, getting to his feet. "Stormtroopers. They're flanking the mouth of the tunnel. It looks like an entire platoon." Your heart sank at his words. "They must know we're coming."

His shoulders slumped. You could feel the exhaustion radiating off of him. He had almost died, only for this to happen?

Cara, meanwhile, leaped into action. "Stop the boat." She demanded of the ferry droid, which just continued to chirp merrily to itself. "Hey, droid, I said stop the boat!" She barked, storming towards the robot. "Hey, I'm talking to you!" 

The droid carried on punting the boat forward and Cara grimaced, jamming her blaster into the vacant space between the droid's dome and body. One quick trigger pull sent the droid's head flying off with a loud crack!, the dome hitting the lava and immediately beginning to melt. The child started awake at the noise, tiny fists waving wildly in the air.

The boat continued to roll downstream, slowly but surely carried by the flow's current. "We're still moving." Greef pointed out, his tone laden with dread.

Dune swore under her breath, turning to face the rest of the group. "Looks like we fight."

The Mandalorian scoffed, "There are too many." His hand absently tapped the side of his helmet and you read his fingers: enemy ahead, five, five, five, so at least fifteen.

At least. Your heart threatened to pound out of your chest. It had been one thing when you were running along pell-mell with no actual thought put into your actions, but now-

"Well then what do you suggest, because I can't surrender." Cara snapped, cringing when the kid started to whimper.

IG-11 suddenly spoke up. "They will not be satisfied with anything less than the child. This is unacceptable." It rose to its full height, proclaiming, "I will eliminate the enemy, and you will escape."

"You don't have that kind of firepower, pal." The Mandalorian retorted. "You wouldn't even get to daylight."

The droid leveled him with a stare. "That is not my objective."

"We're getting close." Dune hauled you to your feet. "Saddle up." You obliged wordlessly, waiting until she turned away before you allowed yourself to grimace in pain. Maker, your side hurt.

"I still have the security protocols from my manufacturer." The IG said calmly as you and Cara maneuvered around it and the Mandalorian to prepare what limited defenses you could muster. "If my designs are compromised, I must self-destruct."

"What're you talking about?" The Mandalorian growled impatiently. 

"I'm not permitted to be captured. I must be destroyed."

"Are we gonna' keep talking or are we gonna' get out of here?" Greef enquired, waving a hand at the molten riverbank.

"I can no longer carry this for you." The droid murmured, pressing the jet pack into the Mandalorian's unwilling grasp. "Nor can I watch over the child."

"Wait." The armor-wearing man sounded like he was having trouble breathing. "You can't self-destruct. Your base command is to watch the child." Was he...was he arguing with the droid? "That supersedes your manufacturer's protocol, right?" He reasoned desperately, his head tilted up to look at the spindly droid. When the robot didn't answer immediately, he pressed, "Right?"

"This is correct." IG-11 allowed.

He was arguing. With a droid. Stars, you saw something new every day. "Good. Now grab a blaster and help us shoot our way out." The Mandalorian ordered curtly, turning to check over his own weaponry. 

"Victory through combat is impossible. We will be captured. The child will be lost." You watched the armored man's shoulders slump even lower beneath his pauldrons and cape, like an immense weight was pressing down on him. "Sadly, there is no scenario where the child is saved in which I survive." The droid carried on relentlessly. You abruptly understood what it was saying, and despite your best efforts you felt tears sting your eyes. First Kuiil, now this?

"Listen, you're not going anywhere." The Mandalorian said sharply. "We need you. Let's just come up with a-"

"Please tell me the child will be safe in your care." The IG unit requested. "If you do so, I can default to my secondary command."

"But…" the beskar-wearing man's voice faded to a hoarse whisper, "you'll be destroyed."

"And you will live, and I will have served my purpose."

"No, we need you."

"There is nothing to be sad about. I have never been alive." The droid said pragmatically.

"I'm not sad." The armored man denied gruffly. He was lying and everyone knew it. You could hear the tremor in his words.

"Yes you are. I'm a nurse droid. I've analyzed your voice." IG-11 reached out those metal fingers, gently running them over the baby's ear. Then, without further ado, the droid hoisted a leg over the side of the boat.

"IG-!" Karga began to protest, watching the droid sink into the lava. Flames licked upwards from the ex-bounty hunter's knee gaskets, but it doggedly headed for the light at the end of the tunnel. 

The Mandalorian stood still as a statue, just letting the droid go. You ended up burying your face in your hands, unwilling and mentally unable to observe what would happen. 

The ringing impact of beskar suddenly broke the silence and the Mandalorian began to sing, his words wrapped in a deep, mournful tone that sounded like it came from the center of his being. "Motir ca'tra nau tracinya," His voice faltered. "Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a! Cuun hett su!" 

The droid's self-destructive explosion rocked the tunnel and you heard the Mandalorian's breath hitch, the noise sharp and pained even through the modulator. 

He then inhaled deeply, the words reverberating off the sides of the tunnel when he roared, "Cuun hett su!" and slammed his gauntlet against his breastplate once more.

The skiff slowly slipped through the archway and out into the smokey sunlight. Fifteen broken stormtroopers littered the black ground around the mouth of the canal, none left alive in the wake of IG-11's sacrifice. You scrubbed at your face in irritation, choking back your tears. There will be time later, you promised yourself, time for Kuiil and the IG. Time to mourn them properly. You weren't permitted such time now and you knew it. People needed you, they needed--

Without warning, that ship you had seen earlier buzzed by overhead, its powerful laser cannons sending chunks of half-coagulated lava flying into the air on either side of the canal. 

"Moff Gideon!" Dune shouted, the Bren blaster whirring to life. The TIE fighter's engines screamed and whined, the craft circling back around. A line of ground to the left of the skiff exploded, green lasers punching through the cooled lava. 

"He missed!" Greef sounded absolutely thrilled.

"He won't next time." The Mandalorian replied grimly, loading a fresh canister into his heavy blaster.

"Hey, let's get the baby to do the magic hand thing!" Karga suggested, wiggling his fingers at the child. "C'mon baby, do the magic hand thing." The child stared up at him, waving their hand uncertainly. Greef sighed, "I'm out of ideas."

"I'm not." The Mandalorian snapped. He reached for the jet pack and you tugged his cape out of the way so he could attach it to his backplate. He pressed his forehead against your own briefly before he tapped at his gauntlet keypad, igniting the boosters for the pack.

"Here he comes!" Cara yelled, bracing herself back against one of the seats while her blaster roared away. Whoever Gideon was, he appeared to be coming straight for the boat. The fighter wasn't slowing one iota. 

Right as you saw the TIE fighter's cannons begin to light up in preparation to fire, the Mandalorian punched the controls on his jet pack. The armored man hurtled into the sky, easily clearing the TIE fighter and then shooting his grappling line at the back of the ship. 

Gideon took off with him in tow and Karga laughed incredulously, "you've got to be kidding me! That was your plan? Mando, you're a maniac!" He then grabbed onto the cooled lava wall that rose on the right side of the boat, fumbling his way up onto the relatively-sturdy riverbank with a muffled grunt of exertion. "Alright trooper, you're next." The older man said, extending a hand to help haul Cara out of the boat.

She too managed to get to solid ground, and she carefully sat the bundled child down for a moment before turning back to you. Cara held out her hand and Greef held out his. "C'mon rookie, get up here." She said with a tired grin. "We need good seats to watch your Mandalorian work his magic, right?" 

Your laugh caught in your throat, almost a sob, and you reached to clasp their hands. But then your breathing abruptly hitched as, in reply to the first tugs of the two individuals above you, the wound on your side made itself felt with a vengeance. You panted, half-blinded by the sudden pain and knowing that you had gone full dead-weight.

"Use your legs rookie, c'mon!" Cara complained, planting herself and slapping her other hand closed around your upper arm to help her leverage. You gritted your teeth and forced your body to cooperate in a last ditch effort to get you up onto the river banking. Despite that, you were still all but dragged the rest of the way, Dune and Karga barely managing to muscle you to safety. "Look at him go!" Cara exclaimed, gesturing wildly at the sky.

As you tipped your head back to watch the TIE fighter skitter and weave through the air, the ground suddenly felt like it was tilting under your feet. Your ears started to ring and your knees trembled unsteadily, threatening to give out beneath you any second now while the static at the edges of your vision that you had been keeping at bay crept steadily in from the sides. 

You clumsily took hold of Karga's shoulder, the older man giving you a confused look. "I...I don't feel so good." You stammered.

Cara turned to you, her mouth moving and her expression changing to one of concern, but you couldn't hear her at all over the ringing in your ears.

She grabbed your cloak, yanking it up off your body as you sagged against Greef. "Sorry," you breathed, knowing that she must have spotted the blaster wound on your side. Your own voice sounded so loud to you. Your bloodied fingers found her gorget, floundering desperately for a handhold. "Take care...of the k-kid-" you whispered, all of your adrenaline finally spent. 

You had been running on fumes for the last few minutes. You weren't sure how much blood you had lost, all you knew is that you had been bleeding since getting clipped on the battlefield. It hadn't hurt when you were moving or distracted, the urgency of your situation enabling you to draw on your body's ability to push through the predicament. But now, it seemed that your luck had run out.

Your eyes felt too heavy. You needed sleep. How long had it been since you rested? You deserved a rest. A rest sounded phenomenal.

"...shot, give--osi'kyr, let me see them!" That was the Mandalorian. He sounded terrified. You couldn't remember ever hearing his voice crack like that. What was wrong? When had he landed again? What happened to Gideon?

"S'wrong?" You slurred. You appeared to be laying down. Possibly. Up and down were a little confused at the moment. 

"Focus on me, please, you have to stay awake-" He sounded so sad.

"Going into shock--must have been when-" Cara's voice was faint and wavering, as if she was underwater. 

"Sweetheart, cyar'ika, please, please--" His helmet pressed to your forehead and you heard his breath rattle. No, that couldn't be right, the bacta spray should have fixed that. Was it your breathing that sounded that bad?

You dimly felt dried blood flaking off of your hands as you moved your fingers. "Want to sleep. S'dark." You mumbled.

"Don't you dare!" His modulated voice cut through the gray haze rudely, too loud and bright. "You're not going to sleep!"

"F-five minutes." You bargained, grimacing when his helmet banged into your forehead.

"You stay awake, you hear me?! I'm not letting you do this! Not after everything we've been through!"

"Never even...got to…" Your head felt as if it was stuffed with clouds, words trickling out of your brain and vanishing like water in the sand. "'Pologize…" He had your hand in his own now, leather rubbing feverishly over your knuckles. "Got so mad…"

"You're not the one who needed to apologize, dammit. I...I shouldn't have tried to leave you behind." His voice broke. "I-I'm so sorry, I'm so fucking sorry, I-" Blood was roaring in your ears, drowning out anything else the armored man might be saying. Your fingers were going numb. Flickers of conversation reached you, battling against the roar.

"-them still, Karga, he's got to close this, stop the bleeding--"

"-idea, but make sure it holds until we get back to town--"

"I love you, I'm so sorry, this will hurt--" 

Pain stabbed through your body, startling a ragged exhale out of you. Something was burning. It smelled disgusting and you retched without meaning to, bile foaming at your lips. You wondered absently if that was the smell he had been talking about when he had been poisoned, death-rot...

Metal was pressing against your forehead and a blinding heat seared at the wound on your side, the two sensations warring for your attention. Vomit surged up your throat, making you gag again.

This is it, you realized vaguely. This is how I die. Huh. The notion was not nearly as repulsive as you had expected. Dying sounded halfway appealing. You could rest then. 

"Stay awake, please stay awake-"

"M' here. M'wake." You assured whoever it was, your hand weakly patting at theirs. "So tired...can I sleep soon? Pl-ease?"

"Not now, not now, you h-have to stay awake." His voice was trembling. "The kid needs you, dammit."

"Need you to--to take the kid and run." You urged, confidently stating, "I'll hol' 'em off so y' can escape. They're comin' in warm an' I'm comin' in cold." You struggled to grab your blaster, but your arms refused to cooperate. "Did y' turn up the gravity? Can't...can't move…hurts..." The tears wouldn't stop rolling down your cheeks in a torrent. You weren't even sure why you were crying.

"Stay awake. Just like on Sorgan. All I need is a f-few more minutes, okay? Remember?" Your body tilted crazily, someone's arms fumbling beneath your shoulders and knees to hoist you off the ground.

"Mm, I can do that. Do whatever y' want." You mumbled. The darkness closed in around you, a sweltering maw that slowly drew you deeper and deeper into its grasp. "It's...it's so dark. M' scared." You admitted, your numbed fingers petting the hand that rested on your arm.

"I'm right here with you." He assured. "I'm not going anywhere. Sing that song, please? The one you sing to the kid. The...the lullaby."

Your brow furrowed with effort and you opened your mouth, your voice faint and pitchy in the blackness. "Stars fading, but I linger on...dear...still craving…" 

The words wouldn't stick. Your brain was drawing a blank. Why couldn't you remember the words?

You fell asleep.

...

You dreamed of wind whipping your face, steam that hissed and boiled on the lava flats, droplets trickling down from underneath a proud helmet to gather at the edge of his chin and drip onto your tunic.

You dreamed of drowning, thick liquid sliding over your head, enveloping you in its fetid grasp before your consciousness faded back out. 

You dreamed of a mudhorn in beskar, the shimmering silver-clad beast guiding you through the black.

Eventually you spiraled downwards into a deeper sleep, and finally you dreamed of nothing at all.

Interlude

[voltrontranscript]

VLD S8E9: Knights of Light, Part 1

Season 8 Episode 9: Knights of Light, Part 1

Transcript by @dragonofyang

Summary: After taking the dark entity within herself, Allura discovers she’s now mentally linked to Honerva. Using this connection to reach into Honerva’s mind with the help of the other paladins, they discover that there are more ghosts haunting her than they realized.

[Google Doc]

Honerva’s Voice: Allura. Allura. Allura. Allura… Allura!

Lance: Allura, are you okay?

Allura: What’s going on? Where am I?

Coran: You’re in the medical bay.

Lance: When we got back from Clear Day, we found you collapsed on the ground.

Coran: You’ve been asleep for two quintants. The entity, it’s missing. Did you…?

Allura: I did what needed to be done.

Coran: No.

Lance: What needed to be done? What are you talking about?

Allura: This entity, it is connected to Honerva in some way. I believe we can use it.

Lance: Use it? I…

Coran: I swore to your father that I would look after you, but I fear I may have let him down. This is the path of darkness.

Allura: It is the path toward defeating Honerva.

[Scene change to Shiro approaching a door, where he is greeted by the paladins.]

Shiro: You wanted to see me?

Pidge: We’ve been working on something, and we thought we’d run it by you.

Keith: We think we might have a way to find Honerva.

Allura: The entity has bonded me to Honerva. The link is there whether we utilize it or not. I believe that if the Paladins connect using the shared consciousness of Voltron, we may be able to travel through the void and into Honerva’s mind.

Pidge: That could, in theory, give us access to her physical location, as well as key information on how to defeat her.

Hunk: Which, after what happened the last time we faced her, could be super useful.

Keith: Honerva is capable of creating galactic Komars, wormholes, robeasts, and now Lotor and his mech are out there somewhere. She is the single greatest threat the universe has ever faced, and we don’t have any other leads. It might take lifetimes for another opportunity like this to come around. We think this is worth the risk.

Shiro: I spent a lot of time in the infinite void. It took all my strength not to lose my sanity. And if you face Honerva in the void, she will win. But, if you can find a clue that leads to defeating Honerva and Lotor, it could give us the upper hand in this fight.

Lance: I don’t like the idea of using Allura like this. We’re messing with powers we don’t fully understand that have ruined countless lives. It’s… it’s dangerous.

Allura: Lance, we’re the Paladins of Voltron. There’s no one more capable of taking this on. It has to be us.

Lance: Let’s do it.

Allura: Besides, the team will have our sharpshooter there to keep us safe.

Lance: I knew that nickname was gonna catch on one of these days.

Coran: It’s been a long time since it was only the seven of us in a room together.

Keith: Let’s make sure it’s not the last.

[Cut to Keith in Black Lion as Voltron powers up.]

Lance: Allura, are you okay?

Allura: I’m fine.

[Scene change to Veronica on the bridge.]

Veronica: It doesn’t seem fair that he won with a robot arm.

Iverson: Ah, almost everyone had a robot arm. The last guy had two robot arms.

Shiro: The lions are launching. Put the Atlas on high alert. Iverson, power up the Atlas’ weapons. Veronica, make sure the shield system is go.

Veronica: High alert? What’s going on?

Shiro: We’re just being careful. The Atlas needs to be prepared for any eventuality.

[Cut to Allura in Blue Lion.]

Allura: It is time to begin.

[Scene change to the astral plane.]

Hunk: Now what?

Keith: Allura, do you feel anything?

Allura: We must travel through that light!

Hunk: It looks so far away. How do you know?

Allura: The entity draws me toward it!

Lance: What is this place? It’s like… it’s like I can hear what the universe is thinking.

Pidge: Remember how the Olkari told me that everything is made of the same energy? I think it has something to do with that.

Hunk: So, thoughts are linked across some kind of, what, cosmic connection?

Keith: Yeah, but I think we are the thoughts inside a network of other people’s thoughts.

Lance: Oh, this is making my head hurt.

Hunk: Yeah, I’m actually with Lance on this one.

Allura: If we are to--[screams]

[Cut to the Atlas bridge.]

Coran: I’m detecting fluctuations in Voltron’s energy signature. Should we do anything?

Shiro: Hold.

[Cut back to the Paladins in the astral plane.]

Lance: What was that?

Hunk: It felt like cold water running down my spine.

Allura: That was Honerva.

Lance: What?

Allura: The entity inside of me is connected to her.

Hunk: Wait, then why did we feel it?

Keith: It must be because we’re all connected through Voltron.

Allura: Yes. The psychic link between us is now shared with Honerva. The closer we are to her, the stronger that link.

Lance: This is too dangerous. Honerva is gonna use the connection to find us, to find you.

Allura: No, this is how we are going to find her, but first, I must learn how to utilize this energy to do so.

Keith: This isn’t just on you now, Princess. We’re all in this together. Maybe if we concentrate, we’ll be able to feel her energy. Then we can track it back to its source. Let’s all focus.

Hunk: This is awesome!

[Scene change to a wide starry scape with two planets visible as Voltron flies by.]

Hunk: I can feel something, like an energy inside me.

Allura: It’s the entity.

Lance: This feeling, it’s like…

Keith: Like a dark realization washing over.

Pidge: It’s like we’re being pulled by a tether connected to our souls.

Allura: We’re getting closer. This way.

Hunk: Is this Honerva’s mind?

Allura: It’s on the other side of this wall.

Pidge: What is this?

Allura: It feels like… like these are the souls that Honerva has defeated and corrupted. It’s terrible.

Hunk: Of course we’re gonna have to get on the other side of the--what?

Pidge: Allura!

Keith: Come on! No! Come on!

[Scene change to Pidge inside Honerva’s mind, a green and black plain lit by stars.]

Pidge: Guys? Where am I? Guys, do you copy? Guys?! Team, can you hear me?

[Cut to Hunk inside Honerva’s mind, a yellow and black plain lit by stars.]

Hunk: Hello! Anyone?

[Cut to Lance in a red and black plain lit by stars.]

Lance: Team! Something severed our connection!

[Cut to Allura in a blue and black plain lit by stars.]

Allura: Paladins, respond! Why can you not hear me?

[Cut to Keith, on the black plain that shields Honerva’s mind.]

Keith: There has to be a way in. I can’t feel them.

[Cut to Pidge.]

Pidge: I can’t even feel my lion!

[Cut to Hunk, then Allura.]

Allura: Paladins! I will not let you hurt us any longer! This is some kind of horrible ruse and you will pay dearly for it. Time to end this!

[Flash back to the Castle of Lions armory.]

Alfor: Your suits of armor.

Trigel: They’re incredible.

Zarkon: We will be a force to be reckoned with in these armaments.

Gyrgan: They stretch, right?

Alfor: Yes, Gyrgan, they mold to fit their paladin.

Trigel: When will your wonders end, Alfor?

Alfor: Interesting you should mention that. I have one more piece of equipment for all of you.

Zarkon: What are they?

Alfor: I call them bayards. Now, each bayard is crafted with a small fragment of the comet’s ore.

Zarkon: With this much power, we will be unstoppable.

Alfor: They can create powerful weapons, but they can also act as a key bridging a paladin’s essence with their lion. Only so long as we fight together as a single unit. To defend the universe.

All: To defend the universe!

[Flash forward to return to Allura and Blaytz in the blue and black plain of Honerva’s mind.]

Allura: It’s really you.

[Cut to Pidge and Trigel in the green and black plain.]

Pidge: Your soul! Honerva must have--

[Cut to Hunk and Gyrgan in the yellow and black plain.]

Hunk: --trapped you here somehow! Please, I don’t want to fight you!

[Cut to Lance and Alfor in the red and black plain.]

Lance: Please! Remember who you are!

[Cut to Allura and Blaytz in the blue and black plain again.]

Allura: Blaytz, please.

[Flash back to the Castle of Lions on Altea.]

Alfor: Make no mistake, Zarkon is coming.

Trigel: Then we use the lions, fight him until our last breath.

Alfor: I am not certain we can win this fight. We cannot risk Voltron falling into his hands. We will utilize our lions to seal the Black Lion. Once we are done, we will send our lions as far away as possible. Coran, you and the Castle of Lions will take the Black Lion away.

Coran: You would have me leave your side at the very end?

Alfor: No. I would have you stand by my daughter’s. I am entrusting you with what is most precious to me in this entire universe, Coran.

Coran: It will be my greatest honor.

Gyrgan: Then it is decided. We go into battle together, one last time.

Alfor: To defend the universe.

All: To defend the universe.

[Flash forward to Trigel and Pidge in the green and black plain.]

Trigel: What… Where am I?

[Cut to Hunk and Gyrgan in the yellow and black plain.]

Hunk: You’re in the void just outside of Honerva’s mind. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true.

[Cut to Blaytz and Allura in the blue and black plain.]

Blaytz: Are the visions from the lions true?

[Cut to Alfor and Lance in the red and black plain.]

Alfor: Has it really been ten thousand years?

Lance: It has.

[Cut to Hunk and Gyrgan in the yellow and black plain.]

Gyrgan: It saddens me greatly to learn that Zarkon wreaked such destruction in our absence.

Hunk: But not completely. Voltron was reformed and the Paladins fly together again.

Gyrgan: I have always believed that unity is where true power comes from, and true unity can only be born of love.

[Cut to Trigel and Pidge in the green and black plain.]

Trigel: I can’t tell you how much it warms my heart to know that someone so connected to the world around her is piloting the Green Lion. My race believes observation to be the most revered attribute. It is where intelligence is born. And for you, it is where it has thrived. The infinite abilities of your mind dwarf the smallness of your size. The Green Lion could not have found a more perfect Paladin.

[Cut to Blaytz and Allura in the blue and black plain.]

Blaytz: People often overlooked me because I was different, but the Blue Lion recognized something in me, something others couldn’t see. It saw the greatness within that even I did not. You, Allura, have greatness within you, as well. You’re so much like your father, and yet so different. You’re a remarkable person. Thank you for saving us.

[Cut to Alfor and Lance in the red and black plain.]

Alfor: Through the lion’s bond, I could feel your love for my daughter.

Lance: I could feel yours, as well.

Alfor: As Paladins, we face many quests throughout the cosmos, but the most amazing journey is that of life. And the biggest question you face is who to go on that journey with. I’m glad my daughter chose you.

[Cut to Keith on the black plain at the boundary of Honerva’s mind.]

Keith: Please. You’re back. You guys are alright. Wait, are they the…

Pidge: Yep, the original paladins.

Alfor: Allura! It is fitting that I would find what is brightest to me in the darkest place.

Allura: All that I have done, I have done to make you proud.

Hunk: Their souls were trapped by Honerva’s dark magic. When we came near Honvera’s consciousness, our connection attracted them to us. Crazy, right?

Pidge: But we used that connection to free them. The lions created a bridge, sharing old memories with new.

Alfor: What’s going on?

Allura: Honerva’s connection grows. We are very close to her now.

Alfor: You hold a dark entity within you. Don’t you know how dangerous that is? That’s what led to Honerva and Zarkon’s end.

Allura: I know the danger, but now I have the power to stop Honerva. You had to make a difficult choice in war by sending the lions away. I also had to make a difficult choice. I’m not going to be afraid to use the power I have. We need to continue.

Lance: But how do we get past the wall?

Allura: It’s… it’s like I can feel her thoughts. The way through is with the darkness.

Alfor: Honerva went mad, obsessed with darkness and power.

Allura: And now, we must enter her mind.

End.

[beautifulterriblequeen]

[Mu Shu “I live” gif goes here]

SO. TDP posted this today and now I have LIFE. Go read it if you haven’t! I’mma break down all the moonfam goodness I’m seeing peeking around the edges of this very very Moonshadow happysad birthday information.

Runaan and Ethari both like books now. Can you imagine them just sitting together under a tree, casually touching with feet or shoulders, each engrossed in their own book, being delightfully introverted together? Maybe reading each other the most interesting parts of their books as they come across them? Aahhh. It’s so soft.

Rayla is the one who insists on the adoraburr meadow picnics! She’s decided that her stabby dad needs these picnics! I love this so much. Ethari pretends he’s helpless in the wake of Rayla’s picknicky juggernaut, but I gotta ask you: who makes the picnic food? It’s definitely Ethari.

Also! Why does Rayla think picnics are birthday-worthy? I wonder if Lain and Tiadrin did this with her before they left for the Storm Spire. Whose birthday got a picnic? Was it each of them? A family tradition that Rayla adored and insisted on continuing with her new dads! Ohmygod it’s the sweetest thing!

And I’m so soft for the fact that Rayla believes Runaan deserves this birthday celebration ritual even though he’s quiet and stabby. She doesn’t care that he’s a natural loner. He’s family, and she’s going to care about him whether he likes it or not. ohgodmyheart

These big strong dads getting foiled--repeatedly--by a tiny elfling with pockets full of adoraburrs though. Halp.

Okay the moscato detail is sending me, guys. Before Rayla came to live with them, Runaan’s birthday probably consisted of reading under trees and then moscato and a quiet night in. Moscato is a sweet wine, and it’s not very high in alcohol content. Runaan doesn’t really do sweet, so I think he drinks this particular wine for Ethari. But if he’s a lightweight, it could get him tipsy anyway. This page started by telling us that Runaan has a hard time relaxing, so maybe the moscato is his way of uhhh letting down his hair, just for Ethari? holy shnikes it’s my mdzs headcanon

Ethari’s gifts have a whole bunch of little details tucked in there though! Ethari knew Runaan for what seems to be many years before they married. He knew him as a “young assassin.” Awww man, I need all kinds of details there! And of course he spent many hours working on a joke gift for Runaan. A sweet, cute tasteful jeweled mouse. That’s just... I can’t, Ethari is too pure! But I bet he loved to practice his craft and made fun gifts for all his friends. What dedication, though. A true jeweler at heart.

And he’s observant, watching Runaan when Runaan thinks he isn’t being watched. He does that, with Runaan and with Callum in the show. He just likes to watch everyone around him, to know them. Part of his friendly charm! 

Can we get an awww for young Runaan petting an itty bitty Moonstrider? Because awww. Did he pick that one? Is that his mount? Did he insta bond with her and need to take her home that day? I think he might’ve! Runaan seems to make heartfelt decisions in a snap, despite his stoic exterior.

It’s literally a heartbloom flower, that’s its name, I hoped it was. I wanna know all the traditions around those flowers now. They seem very Moonshadow, tied so strongly with life and all its good things.

I’m angsty over the shift in Ethari’s gift choices though. When they were young, he made Runaan a mouse, because he thought the assassin was so quiet. Last year, his gift was supposed to be a three-eyed nightfox, a stabby hunter. Because he thought Runaan would like it. Runaan’s changed so much since they were young, and it makes me have feels. I mean, all the adults have changed. All three dads got harder. But this... ow my feels. Ethari’s just a craftsman in love, trying to make his handsome husband’s stabbiness beautiful. And he does. He looks at Runaan and he sees sleek efficient lines, an apex predator, perfectly suited for his job. He sees Runaan with an artist’s eye, and a lover’s eye. Every move Runaan makes is lovely to Ethari, the epitome of deadly grace. So he crafts his husband a dramatic, lovely fox while Runaan’s in Katolis.

Angst warning!

Runaan had his birthday in Katolis after all. He left home before his birthday, and Ethari took that time to craft the nightfox, to have it ready in time for Runaan’s birthday. But Runaan never came home. Whether he was in the dungeon or the coin, Runaan missed out on sharing that special day with Ethari and Rayla in the meadow. He missed out on those glasses of moscato, on letting Ethari surprise him with yet another jeweled trinket.

Runaan missed his birthday. If you have a birthday in the in-between space of the coin, do you really have a birthday at all? Maybe Aaravos knows the answer to that question.

Okay, more angst, but then a silver lining, okay? I promise.

When Runaan’s lotus sank and Ethari had to ghost Rayla with the rest of the village, he lost the last two members of his family, the two closest to him. In the last five months, Ethari lost every member of the moonfam, and he was completely alone. Three of them ghosted for cowardice, and one dead. Of course his husband remained honorable. But he still died. He still isn’t coming home. He still missed his birthday.

Moonshadows are tightly knit introverts. They need each other very deeply, even though they don’t go around expressing it with every breath. They spend time together and give each other gifts to show their love and affection, instead of blurting their feels with words. Runaan, Ethari, and Rayla were deeply rocked when Lain and Tiadrin supposedly ran away and abandoned their duty. They were each a different kind of mess as a result, but they clung together all the harder. And then, Ethari lost them both. And he was the only one left. 

This is Very Not Good Tee Emm for a Moonshadow. They literally need other Moonshadows to be in their lives. And Ethari is so open with his feels, and they’re so strong for his sweet family, and especially for Runaan, that he was actually dying of his grief. Just like Zubeia, who’d been married to Avizandum for how many elven lifetimes. It’s impossible to live without your heart. You just can’t. And so, Ethari crafted a different trinket. Not one for Runaan. Not anymore. But a trinket in memory of Runaan. A dying weeping-tree leaf. Ethari was going to die of grief for all his lost family, for his lost husband. That trinket? That was for everyone else, after he’d gone. To tell them why he died. He spent hours on it, making it with all his usual focus and dedication. Because it was going to be his very last piece. He wanted it to be just right.

Okay now I’ll make it a little better, yeah?

First of all, obviously, Rayla came back! Ethari isn’t going to die. He’s living for Rayla, helping her out, supporting her with everything he’s got, fighting to get her un-ghosted. She’s the only family he has. She’s his world now, and he’s never going to stop loving and supporting her, ever again.

But secondly, *hands you tissues* surely Runaan knew his husband deep down, after all their years together. He may have been a stabby nightfox on the outside, but his heart was attuned to Ethari’s. When he saved Rayla, he did it for love of her. But when he told her to go home...

...He knew, guys. He knew how terribly Ethari would suffer if he lost literally everyone in such a short span. He knew it would be the end of Ethari, that he couldn’t take such a devastating blow on top of the one they’d already suffered.

Runaan didn’t just save Rayla for her own sake. He saved her so Ethari would still have someone to love and care for. So his husband would still have family.

Runaan’s mission was a disaster, and his whole team was lost. But he didn’t just save one life with his last sacifice. He saved two. Runaan saved the rest of his family by sending Rayla home to Ethari. He saved them both. The stabby dark nightfox is more than just a hunter. He’s a husband and a father, and he’ll do whatever he must for his family. 

Ethari won’t need that dying weeping-tree trinket. And he’s already made something since: his lighthawk, that carries a message of life. Ethari only needed to know that Rayla was alive and well and needed his help, and he found his purpose again. The moonfam’s going to be okay, because Runaan sent Rayla home to save Ethari’s life. And sooner or later, they’ll save his in return.

[enigmatist17]

Longing (Rhys Strongfork x Vaughn)

I really really love Rhys and Vaughn.

I was really really happy to see them in Borderlands 3.

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

Vaughn had been having a nice day. The Calypso Twins had been killed a few weeks ago, and the universe seemed to finally be lulling back to its old self. Pandora was only full of Crimson Raiders and the slowly dwindling COV, the lack of bandits almost startling to the planet. He couldn’t remember the last time random packs of bandits were just running around, shouting about blood and skulls. No, Pandora seemed to finally have tipped the change from bloodthirsty bandits, to a potential planet ready to build an actual society. 

The change almost was saddening to see.

Yet again, a life Vaughn had tried to make for himself was slipping from his fingers. He was a lonely bandit in the wastes again, and this time he wasn’t sure if he could change again. Hyperion and that oppressive corporate atmosphere had nearly smothered him, Vaughn wasn’t going to go through that again. No, he was confident in himself and able to tear a person apart for trying to ever imply as such. Paperwork, meetings, and selecting who to tear down just for a step up just made the bandit chief feel ill. He had gone for a walk and now regretted it as an Atlas ship landed nearby. Vaughn could have sworn that Atlas had been some third-rate corporation, not able to afford the armor and spectacular guns those unloading from the transport seemed to have. Then again, his news was seven years out of date, so anything could have happened during his tenure on Pandora he supposed. 

The man stepping out, dressed in a suit and sporting a blood-red cybernetic arm, brought any train of thought Vaughn had at the moment to a rather spectacular crash.

There was no way that was Rhys Strongfork, there is no fucking way. Still crouched behind some rocks, Vaughn watches as Rhys puts his hands on his hips, saying something to a soldier with a grin. The last seven years had been very kind to Rhys, Vaughn feeling suddenly very aware he was only in his underwear and cape. It usually didn’t bother him, but seeing the tailored suit and blood-free face of his former friend just made Vaughn feel subpar. Once again his thoughts were scattered when some skags, previously going about their business, seemed to find the Atlas troops worthy of dinner. At first, he just watched as they easily dispatched the animals with ease, but quickly moved when one snuck up and made an advance at Rhys. The businessman only had a gun partially withdrawn before the skag seemed to just explode, raining misty blood down over him. Glancing over, Rhys forgot about the bodily fluids all over his suit as he took in the man who was reloading his gun. Despite the blood, grime, and bushy beard that could use decent grooming, the man standing feet away was all too familiar to Rhys.

“Vaughn?!” The bandit looks up, locking eyes with Rhys before a huge grin stretches across his face. The CEO is taken up into strong arms a moment later, pressed against a toned body that he only dreamed of late at night. 

“Rhys! You’re alive bro!” Vaughn laughed, squeezing his friend tight before releasing him. Rhys looks as he always has, a bit bewildered and adorably confused, steadying himself by using Vaughn as support. 

“I-I can’t believe it!” Rhys looks absolutely delighted, taking in his oldest and dearest friend. Seven years had seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, and for Vaughn, it had changed him so much. He had seemingly thrived as a bandit chief, no hint of nervousness nor social awkwardness that Vaughn had had their entire friendship. The bandit just grinned away, shifting into a fighting stance when the Atlas soldiers raised their guns.

“No no! No, he’s a friend.” It was strange seeing someone stepping in front of Vaughn, Rhys clearly not thinking much of the protective stance as much as Vaughn did. The guns were lowered without hesitation, and Rhys turned with a cheeky expression. “Say, know any good coffee shops?” Vaughn can’t help but laugh, Rhys letting out a distressed cry to learn that coffee was rare to come by on Pandora. Thankfully, Sanctuary III was able to supply some through Rhys' stay, and Vaughn finds himself hooked back on the liquid by day 2. The two are usually in a booth laughing about something, looking so strange a pair, yet these days hardly anyone batted an eye. Atlas had promised to help rebuild sections of Pandora that had been destroyed by the CoV, and the task that had once been almost monumental to Rhys suddenly felt so easy. Vaughn was able to get people to work at ease, Rhys sometimes watching with a slightly envious look. Despite leading Atlas, he still suffered from his own lack of self-worth and envied how confident Vaughn was. Soon the few months Rhys had come to stay were coming to an end, and both men felt some tension in the air.

Rhys, bless his heart, is the one to ask Vaughn to come with him.

The bandit gives him a disbelieving look, wondering if it was some sort of strange joke. The company life had been left far behind, but it was back and asking him to come into the fold. Rhys waves away concerns when Vaughn asks about investors, pacing back and forth. They were both currently in the remains of his old Sun Smashers camp, Rhys having asked to see it before finally spitting out his question. He sat on the dirty bed, watching as Vaughn switched between disbelief and uncertainty. Seeing Vaughn so unsettled reminded him of their days in college and Hyperion, and for once Rhys decides that maybe he should finally do something. Standing up unnoticed, Rhys waits until he can slip in front of Vaughn, words dying on the bandit's lips when a cool metal hand caresses his face.

“I want you to come with me, I don’t want to leave you again.” He usually isn’t good at this sort of thing, but at this moment he couldn’t have been any more sure of anything in his life. Vaughn doesn’t say anything, just looking into Rhys’ eyes as if searching for deception. He seems to find what he was looking for, and before Rhys can blink, cracked and dry lips are on his own. His brain just seems to short circuit, and as fast as his bravado had swelled, Rhys just felt so lost as Vaughn kissed him soundly. He’s got the sappiest grin on his face when Vaughn takes pity, looking very amused.

“Sure you don’t mind a bandit coming back with you?” He isn’t sure what potential investors would think, but Rhys is nodding before his thought is even out of the gate.

“Of course! You’re my closest and dearest bro, and I know that you can pull your weight if need be.” Rhys flashes a dazzling smile, and Vaughn finds himself accepting the offer. He leaves Pandora with a bandit’s goodbye, pouring some blood from a skull before joining an intrigued Rhys on his private ship. It felt like a lifetime ago since he had been off-planet sans Sanctuary III, and he’s quiet as the planet fades from view. He would feel sad, but hearing an excited Rhys pouring over some sort of blueprint behind him only makes the bandit smile. He spends most of the journey to Promethea sleeping, feeling the nervous energy he used to ooze back in his Hyperion days coiling in his gut. Would he be good enough? He hadn’t done any sort of “work” in over seven years, would he even remember how to?

The building they land on is huge, the dazzling city almost too much for Vaughn. The neon glow and varying robots carrying out repairs stretch into the distance, and he is shaken from his observation by an arm slipping around his waist. Rhys is smiling down at him, that sweet and goofy smile that just makes any of Vaughn’s worries fade away. The gigantic building they enter doesn’t feel cold and stifling, instead, it’s inviting, workers waving to Rhys all with smiles. Of course, there are strange looks at the man wearing nothing but boots, underwear, and a tattered cape, but they never linger for long. Rhys’ office makes Vaughn laugh, seeing the aquarium reaching up to the ceiling like they had discussed over last night studying long ago.

“What?” Rhys tilts his head slightly, and Vaughn just gives him a grin.

“You remembered the aquarium, of course, you did.” Rhys just grins, and Vaughn flops down onto the couch. It was so strange to be inside an intact building that was well maintained, unable to smell anything less than what appeared to be coffee and whatever Rhys liked in the air. Was it vanilla? Vaughn couldn’t remember what vanilla even smelled like, watching from the corner of his eye as Rhys caught up with some emails. The way the CEO sticks his tongue out slightly while scanning through dozens upon dozens of threads just reminds Vaughn of their happier days at Hyperion. There weren’t many of them, but the late nights crafting their plan back then, usually spent in their cramped office laughing over takeout never failed to make Vaughn smile. Zer0 comes in to find the bandit passed out on the couch an hour later, Rhys having moved to be by the other. The man is sitting on the floor, legs crossed as he leans back against the couch. His cybernetic arm is displaying some sort of hologram, and his normal hand is enclosed in Vaughn’s closest hand. Rhys has a content smile on his face, the assassin noting this was the first time he had ever seen Rhys so at ease. Zer0 takes the hint and slips out of the room as silently as he had arrived, and locks the door behind him just in case.

[ngame989]

“Soul” - TGG SVTFOE Fanfic Collection Ch. 9

Writing: @ngame989​​

Art: @toxicpsychox​​

Editing: @ubercelloczar​​​, @toxicpsychox​​, @seddm​​

Alternate fic links - FFnet, AO3

Summary: It's that time of the year for another Soulrise, and Tom throws Marco the birthday bash of a lifetime to celebrate, but Marco realizes that underneath all the joy and celebration Tom has a storm of emotions brewing inside. When Star gets dragged into some mysterious mission on the surface, it's up to Marco to realize just what's been bothering his demon friend.

Comic Page

Masterpost

And we're back with another chapter! Things are ramping up a bit, and we have plans for probably the next dozen chapters in the works already with a few special events in the mix. Thanks for sticking around, and stay tuned for more. Hope you enjoy!

“A little to the left.” Tom hovered above the door and moved a massive cloud of dark blue balloons slightly over in the wrong direction, glancing up at her to check. “My left, honey.” He nodded and shifted them back. A little more, a little more, and… “There. Nice work, Tommypoo,” Wrathmelior affectionately growled in her native tongue while reaching down to rustle her smiling son’s hair. When Tom suggested throwing a party for a friend she hadn’t met yet, the same boy who had been the subject of quite a few mother-son heart-to-hearts in years past, some old concerns had bubbled up in the back of her mind. But she couldn’t bear saying no for long, and it wasn’t long until she was more than happy to volunteer the Lucitor lake house for the occasion.  

Tom’s enigmatic friend Janna popped her head out the front door with a sly grin that would put many of the devils Wrathmelior personally knew to shame. “Yo Tommypoo, can I get a hand at the snack table?”

All three of his eyes popped open and cast intense glares back and forth between Janna and Wrathmelior. “You even taught her that?” he groaned incredulously at the latter.

Wrathmelior smiled apologetically. “Sorry, sweetie. She’s quite persuasive.” Janna had been spending enough time in the Underworld that Wrathmelior had given her a few crash courses in conversational demonic, enough to get by on her own when she tagged along with whatever Tom was doing in the kingdom. Though she was still difficult to figure out, they got along swimmingly. So many humans seemed either too scared or concerningly excited about the lava, wings, and horns they might encounter down below, and Janna’s cool enthusiasm was refreshingly welcome.

“Guilty as charged.” Janna pointed finger guns at Tom as he walked through the door and they disappeared into the house.

Wrathmelior went into the more appropriately sized entrance into the kitchen, where by the time she arrived Tom and Janna were putting out plates and napkins. Her husband was there as well and had apparently been receiving a cooking lesson from Star for some time now, judging by the lecture she was giving him. “-can’t do this too early or the chips will get totally mushy and gross. Crunchy chips, molten cheese, crisp pico -  all required elements for any Marco-approved nachos.” Star instructed before bending down to grab a tray full of chips out of the oven, setting it down on the counter next to the other supplies. “If you pour juuuuuust right, the cheese will get all in between the chips so you get a little with every bite.” Dave solemnly followed her work as the jumbo bowl was filled with a quantity of triangle chips, yellow goop, and vegetables that gave even the full-sized demon pause. “Voilà! Star’s Super Spectacular Nachos!” Everyone grabbed a sample chip, and just as she said, a little bit of everything seemed to work its way through the dish.

“Mmmmph,” Dave grunted. “These are good. Star, can you teach the castle staff how to make this marvelous thing?”

“Honestly, I’m not that good at it, Marco and I have just been cooking a ton lately. Campus food is both really expensive and really crummy.” Star stuck her tongue out in disgust. While the others, Wrathmelior included, tried and failed to stop eating, Star wandered through the living room and looked around at all the decorations and party games that had been set up, her grin only growing wider as she did.

Tom leaned against the stairs with his hands in the pockets of his teal shorts, smirked as he coolly observed the room. “We are preeeeetty good party planners, aren’t we?”

“Aww yeah we are!” Star skipped over and bumped shoulders with Tom. “But honestly this was mostly you. Marco’s gonna love it.”

“You think?” Tom’s cocky demeanor fell away to the earnestness underneath. “Ah, it was nothing. I mean, sure, we’ve got a private beachfront property, the most state of the art ping-pong tables in the world, a live Love Sentence cover band… I mean, who wouldn’t do this for their friend’s 17th birthday?”

Janna slurped the stretchy cheese off her last chip before chiming in from the kitchen. “You’ve been spending, like, every waking moment on it, dude. Feels like we haven’t even hung out in weeks, buuuut it is pretty cool. Remind me to call you when I’m in the mood to throw a grave rave.” He flashed a casual toothy smirk, but there was an extra glint in his eyes that caught Wrathmelior’s attention. Janna sauntered into the living room to join the others. “So what’s the special occasion, Tom?”

Whatever that look had meant, it was quickly replaced with sheer confusion. “Uh, Marco’s birthday? Did you get bit by a Hippocampotamus or something? Those things are nasty.”

The Earth girl rolled her eyes. “I mean why all the fuss? This is basically the one human teenage birthday that isn’t extra special.”

“Whatever. Just wanted to throw an ultra awesome party for one of my best friends because he’s a super cool guy.” He quickly averted his gaze, eyes drifting around the room until they stopped on the elegant family grandfather clock. “Probably about that time, ready for me to send you back?” he asked, glancing sideways at Star.

“Oooooone sec.” Star ruffled her hands through her hair, brushed sand out of her light blue blouse, and stuffed her sunhat and sunglasses into her purse. “Sand would blow my cover.” Pillars of fire erupted in the wide open area of the living room as Tom’s eyes glowed, and the familiar carriage he’d built himself once upon a time quickly spawned from the ground. “See you in a few!” Star climbed into the seat; one sizzling rush of air later and she was gone. The irony of Star using the vehicle Tom had delicately crafted once upon a time in the service of wooing her to pick up her human boyfriend wasn’t lost on Wrathmelior, but there was no point to harboring any negativity if Tom was happy with it.

Out of the corner of her eye, Wrathmelior saw a smug Janna sneaking up behind Tom. He lightly shrieked when she slapped him on the back. “Good job, Lucitor. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go set up the traditional Diaz prank. I’m pulling out all the stops this year.” When she opened her jacket, his eyes widened at the various weapons, gadgets, skulls, and animals hiding within. One of them stuck its furry head out. “I became the alpha possum just a few weeks ago. Scooter here can smell red hoodies through walls, isn’t that right?” She scratched the creature’s head before closing the olive jacket back up. “So, you want in?”

“Nah,” he scoffed, waving his hands dismissively. “You go ahead, do your thing. Wouldn’t want to get in the way of the master.”

“You flatter me. Suit yourself, see ya,” Janna shrugged and slinked off elsewhere in the cabin, leaving just the Lucitor family behind. Tom milled about the cabin making minute adjustments to the decorations and furniture, seemingly to kill time more than anything. What had him so worked up? There was no time for Wrathmelior to ponder this question, though, as a loud swoosh from the outside signalled the arrival of the carriage before she could even collect her thoughts.

Tom perked up and bolted out the door while Wrathmelior took the larger exit out the side. Just as the carriage doors opened, Tom snapped his fingers and summoned a black cloth, blinding the boy within whom she presumed to be Marco. “What the heck, man?” Marco curiously started the famous sword-hand dance, but Tom floated over and past him to peek into the chassis.

“Wait, where’s Star?”

“Moon needed her for a little bit, she said she’d be ready pretty soon but said I should go ahead. Can you get this thing off me?”

“Right, right, sorry,” he stuttered while fumbling with the knot until it came undone. “Anyway, welcome to the Lucitor family lake house!”

“Surprise!” The Lucitors spoke in unison, although Wrathmelior knew she wouldn’t be understood. “Happy birthday!”

His eyes widened in wonder at the massive quantity of balloons and the big sign that greeted him. “Wooooah, you guys, you didn’t have to!”

Tom put his arm around Marco’s shoulder and began walking him towards the door. “Don’t worry about it. Oh, Marco, meet my mom and dad, Queen and King Lucitor of the Underworld.”

“My pleasure, young man,” Dave warmly stated as he stepped forward to shake Marco’s hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Wrathmelior growled out with Dave translating.

Marco waved up at her, possessing the same unflinching assuredness that she’d noticed in Janna. “Tom’s told me a lot about you, thanks for having me. Just one question. Is there-”

“Ping-pong?” They said in unison, both their faces breaking into wide smiles before they’d even finished the word.

“If the brand-new Dropshot 720 DX model with real-time trajectory tracking and RGB paddles counts, sure.”

Marco excitedly grabbed Tom by the shoulders, shaking him back and forth. “With optional holographic crowd simulator?”

“Duh. Marco, please, I’m not an amateur.”

“What are we waiting for? The ping ain’t gonna pong itself.”

“We’ve got snacks and music and all sorts of other things, too. Ha, now I feel kinda silly, putting all this together and being the only one here when you show up. I totally understand if you want to go with Star instead, I’d never try to get in the way of, you know, the whole thing you two have.”

The human boy crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow in response. “Tom, you’re one of my best friends and you’re throwing me a ping-pong birthday party. If you think I don’t want to kick your butt until we’ve broken every last ping-pong ball in the kingdom, you’ve got another thing coming, buddy.” Both glanced down when his stomach loudly rumbled. “...but maybe, um, we start with the snacks.”

Wrathmelior cooed at the exchange as Tom wrapped an arm around Marco’s shoulder and led him into the house. So much had changed in the past few years, both above and below ground. Even if her own home and kingdom had been affected to the same degree as those of the surface-dwellers though, none of it would compare in Wrathmelior’s eyes to what she’d seen out of her son. With the ample time she’d had to reflect since the state of the world settled down, she might even say that he’d been the more mature one between them. The last time she’d played doting demon mom over her son’s relationships had gone… regrettably, to say the least, and it had hurt like heaven when he broke the news of what had happened. Could anyone blame her for wanting things to work out with the girl he’d spent years chasing? Most shocking of all was that he hadn’t even talked to her about it beforehand. Before she could even realize it, he’d grown into a capable young Prince of the Underworld solving his problems all on his own.

“Surprise, Diaz!” The moment of solemn reflection was interrupted by Janna’s voice from inside the house followed by a series of crashes and girlish shrieks. “Go, Scooter, go!” As the chaos unfolded, she could hear Tom simultaneously laughing to the point of breathlessness and blasting fire to defend Marco.

While she still couldn’t help but worry that something seemed off with Tom today - a feeling compounded by how little experience she had not being the first one to know what might be going wrong in his life - it was surprisingly easy to push aside. With the friendships he had, she felt at ease knowing he could handle it.

***

“Lava snakes up above you, Tom!” Marco launched up into the sky with a flurry of sword strikes to stun the enemies while Tom floated over to cover. Tom’s mage dropped icicles from the ceiling to pin the first of the bosses to the ground for Marco to execute. “Thanks.”

Meanwhile, Janna’s character dropped a smokebomb and used the cover to sneak up and eliminate the ranged attackers with his shotgun. “These stupid alien crabs won’t stop spawning,” she growled.

“It’s fine, keep on them. Obsidian lizard to your right, Marco!”

One of Tom’s gifts to Marco had been Threat of Wet 2, the hit sequel to the original action game Threat of Wet. He initially hadn’t been sure if it would be his sort of game but it only took a few minutes of endless heart-pumping mob-slaughtering multiplayer action to be hooked. Even if he was having fun, he wasn’t great at it, judging by the amount of nervous sweat he had to wipe off his brow in a rare free moment between dodging deadly lasers and spikeballs. He used an uppercut to alley-oop the lizard into Tom’s laser blast before dashing and slashing through it for the kill.

“Little help?!?” Janna shouted, tossing a stun grenade at the ravenous pack of creepy jesters clawing at her and rolling under a fallen pillar to regroup with the team. The horde got distracted and chased after one of their mini fighter drones, giving the group a moment of respite.

“Last ones, I think,” Marco said with a grimace. “Not sure what the best move is here, they’ll obliterate me.”

Janna snapped a finger and pointed at Tom. “You think we can pull off Tamalebolge here?”  Marco had no clue what she was talking about, but Tom’s mouth slowly widened into an eager grin as he apparently understood what she was trying to say. They nodded with conviction and turned back to the game.

“Set the smokescreens, I’ll get in position. Marco, just follow me.” He went along with it and hunkered his swordsman down between two clouds of smoke blocking their vision while Janna laid out more in a straight line with gaps in between. Janna maneuvered her character towards the spooky clowns and shot a single pellet at them to get their attention. Once they began charging over, Tom started unloading every spell he had while moving backwards in and out of smoke patches.

The clowns kept moving forward, but seemed to be stuttering in a way that prevented them from ever successfully landing a hit. In a moment of confusion while Marco tried to process it, he got bodyslammed into the ground and instantly killed. “You’re dead… that was embarrassing,” the game’s message on his corner of the massive screen in Tom’s media room taunted. What the heck were they up to, and why was it working?

“Almost… almost… no!” Tom’s thumb slipped on the controller and Marco could literally see the fire in his eyes at the mistake. At the last second Janna rolled under the legs of their enemies and stunned them just as they were about to slam, finishing them off and displaying a message to proceed to the next level. Their characters sauntered over to the exit and halted for a moment while Tom and Janna proudly hi-fived in celebration… and in the half-second they’d looked away, a thin blip of flame from a single floating wraith pierced through both, killing them instantly. “OH, COME ON!” Yep, this game certainly was unforgiving.

Janna busted out laughing and patted Tom on the shoulder. “Dude, take it easy, that was sick. You were right, this was pretty fun.”

“Told you.”

“I’m afraid to ask, but what the heck is Tamalebolge?”

“There’s this place called Tamalebolge on the outskirts of the Underworld, we stopped there for lunch one day after Mom sent me to give a big box of eyeballs to the mayor there. Dunno why a town needed 10000 preserved eyeballs, but whatever.”

On the other side of the couch, Janna scoffed resentfully. “Lucky town.”

“Anyway, they had this tamale that was a bunch of layers that got spicier as you bit in, and it hurts because each time you hit one layer you let your guard down for the next so you get that burning feeling a bunch of times in a row. In one of our trips to the Librarinth we got cornered by some Decimatals and had the idea to put up a bunch of walls of fire, since they could-”

“Could never adapt to the fire because it wasn’t steady,” Marco finished with a hint of awe as the pieces clicked into place. “Dang, that’s really smart.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Janna exclaimed in a monotone, not even looking up from her phone. “Alright, Marco, what did Star say she was doing exactly? She hasn’t even asked for any pictures yet.”

Marco raised an eyebrow. “Well, Moon said she needed to borrow Star for a bit, but that was a few hours ago so…” Suddenly the weirdness of Janna’s last statement - well, compared to the baseline he expected from her - struck him. “Wait, pictures?”

“Yeah, dude,” she coolly responded, leaning over Tom and showing him an album with… how many pictures of him was that exactly? 500? 1000? He looked away before any more could load to just stare in complete indignant shock at his friend. “Anytime we hang out without her, Star asks me to, like, take pictures of you and send them to her. You haven’t noticed by now? Damn, I’m just that good.” She smirked and twirled her phone around, blowing on it like a smoking gun before holstering it in her pocket.

Tom folded his arms and leaned forward to stare Janna down. “Really? Star asks you to do this?”

“Yes. Well, I started it first. And sent a new shot every few minutes for weeks. And now she’s so used to it that me not doing it makes her think we all got eaten by weresharks, so whenever I stop she always asks what’s wrong. So yeah, basically she asks for them.”

From Marco’s position reclined into one end of the sofa, Tom had to twist himself around to shoot Marco an incredulous look and nudge his attention towards Janna as if to beam “Are you really gonna just let that slide?“ directly into his brain. “Whatever, I’m used to it. The most surprising thing is that you actually, y’know, send them to Star."

Janna finally devoted her undivided attention on Marco for a few seconds, assessing him with her cold and enigmatic expression before sighing. “I already had them and Star’s madly in love with you for some reason so why not? What, Diaz, I’m not allowed to do nice things for my friends now?” Leave it to Janna to make being kind of normal and thoughtful still creepy and weird.

“You know what, I’m just gonna message her,” Marco said, walking out of the room to clear his head and pulling out his phone to check in on Star. She could certainly handle herself, especially with Moon there, but he was still curious what could be making her miss a lot of the celebration that she herself had helped set up. After he’d sent the first, he hastily added on a second asking if she needed him for anything. OK, so maybe a little worried. It surprisingly only took a second before his phone dinged with a response.

“Mina’s back. Long story, not what you think, we’re fine here 👍. Kinda crazy tho. 😵 Will tell you later. 😈 acting a bit strange, stay and try to see why? 🤔 Also have fun, it’s your party!!!!🎊🥳🎉🎈 Hopefully will be done soon, would never miss 👻rise with you 💕💞💏 Love you 😘🥰😻”

Mina? Every bone in his body wanted to leap into action, but Star knew her better than probably anyone; if she said there wasn’t a problem, he’d trust that. The fact that something was up with Tom, on the other hand, demanded attention. Was there something strange going on? It hadn’t occurred to him, but now that the idea had been planted in his head, Tom wasn’t the first person he’d have expected to go through all this trouble. He was a great and thoughtful guy, sure, but weeks of detail-oriented planning seemed... a bit out of place for him. Like Star said, though, he should still just enjoy the day and there’d be plenty of time to try and sleuth out whatever Star thought was going on.

“Hey, man,” Tom said as he poked his head around the corner. “We’re going surfing, wanna come with?”

“Sure Tom, just one tiny problem: the water here is lava-”

Tom only smiled wider in response. “Come on, you’ll see.” The two headed outside where Wrathmelior and Dave were sunba- uh, stalactitebathing, he supposed? Marco wasn’t sure what the point was underground but, hey, maybe it was a demon thing. Janna, too, had already made her way outside and stripped down to an outfit more suitable for a lava beach. She appeared to be rubbing some sort of neon red goop all over herself, which stupefied him so much that he barely noticed she was wearing a pair of hot pink shorts. What kind of bizarro world had he entered?

When she finally noticed him, he quickly averted his gaze to avoid any suspicion. “Yo, Diaz, liking the view?” Too late. She put a cap on the bottle of goo and nodded in the direction of the lake. What was she up to? As Marco warily followed, he saw Tom swimming around in the lava unfettered. All of a sudden, Janna started running with intent towards the lake.

“JANNA, NO!” Marco surged forward to try and stop her but she had a headstart and was surprisingly fast on her feet. When she kicked off the sand to hurl herself into the lava, Marco’s eyes instinctively squeezed shut and let out a whimper despite knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that she had to have some sort of plan.

When Marco opened his eyes, Janna was completely unharmed and lazily treading lava. She ducked under to sneak up on the lazily backstroking Tom, rising up to grab him by the horns and dunk him. He flailed for a minute before bobbing back up and taking a big gulp of air.

“Janna, what the here?!? Not cool...” he paddled to shore and shook the excess molten rock from his ears before standing with Marco, careful to keep his distance since he still had some residual slag on him. “Can you believe that?”

There was no other way Marco saw fit to respond to that than look of pure incredulity. “Yes? Always? So, anyway, how is she not dead right now?”

“Full cocktail of fire and heat resistance. Mostly Earth sunscreen with some demon incantations courtesy of my parents. Seeps in and affects your hair and innards and even any tight clothing for perfect safety. There’s enough for you too, if you want.”

As if today couldn’t get any crazier, disbelief morphed into fight or flight instinct as he tried to keep himself calm. “...so I’m just supposed to rub something Janna is giving me all over my body… and- and then jump into lava? Are you insane? What if it makes my tongue sentient, turns my legs into pudding, o-o-or worse? Oh my gosh, i-it’s gonna kill me-” Well, so much for calm, the sole bit of his mind hanging on to rationality offered.

“Woah, man, easy. Deep breaths. Just offering.” Tom gently patted his back until his breath steadied. He sighed and looked away. “For the record, Janna is a pretty good friend, you know. I’ve actually liked doing all the princely political crap when she’s here, and- and she does help. A lot, actually. I get that she likes messing with you, and honestly dude, it is pretty funny sometimes. If you don’t want to risk it, I totally respect that, but…” Marco followed his gaze out towards the lake where Janna was trying to befriend a wandering hellbat. “She really does care, in her own way.” There was an emotional conviction there that impacted Marco on a level he wasn’t prepared for, and even after a lifetime of wariness around Janna he found himself trusting more in Tom’s vote of confidence in the here and now… plus lava surfing did sound pretty awesome. Was this what Star had meant about his behavior today? He made a mental note before turning his focus back to the present dilemma. In all his time as an interdimensional adventurer he’d piloted dragoncycles, trained in combat with the sharpest swords he’d ever seen, and flipped a horse made of pure magic while floating on the back of one of his best friends. Why not go for this?

“Alright, let’s do this,” Marco said, marching over to the towel that had been laid out on the sand and cautiously picking up the bottle at arm’s length as though it was a radiation hazard, which he couldn’t even be sure it wasn’t.

The bottle floated up out of his hands on a puff of smoke guided by Tom’s magic. “Heads up, though, the souls of the damned mixed in there can bleach pretty badly, so maybe don’t wear anything you care about. Janna ruined my perfectly good ‘cold as ice’ shirt testing it,” Tom pouted. Marco stripped off his hoodie and goblin dog t-shirt, finding them far too valuable to damage.

I didn’t care about these swim trunks that much anyway, he internally grumbled while he snatched the bottle from Tom and gingerly applied it to his skin. After giving the first gentle dab on his arm a minute to verify he didn’t turn into a pig-goat, he reluctantly spread it around the rest of his body. He was surprised to find that it soaked in even easier than regular sunscreen despite its incredibly visible color. The even more daunting step was trusting it to protect his skin from literal lava. Tom held up a small flame in his hand. Marco instinctively recoiled but allowed Tom to bring it closer as a test, and sure enough even once it came in direct contact with his skin he felt nothing beyond a weird air current and a gentle warmth with no damage left behind. The only step left was taking the plunge. Now or never, Diaz, he chanted as he walked towards the edge of the sand.

“Aww, does Marco need floaties?” Janna goaded, having moved back into wading level to witness Marco’s entry. One toe went forward, very delicately. Almost, almooooooost… and it was in! It probably took about 10 minutes for Marco to fully immerse himself in the boiling liquid, mostly by choice, although its viscosity made the prospect of freely swimming around seem tiring regardless of magical protection.

Tom’s parents had approached the shore during that time and applauded Marco’s efforts. Wrathmelior made some deep rumbling sounds that caused Tom and Janna to both snicker. Tom noticed Marco’s frown and waved reassuringly. “She just said you’re moving slower than the lava itself, but don’t worry dude, you’re only the second human who’s even tried this. You’re doing great!” Tom motioned towards his parents before taking a running leap into the lake and paddling over to Marco, patting his back and inviting Marco to hop on. “Remember that move we practiced? The Screeching Bat?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Think we can use it here?” he asked, pointing to the beginnings of a massive wave forming in the distance.

Despite all his reservations about every step thus far, one thing he knew he could always trust was his and Tom’s teamwork. They’d had each others’ backs even when their friendship should have been shattered to pieces by guilt and heartache, and it had only improved from there. Deep breath, Diaz. “Let’s do this,” he confidently declared, climbing onto Tom’s lower back and bracing his legs under Tom’s arms while he assumed his usual four-limbed propulsion flight position. “Wait, where’s Janna?”

As the rippling sea started to form a recognizable wave, the pair saw a creature emerge to ride the peak with Janna on its back. “I’m QUEEEEN OF THE UNDERWORLD!” she screamed as the three-headed sea-turtle-esque animal carried her along.

Wrathmelior waved her giant camera in the air and made another comment that instantly left Tom with face a few shades redder than normal as he turned away. Being new to the whole “dipping skin in lava” experience, Marco’s focus was too scattered to trust his own judgment on whether or not Tom’s reaction was just a trick of the heat. He didn’t have time to dwell on it further before Tom jostled under him. “Whatever. C’mon, Marco, let’s just do this thing. Keep steady and don’t push down too hard, the heat doesn’t bother me but it’s still not fun having my face skid on molten rock at highway speeds.” Marco nodded and Tom lifted them off of the surface before flying over to the waves, picking up speed as they went.

They lost track of time as they did loop-de-loops and pushed their moves to the limits, swimming over and under and through the most insane ocean waves Marco had ever seen. At one point, as Janna rode closer to the ground, Tom followed the curve of a wave until he was upside-down under the crest of the wave as it crashed down behind them. Marco let go of Tom’s neck and felt his heart pounding as he straightened out, letting his body dip down in their signature trick that earned this flight pattern its name. Come to think of it, this was the first time they’d even made use of any of the awesome combat patterns they’d spent weeks naming and practicing in the last year, but they’d had enough fun goofing off in the sky that it was its own reward. When the largest wave yet approached, Tom veered straight for it and carved a hole in it with a fire blast at the last second. Marco tucked himself closely onto Tom’s back as they blasted through, and he was so high on adrenaline that he couldn’t help but sit straight up and holler in victory right afterwards.

As it approached an hour since they’d set out onto the lake, they all headed back at Tom’s suggestion that the potion’s effect wouldn’t last. They were greeted with another assortment of snacks and drinks from Tom’s parents, giving their swim trunks some time to… whatever the lava equivalent of “dry” was... in the comfort of the living room. Janna grabbed a glowing green glass bottle and took a huge swig. Marco’s wary gaze on its contents must have lasted a bit long because Janna took notice. “Chill, this is just Underworld cow’s milk. Tastes the same as ours.” If anything, that freaked him out more, but he’d had enough of these moments throughout the day that he could just put up with it at this point. As Tom approached with some sort of large bug shells on a plate - thank heavens the Underworld imported Earth snacks now - Janna silently looked him up and down a few times. “So, Lucitor, I didn’t know you had those moves. If I knew you could float upside-down so easily…” she trailed off with implications Marco didn’t feel like trying to unpack. Tom could only babble incoherently in response until he sprinted off deeper into the house. “Ooooor not,” Janna grumbled before sinking into the couch and taking a swig.

“Is everything OK with Tom?” Marco hesitantly asked.

“Beats me. Lately we’re just on mission after mission with no time to stop and catch our breath or even get a bite to eat in-between. Can’t believe one lousy year has already made him such a workaholic. Even Star only got like this when she thought, like, the entire kingdom would collapse or something.” She grabbed her phone as it buzzed, frowning at the screen. Suddenly, she took a photo of Marco and tapped her screen a bunch of times, standing up as she shoved it back in the back pocket of her shorts.

“What was that?”

“That was Star, she apparently needs me to bring a few of my more… let’s just say noxious potion blends, in case of some kind of emergency. But first she wanted to make sure the lava surfing didn’t damage your abs.” She faked a gag response and rolled her eyes. “And she also said, and I quote, ‘Tell Marco he doesn’t need to come because he should reeeeeally take care of the thing, and that I’m suuuuuper sorry for skipping out on you, and that we’re aaaaaalmooooost done here, and then we can cuddle up for the Soulrise.’ Normally I’d pry about ‘the thing’ but I’m too nauseous right now. Also, an ‘I love you’ filled with hearts until the character limit, so that settles it: me reading that is the next five years of birthday presents, minimum, for both of you. You’re welcome.” She punctuated with a snap of her fingers and a rumble grew louder until a chasm opened up in the ground and Tom’s carriage rolled up the side.

“Since when could you-”

Janna winked and hopped in the carriage door as it vanished in a column of flame, leaving only Marco behind. He had hundreds of questions and concerns about Star’s situation, but between her continued insistence on staying behind and what Janna had just said, his certainty was growing that something fishy was afoot with Tom. Where might his friend go if something was troubling him? This could take an hour, no, all day to crack the case, but Marco was ready to sleuth harder than ever to solve this mystery.

One guess and thirty seconds later, Marco found Tom sitting on the couch in another one of the lounge spaces in the lake house, manipulating two paddles to play ping-pong against each other. Leaning against the wall, Marco observed as the simulated crowd went wild in stark opposition to Tom’s joyless expression that alternated between the match and his own lap, never once noticing his friend to his side. After a few more minutes of this, the announcer enthusiastically cheered for the victor of the round.

When the system rebooted, Marco made his move. “Playing without me?”

Tom glanced up from the table. “Wuh? Oh, hey.”

“Wanna play?”

“Well, obviously I would, but, um, I just… gotta…”

“What’s wrong, Tom?”

“Wrong? Me? Nothing’s wrong, Marco! Why would anything be wrong?” A puff of smoke shot out of his nostrils and clearly forced grin on the last word.

“C’mon, man. We both know something’s up. You’ve been acting all strange today.”

He threw his hands up with a defeated scowl creasing his eyes and face. “OK, fine, you got me. I stubbed my toe on the beach earlier and it really stings-”

“Tom.” Neither budged as they stared each other down. So it’s gonna be like that, huh? If he cloaked himself in bravado, then Marco just needed to find a way to open up that shell and draw the inner turmoil out. “You, me, first one to 6. If I win, you talk.”

Tom crossed his arms suspiciously. “Dude, you’ve literally never beaten me.”

“Yeah, well, then it should be easy for you. Whaddya say?”

“What do I get when I win?”

Marco gestured at the table humility. “I will officially give up any hopes of ever beating you and you’ll forever be known as King Pong.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll play. You’re going down.”

“Game on.”

"Let's see, ‘enter nickname’... Tom the Bomb? Seriously, man? I-"

Marco was interrupted by the fake stadium’s booming audio as the commentators began. "Welcome everyone to the championship bout where we will determine who is the true king of the ping."

“Hey, that’s my joke,” Marco whined pointlessly, drowned out by a second female announcing voice that continued without pause.

“On the away team, we have the human, the underdog to win it all this year, Marco Diaaaaaaaz! He’s got wicked topspin sure to send heads spinning and he’s hungry for the title. Never count out the man in red! Now on the home team, you know him, you love him, it’s the man with a plan to slice and dice you to pieces, it’s Prince of the Underworld Tom Lucitoooooooooor!”

Marco pointed incredulously at… well, everything happening around them. “Seriously, dude, are you sure this is even a computer?” Tom shrugged nonchalantly in response.

“We have a lot we could say up here about this long-awaited grudge match, isn’t that right, Janet?”

“That we could, Derek, but I’m sure all the lovely AI fans here don’t want all this AI blabber. They want some good old-fashioned ping-pong. Now let’s watch while Tom readies up the serve…” Tom deeply inhaled and exhaled a few times, then got into position on his end of the table. He crouched over slightly with the ball in one hand and paddle in the other, then tossed it up into the air and smashed it with the paddle. Marco jumped backwards to avoid the searing speed of the projectile that was aimed at him with a disdain reminiscent of the first time they’d ever played the game. If he’s gonna amp up his game with demon powers, I’ll just need to be better.

“Wow, what a scorcher right down the diagonal! I sure wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that, it’d fry my processor to a crisp!” Marco didn’t find a chance to start a volley on the second point, nor did his possession of the serve change the outcome in the slightest. When Tom got the ball back, he didn’t even use his paddle as his powers drove the ball directly sideways after the initial impact in Marco’s court. Marco called a timeout and turned away from the table in thought, stumped for solutions. This game was his idea, after all... The AI announcers irritated Marco with their constant humiliation of his skills, but one sarcastic jab struck an unexpected chord: “If he wants to beat Tom, maybe he shouldn’t be playing ping-pong.” He’d gotten nowhere trying to break through with blunt questioning and was doing a worse job trying to get past his confidence at the sport. But if there was a deep insecurity underneath that facade of confidence, maybe he needed to work on building that up instead.

Turning back to the table, he placed his paddle flat on the table for a moment. “Look, Tom, I get it. I can’t beat you at this game. I-I just didn’t want my best friend acting so bummed at a party he threw, OK? If winning here would cheer you up a bit, it’s match point. I won’t stop you. And- and maybe I’m not even the one to deal with this, since I know you usually talk to your mom about this sort of thing, but-”

“Marco, I-” He paused, started again, stopped, and stuttered his way through another half-dozen attempts at a sentence before falling silent and gazing at the floor. “Look, I’m not upset, everything’s fine,” he angrily said through gritted teeth. Tom grabbed the paddle and gracelessly swatted at the ball. Marco flinched and shut his eyes, ready to hear the announcers celebrate the clean sweep… but nothing. “Huh?” he wondered aloud before seeing a ball way off to his left. Had Tom just flubbed the serve? Tom tried once more, much less methodical in his swing. Marco swatted it back over the net and in Tom’s haste to return he spiked it directly onto his own court.

“...and in a shocking turn of events, it’s now 5-1, Lucitor! Now is Marco’s chance to turn it around!”

The three eyes in front of him glowed at the edges in anger, but the expression within wasn’t one Marco feared was directed at him. Marco centered himself and performed a straightforward serve to the edge of Tom’s court, and Tom managed to return it for the first genuine volley of the match, but a steep drop shot gave Marco his second point of the match. Tom grunted in frustration as Marco set up for the next serve, and he immediately lashed out with demon telekinesis but put too much power into it and sent the ball flying with an animalistic growl that betrayed more pain than fury, as if he was squaring off against himself and not Marco.

Tom flopped four serves in a row, leaving the game tied at 5-5. “Whatever it is, Tom, we can talk about it. You’re worrying me a bit, dude.” Tom didn’t even bother to return Marco’s next serve, putting the game at match point, win by 2.

“Just off my game. I told you, nothing’s wrong, there’s not anything I need to talk about right now,” his voice trembled. “I can do this.” Marco raised an eyebrow in a challenge to Tom, then served the ball in the exact opposite direction of the table. Bluff called. Tom hesitated a split second before sending his paddle soaring through the air around Marco’s head to make contact with the ball and fruitlessly swat it to the ground, giving Marco the point as the crowd went wild with cheers and boos at the performance. But Tom ignored all of that to toss himself onto the couch and buried his head in his hands, and Marco immediately dropped next to him.

“Dude, just talk to me,” Marco offered sympathetically.

“I don’t know how much longer I can deal with this.”

“With what?”

With his face buried in a pillow, Marco didn’t catch anything more than “a-a” in response.

“What was that?”

“Janna,” he forced out as though the word caused physical grief.

He had been a bit weird around her specifically, but somehow Marco hadn’t come into this conversation quite expecting it. “Um, OK. Well, I get that… she gets on my nerves too, and since you’re spending so much time with her I totally get- oh.”

Tom sighed.

“Ooooooooh.” It was all Marco could say as his mind raced to process the new developments.

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t think you-”

“Neither did I, but here we are.” Marco placed an arm around Tom’s shoulders to try and comfort him, and Tom merely returned a lopsided smile, opting to sit in silence while Marco wracked his brain for an idea of how best to respond. “When I…” Tom hesitantly spoke up but immediately faltered, taking a moment to regroup mentally. “My whole thing with Star went for, like, two years, and looking back I kind of feel like I was an idiot every second of it. Every time I got caught up in that dumb crush it just messed things up more. Like, remember that big monster party she threw? I was too hung up on dancing to even worry about what my friends needed.”

“Look, Tom, we all did lots of dumb stuff back then-”

The half-demon sunk into the couch, shrugging Marco’s arm off of him and staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah, sure, but at least you and Star were only completely clueless about how much you guys love each other, and even that was at least a little bit my bad too! A year after Star and I broke up the first time, she came back to Mewni as this confident and charismatic person, and I didn’t even know how to do anything besides flounder around doing nothing when she wasn’t around. Ever since I put all that stuff behind me, it’s- things have been going great!” Tom paused for a second after his voice cracked sharply. “Janna’s clever, she’s actually really thoughtful sometimes, she’s the funniest person I know, and she helped me realize I actually kind of like doing all the stuff that a prince is probably supposed to be doing. And here I am, the buffoon with a crush yet again.”

Marco had a few differences of opinion on the details, to put it lightly, but the sentiment struck a chord. “It’s- it’s never easy. I mean, there was a part of me that felt like I couldn’t even be regular friends with Star anymore for a while ‘cause it just kinda sucked to keep getting reminded of those feelings.”

“Really? Never would have thought.”

“Yeah, well, me too. But that did get better after, well, the booth…”

“So I just have to find a photo goblin and kiss her then, got it.”

“Not my point, Tom,” he retorted with a light punch in the arm, both of them smirking; it was still a sensitive topic, but this seemed to be helping Tom shake off the worst of his anxieties at the very least. “You’re being too hard on yourself, man. Literal hours after we met, you tried to kill me for dancing with a girl you weren’t even dating, then you saved me from a rampaging monster who then proceeded to get turned into a baby.”

“Has that ever stopped being kinda messed up?” Tom quickly interjected.

“Not really, no. But even if all that stuff you said is true, which it isn’t, anyone would still be lucky to have a friend like you. If you think you’re not a good enough friend for Janna or whatever, you’re wrong, and if you think you might screw something up, maybe you will but that doesn’t mean you should just give up those feelings. Take that from me.”

With a giant huff of air, Tom ran a hand through his hair, body language still displaying loads of tension even if he was being more open about his problems. “I’m not- I don’t want to just walk away entirely, but… When I went on that trip by myself right before Earth and Mewni merged, when I was just chilling on a hill in some dimension out there looking up at a thousand stars disappearing behind the horizon, I finally realized that what I wanted most was to find someone I could share that sort of moment with, even if it’s not romantic. Someone I could just sit next to without saying a word and still feel like we were doing something special.”

“Yeah…” Even though Marco had a great respect for his friend, it never ceased to amaze him how potently reflective and sensitive he could be, especially for someone who’d once been every human’s worst stereotype of a rage-filled demon monster. The words made him think of Star, who he could spend every single day with doing absolutely nothing and never get bored. Who was always there to lift him out of his lowest times, celebrate his best, and everything in between. Who would always be his very best friend, so long as they both shall live. Tom deserved every bit of happiness that Marco had discovered came with that kind of relationship, and if he could find it with Janna then Marco would be behind him all the way. “These things can take time, it did for me and Star.”

“No offense dude, but did it? You were best friends, like, seventeen hours tops after you met, and I bet even when things were at their worst you knew it, too. I like Janna, a lot, but I don’t know if that’s the sort of thing we have in the first place. And if I’m not sure of that, then I might be risking a friendship for something I’m not even sure would be good for me.” All three of Tom’s eyes sparkled their plea as he finally turned to fully face Marco, who returned the favor. “What do I do?”

“...really, Tom, I’m not sure.” Jackie, and Kelly, and the Curse… he’d had a lot of doubt in what he wanted most, for sure, but Tom was right about one thing: even if he hadn’t realized it, that unshakeable certainty in Star’s friendship somewhere in the core of his being had gotten him through whatever life threw at him. Without that, he shuddered at the thought of what might have been. “If you think saying something is a bad idea right now, then don’t. Just promise me one thing, OK?”

“Mhmm?”

“If and when you do feel confident that saying something to her is what you want to do, don’t wait, OK? If she really is your best friend, don’t hide it from her. That’ll only hurt you both, and that is 100% Marco Diaz first hand advice.”

Tom pulled Marco into a tight hug, clapping him on the back a few times for emphasis. “Thanks.”

When they broke apart, Marco kept a hand extended to Tom’s shoulder. “You can always join me and Star for sunset-watching, too, if you want. They might not be the same as one thousand at once, but Earthni’s are pretty amazing.”

“Might take you up on that. Feeling a lot better already, to be honest. Don’t feel like I need to avoid being around Janna anymore.”

“I’m glad.” Marco felt his phone buzz and check

“Awwww, isn’t that heartwarming, folks? It just warms my neural net. With that healthy of an approach to love, I don’t think there’s a wrong play Tom could make here. He’s got a good spin on the ball to angle that shot exactly where he needs it to go. What do you think, Janet?”

“Right you are, Derek, this is a truly remarkable sight seeing these two guys talk about their feelings. Usually we see young players put all their focus into fast smashes without buckling down on the fundamentals and getting a good, clean drive. If he can just find someone to lob, I think he’ll be alright. What do you say, all you people watching out there?”

“JANTOM! STARCO! JANTOM! STARCO!” The crowd chanted in unison, some even holding up signs. Were those doodles of their faces?

Notice of the loud noise startled the boys. Had they been watching the whole time? “What the-” they both exclaimed in utter shock as they jumped up and struck defensive poses.

One spectator ran up to the edge of the holographic projection with a pair of fake horns. “I LOVE YOU TOM PLEASE MARRY MEeeeeeeeeeuuuuu...” Marco yelped as the control console exploded from one of Tom’s fire blasts, causing the shrieking voice to trail off into a deep robotic crackle. Both breathed heavily as their eyes, wide with fear, flickered all around the ping pong setup in search of any other hidden dangers. When his heart had stopped racing enough for him to feel any external sensations again, Marco felt a vibration in his pocket and pulled out his phone.

“Oh, hey, Star’s ready for the Soulrise, which is in… forty minutes? Holy crap.”

“Sorry you spent so much of today dealing with my stuff.”

“Hey, anytime. I’ve always got your back.”

“C’mon, at least let me feel bad about this.” The pair each put an arm around the other’s shoulders and grinned at the warmth of friendship. Well, and the warmth of the flaming wreckage in front of them.

“I’ll get the carriage for them, but first, um, can you help me with one more thing?”

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That we should throw this thing into the lava ocean?”

“You read my mind.”

***

How long had it been since she’d last seen a Soulrise? Despite her lifespan as a demon, she had never understood the fuss. Last year Relicor had discovered that the merging of dimensions had shifted the surface geography enough to make the Soulrise visible from their lake house, and it was only the sheer convenience that kept her here. As the winged skeletons danced above the lake, Wrathmelior could certainly admit it was a charming display, but was it really that different than anything else one could find in the Underworld if they only looked around them? Still, it was nice to spend an evening on the sands of their own private beach with her husband and a pretty display of spirits. But where was Tom?

“Hey, Lady and Lord Lucitor, thanks for everything today.” She looked down at the sound of Marco’s voice and saw him escorting a half-asleep Star with mud caked onto her skirt.

“Why yes, Roy, I- zzzzzz - would like all fifty flavors of goblin dog, thankszzzzz,” Star mumbled as she drifted in and out of sleep. Her eyes slowly blinked open and stared at the boy’s face. “Oh hi, Mr. Pillowzzzzzz…” She was visibly drooling into Marco’s hoodie as she clutched his torso tightly.

Dave stood up and went around Wrathmelior’s legs to see what was going on. “What happened to her?”

“Had a really long day dealing with an old enemy, I think. Didn’t get too many details before she fell asleep on me. Can you send us home, if it’s not too much trouble?”

“No, you’re adorablezzzz… wait, home?” Blonde hair whipped around her face as she jolted awake with a mortified expression. “Ugh, Marco, nooooo, it’s your birthday and I said I’d be heeeere and I can totally stay…” She trailed off into a massive yawn and firmly pinched her cheeks. “...awake.” She hung her head shamefully, turning away from him but leaving his arm hooked around her waist that was keeping her upright.

Marco smiled and spun her around to face him. “Hey, don’t worry about it. You should rest, don’t force yourself to do this.”

“Nighty tightyzzzzzz...” Star hooked her arms around his neck and drifted off to a deeper sleep.

“I can summon the carriage, but I’m afraid I don’t know where you live,” Wrathmelior grumbled with her husband translating. Now that she had a glimpse, she could understand a bit better what Tom had meant when he said those two had something special.

“Oh, right, duh. Um, the Monster Temple then? We can stay there tonight.” He put an arm behind Star’s knees and lifted her up, using her unconscious grip on his neck for leverage.

Wrathmelior nodded and began to tap into her well of demon magic to yank Tom’s carriage from its usual den deep in their home when Dave spoke up, catching her attention. “Did you want to say goodbye to Tom, too? I don’t know where he ran off to.”

Something above her caught Marco’s eye, causing him to beam at the sight. “Nah, it’s fine, I’ll just call him tomorrow.” Wrathmelior craned her head to look behind her; Tom and Janna were sitting together on the roof, not saying a word. Even from a bit of a distance, it was plain to see that Janna was completely enraptured by the whirling vortex of shrieking ghouls while Tom was spending just as much time taking in her reaction as he was the event itself. If neither had noticed the commotion on the ground now, nothing in all the dimensions would do the trick.

“It’s just a Soulrise,” Wrath muttered, communicating through Dave.

After entering the carriage, Marco cast one long look at his friends. “Yeah, but they’ve earned this one.”

[glorious-blackout]

Self-Indulgent Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino/Simulation Theory Crossover Part One

(Should probably think of a better title at some point but for now I’ve got nothing)

@rock-n-roll-fantasy It’s about time I finally stopped teasing and started posting something, isn’t it? 😅 I should be able to post Part Two tonight as well and technically Part Three was the initial teaser (which due to being written beforehand doesn’t line up as perfectly as I’d like, but I’m too lazy to change it right now) so I’ll link those as soon as I can. Hopefully the rest won’t take too long! I’m now at the stage of having spent so much time thinking about this behemoth that I’m a little sick of it, but I hope you enjoy it!  🥰

Part Two, Part Three

Mark thinks he could live a thousand lifetimes and still never get tired of this view.

Not so much the hotel itself, though he supposes that makes for an impressive enough sight. With its sleek curves carved into smooth cream-coloured stone - designed to resemble a natural rocky outcrop rather than a man-made construction - it’s little surprise that guests willingly travel through the inky blackness of space to rest here for a while. Beneath his perch on the hotel’s impressive outdoor balcony, a turquoise pool stares invitingly back, the shimmering waters undisturbed by so much as a breeze. In the distance, resting in a cove upon the roof, he can hear the distant chatter of guests enjoying a luncheon at the newly opened taqueria. The restaurant itself is concealed from view by an overhanging blood-red canopy, but he can visualise the diners clearly, paying a fortune for the best food the moon has to offer while gazing out towards nearby gentrified apartments and undulating valleys.

The taqueria represents the newest addition to the premises. The hotel already plays host to a pair of Italian and Japanese restaurants, alongside an all-you-can-eat buffet for those who prefer to stuff their faces without judgement, but all three have been outshone of late by the new arrival. Mark had pursued the outlandish idea following a drunken remark from one guest who decried the absence of good Mexican food on the moon. If he’d realised that said taqueria would go on to become the prime topic of several mind-numbing meetings then perhaps he’d have let the joke die without further comment, but he himself had been too drunk at the time to possess that level of foresight.  

By this point he’s so sick of hearing about it that he had to be physically forced to read the glowing reviews upon the restaurant’s grand opening. He would have been much happier simply relegating them to the nearest bin, though admittedly the less favourable articles had given him a good chuckle. Buried among the countless four-star reviews had been a particularly unimpressed critic who managed to fashion a terrible pun out of ‘taco’, ‘taqueria’ and ‘tacky’ for his headline, before awarding Mark’s efforts with a pitiful two stars. Mark had been so tickled by it that he’d immediately ordered the article to be framed and hung on his office wall.

Pulling his gaze away from the hotel itself, he draws his attention to the nearby town which has cropped up in recent years, predating the hotel by only a matter of months. The surrounding area once served as a camping ground for scientific projects, populated by scattered white tents and forklift trucks, but little trace remains of those good intentions now. Mark’s surprised he’s even allowed to lay eyes upon the town, so reserved is it for the richest of the rich. Gaudy apartments have sprung up around a narrow, elevated highway like overgrown weeds, with more and more buildings creeping outwards as the years go by. No doubt it won’t be long before his view is completely obscured by giant lumps of steel and tall windows. The topmost floors carry a price-tag of millions, or so he’s been told; their suites offering splendid views of the deep canyons on the lunar surface and the towering space station on the outskirts. Those properties must be a haven for nosy old dears enjoying their unearned retirement, content to sit by the windows as they watch the rockets come and go. In quieter moments, Mark likes to imagine the casual conversations that must take place on those uppermost floors as he ponders how the other half live: “Look love, there’s another one coming in now!”, “Russian or American?”, “Think it might be English, actually...”, “Oh, not those bastards!”  

Mark had been offered a first-floor apartment prior to his arrival, though he suspects the proposal had been made in jest. The eye-watering price-tag for rent alone had been enough to persuade him that his humble suite on the hotel’s fifth floor would be perfectly adequate. He can’t say he’s ever regretted that decision; the holier-than-thou attitude of the locals is insufferable enough without him being forced to live among them. Besides, this way he’s guaranteed a better view.

A droning hum draws his eyes skyward and a tight smile tugs at his lips. Just on time. The new arrival cruises lazily across the thin atmosphere, the rocket’s hull a deep fire-engine red as thrusters spill black smoke and bursts of flame from the rear. A private vessel, most likely. Company starships don’t tend to be so kitsch for fear of throwing off rich clients with elegant sensibilities. No doubt this particular ship is some playboy’s new toy – the space-age equivalent of a 70s Lamborghini – but so long as it comes bearing plenty of paying guests, Mark certainly isn’t in a position to complain.

He watches as the ship prepares for its final descent, drifting towards the spindly tower situated five miles away, notable for the endlessly flashing lights adorning its clinically white exterior. A lighthouse for the modern age. The thrill of watching spaceships come and go has started to waver in recent years. Knowing that what he’s seeing has less to do with the wonder of space travel and more to do with commercial ventures has sucked the childish wonder from his heart, but there’s still enjoyment to be found in watching the crafts make their landing. Once upon a time, railway-watchers must have gleaned similar amusement from witnessing steam-trains pass by, while they munched on their picnic sandwiches and squinted through binoculars with bleary eyes.  

For all that he’s allowed himself to become jaded by certain aspects of his new home, he finds comfort in knowing that one sight will always ignite wonder in his heart.  

In the far distance, resting peacefully against a vast starry sky, Earth stares back at him in all her glory. No photograph has ever successfully captured the brutal beauty of that hulking mass of deep greens meshed with delicate blues, overlain by thick swirling clouds and snow-capped mountains. His eyes trace the subtle variety of colours, from deep forest-greens to the industrial greys of vast cityscapes, to the golden hues of sun-battered deserts. The view is ever-changing - ever-turning - and he smiles as his eyes latch onto the more populated areas, bathed in pinpricks of golden light like decorations on a Christmas tree.  

It’s impossible to spot England from this distance, tiny as she is and persistently buried beneath swirling clouds. The hulking mass of Africa stretching from equator to pole is visible enough however, and if he squints, he can just about spot the sharp stiletto-heel of Southern Italy. If darkness hasn’t yet fallen back home then it surely will in a matter of hours. He smiles as he imagines amateur astronomers wrapping up warmly in their oversized parkas, dragging themselves and their gear to the peak of the closest hill with the intention of gazing up at the tiny civilization planted on the moon. No doubt he’d have done the same when he was a boy. There’s no specific memory to latch onto, but a vague recollection of glow-in-the-dark stars glued to the ceiling above his bed is assurance enough that he must have made the trek with a cheap telescope of his own once or twice.  

Only, back then there’d been no burgeoning society to gaze upon. The only sight that would have greeted his tiny eyes would have been deep untouched valleys carved into endless grey rock.

It’s unclear how long he spends losing himself to the whims of malformed childhood memories, but when the moment is finally broken by a playful finger poking none-too-gently at his temple, Mark leaps out of his skin with a startled curse. The new arrival can’t help but laugh, seemingly glad to have broken the spell that was threatening to consume his friend. While Mark waits for his heart to stop beating a samba in his chest and grips the smooth railing of the balcony with bone-white knuckles, he somehow manages to resist the urge to fire a sharp “Fuck off Jamie!” in the direction of the man who currently has mischief dancing in his eyes.

“Hey,” Jamie says with a gentle smile once his mirth has settled, raising another finger to Mark’s temple and pressing more softly this time. “You gettin' lost in there again?”

He must be, Mark thinks with a sigh as he clenches his eyes shut and tries to anchor himself in the present. Jamie is often a quiet, comforting presence but he’s never that quiet. The fact that Mark had been too lost in his thoughts to notice his approach is likely a sign that he’s long overdue a nap.

Not wanting to concern his friend more than he already has, Mark offers a sincere smile before responding to his question with an evasive, “Hey yourself.”

If Mark is currently coiled like a tight spring, Jamie exudes a level of carefree bliss which is mercifully contagious. In contrast to Mark’s sharp suit – a reliable mask for the guests’ benefit – Jamie has chosen a pair of battered old jeans and a faded white t-shirt. With his long hair tucked lazily behind one ear, he could almost be mistaken for a glorified sixties hippy, albeit Mark doubts he’d appreciate the comparison. He doesn’t need to act like a professional until the hypothetical curtain rises on their evening set, and it appears that the nervous thrill of performing to a new pack of guests couldn’t be further from Jamie’s mind.  

The reminder that Mark himself is due to sing with the lads tonight sends a flurry of excitement through his veins. Closing his eyes and letting the music flow through his soul while he sings into the mic has always granted him more contentment than the mundane inner-workings of the hotel ever could.

Taking Mark’s ongoing silence as an invitation, Jamie turns to face the hotel complex, resting his back against the metal railing seemingly without a care for the steep drop on the other side. He doesn’t remain quiet for long, and Mark inwardly braces himself for his friend’s teasing when he spots the formation of a shit-eating grin stretching across his handsome features.

“Amazing what you’ve done with the place, it truly is,” Jamie declares, adopting a ridiculous impersonation of the Transatlantic accent that characterises the vast majority of their clientele. A trained ear can easily spot the Yorkshire twang lurking beneath the pompous act, but he almost sells it. Enough to have Mark straining to hold back a grin at any rate. “I’d wager this is a three-star establishment, easily. Might even push it to four if I’m feeling generous!”

“Oh, stop it!” Mark scoffs, stifling his laughter and bowing his head to conceal the sudden heat flaring in his cheeks. Kudos to Jamie, however, for his antics have the no-doubt desired effect of releasing some tension from his tightly-wound frame, and he glances towards his friend only to spot a victorious grin. This isn’t the first time a similar joke has been made at Mark’s expense. The need for him to sell the hotel to prospective guests has resulted in him having to adopt the role of sleazy businessman on multiple occasions. Doing so has always made him feel gross and he doesn’t particularly like himself when he’s caught up in his act, but his friends seem to find amusement in his alter-ego at least.

It is somewhat reassuring that they’re able to recognise that, despite the vast quantity of masks he regularly adorns, he’s still the shy kid they grew up with underneath it all.

“I don’t like playing salesman,” he admits, not for the first time. “It’s just part of me job description.”

“I know that,” Jamie says without missing a beat, squeezing Mark’s shoulder gently and banishing any remaining tension in the process. “I were only messin’.”

Mark smiles and leans into Jamie’s comforting touch. He knows. Of course he does. It can just be difficult to unwind sometimes; the weight of responsibility seems to crush his spine more often than not, leaving little room for levity. The lads help when they can, but for the most part it feels unfair to drag them into hotel business and burden them with his problems. They agreed to hop onto an entirely new celestial body with him for the opportunity to continue playing as a band, not to get caught up in the internal politics of a company they barely understand.

A low grumble disturbs the air, causing the ground beneath their feet to quiver. Two pairs of eyes are drawn to the illuminated space station as the playboy rocket finally makes its descent, the thrusters sputtering like a broken match as they release one final gasp. A mechanical whine resonates in the distance as intricate machinery clamps onto the ship’s hull, keeping her secure while her passengers – ten in total according to the updated guest list – gather their belongings and prepare to disembark.  

This is the moment Mark has been waiting for all morning, whether out of excitement or dread he cannot tell. His time for dawdling has been cut short. In a matter of minutes, he will be forced to make preparations to travel to the space station and greet his new guests upon their arrival. It’s one of many added perks advertised on the hotel’s website; further proof of Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino’s first-class service. Albeit this particular gimmick tends to be reserved only for the richest of guests; those prone to frequenting the suites on the uppermost floors, with transparent ceilings offering an unfiltered view of the stars. Mark can’t remember whose idea it was to have the manager await the guests on disembarkation – certainly not his – but as with a great many details concerning the running of the hotel, he is powerless to refuse his services.

The quickest route to the station is the highway; an elevated road built on steel platforms and sheltered by a curved tunnel, offering a direct means of travel from the station to the hotel while branching side-roads spill onto the town’s quiet streets. No doubt Mark will return that way in a rented limousine rather than his beloved Bentley, but for the outgoing trip he’ll likely elect to walk.  

Pre-dating the highway by several years, an underground tunnel lurks in the underbelly of the town, offering direct passage to the Arrivals Lounge of the station. In the fledgling days of the hotel, Mark had found the tunnel unbearably claustrophobic and suffocating, but as more and more people have elected to drive over time, he has learned to enjoy the solitude that comes with wandering through its depths. The sleek, curved interior with tangerine tiles and dark alleys branching in all directions reminds him of the stylish Kubrick movies which headline the hotel’s vintage cinema, and the perpetual brightness offers a closer approximation of daylight than the spotlights surrounding the hotel ever could. The walk will take much longer than a simple car ride would, but he’s well-practiced at this. What with all the fuss regarding interstellar passports and customs, he could twiddle his thumbs for the next half hour and still have time to greet his guests with feigned politeness at the exact moment they rock up to the station’s exit.

His approaching duties don’t seem to be lost on Jamie either as he gestures to the rocket dismissively before remarking, “Guess that’s a couple more audience members for tonight, then?”

A weak smile tugs at Mark’s lips, and one glance at Jamie’s face implies that he’s not particularly keen on the idea of Mark having to dash off so soon either.

“You could come with me, you know,” he offers, though a sinking feeling in his chest is enough to inform him what the response will be long before he hears it. His friends have never much cared for the managerial responsibilities of the hotel, nor have they ever accompanied him to the station. Why on Earth would Jamie agree to come with him now? “I bet you’d butter ‘em all up with your charm.”

Sure enough, Jamie’s handsome face morphs into an expression of scandalised disgust, not unlike the time Mark and Nick dared him to swallow a platter of oysters without gagging.

“Absolutely not!” he insists, as though Mark has just proposed that he leap naked into the pool and subject himself to the delighted ogling of lunching diners and afternoon gamblers alike. “They can be charmed by me guitar-playin' all they like, but that’s all they’re gettin'. I don’t do meet and greets.”

“Cool and mysterious type, eh?” Mark teases with a wink, a warm sense of pride flooding through him as Jamie scoffs at the accusation. “That’s why you’re their favourite you know.”

“Nah, that’s bollocks. They’re just grateful for the distraction from your ugly mug,” Jamie shoots back with a wicked grin, reaching an arm around Mark and pulling him in close like an overbearing older brother.  

Rather pathetically, Mark finds himself being so grateful for the human contact that the thought of reprimanding Jamie for his remark doesn’t even cross his mind. Besides, while confidence is hardly his strong suit, he’s had enough proposals from female – and occasionally male – guests to pay a visit to their suites after-hours to know that his ‘mug’ is far from undesirable.

It strikes him as odd that he’s never been inclined to take any of those prospective partners up on their offer. As the only unattached member of his friend group, he technically has free rein to spend his nights with whomever he pleases, and yet he’s consistently elected to sleep in his own bed, alone. Perhaps it’s the impermanence of it all that stops him from indulging in drunken mistakes. One-night stands have rarely appealed to him, and there’s little hope of developing a genuine connection with someone who’ll be returning to a different planet within the week.  

That’s not entirely the reason, however. On the rare occasions where he’s been drunk enough to consider an invite fully, his initial emotional reaction has always been one of guilt. The mere thought of inviting a stranger into his bed feels like an unforgivable betrayal. God knows why – he’s sure he would have remembered if he had a sweetheart waiting for him back home – but no degree of logic has ever succeeded in banishing those feelings from his heart. Perhaps he’s simply married to his work, as Matt has often joked, but he’s not sure that explains why he’s prone to feeling so fucking lonely.

“You sure you don’t want to come?” he finds himself asking before he can stop the words from spilling forth, though he doesn’t have the energy to berate himself. He leans further into Jamie’s warm embrace, wondering if the strong arm draped over his shoulder is the only thing keeping his feet on the ground. Without further prompting, Jamie squeezes him a little tighter and Mark’s eyes close in momentary relief.

When he opens them again, he finds that all humour has drained from his friend’s face, only to be replaced with a genuine concern that has guilt gnawing at his bones. There’s no need for him to worry his friends about problems that don’t exist. He’s fine, honestly. It just feels like he isn’t sometimes, and he’s yet to figure out why.

“Sorry mate,” Jamie says finally, sounding like he genuinely means it. An apologetic smile tugs at his lips and Mark returns the gesture with a weak smile of his own which is easier to summon than he expects. “Promised the missus I’d treat her to lunch, and she’ll give me a right bollockin’ if I back out now.”

A spontaneous laugh breaks free from Mark’s chest as he takes a moment to enjoy the mental image of his bandmate being royally admonished by his tiny, yet undeniably formidable wife. If Jamie minds him laughing at his expense, he doesn’t show it, seemingly content to watch as the remaining pressure is lifted off Mark’s shoulders. No doubt it’ll return with a vengeance later, but for now he opts to enjoy this rare moment of lightness; it’s amazing how easily his friends can make him feel human again.  

Much as he wishes they could linger here for the rest of time, teasing each other until one of them finally cracks, the minutes tick by relentlessly to the point where neither of them can justify further procrastination. Jamie has his date with his wife to attend to – having finally arranged to judge if the ‘Information Action-Ratio' is truly deserving of four whole stars – and Mark has his appointment with the new arrivals who will no doubt be hoping to collapse onto their beds for an afternoon of beauty-sleep before enjoying the evening’s festivities. Neither party are likely to be happy if kept waiting without good reason.  

Jamie draws him into a tight hug before Mark can pull away, and he sinks into it with a sigh. The embrace is broken far too soon, forcing Mark to school his expression into one which does not betray his disappointment when Jamie begins the trek back to the hotel’s interior, seeing him off with a wave and a hurried, “See you at rehearsals, yeah?”

Mark waves back and utters an affirmative which he doubts Jamie hears, before watching him vanish behind a set of automatic doors. And then he’s alone again, with only the overhanging Earth for company. Not for long though; his round trip to the station and back should only take three hours at most, and then he’ll be free to spend time with the lads and rehearse the set for the evening. In a matter of hours he’ll be standing onstage – the only place that truly feels like home – flanked by his closest friends as he sings his heart out to a drunken crowd. Whether the guests approve or not is of no concern to him. So long as he gets the opportunity to lose himself in the music, that’s all that truly matters.

For now, he has other responsibilities however. The present moment is not calling upon him to be the frontman of the hotel’s house-band, but rather the renowned owner and manager of the establishment. It may not be a role he particularly enjoys, but it’s one he’s good at and it would serve him well not to neglect his duties. Formal complaints from guests are thankfully a rarity, but he can’t say he appreciates the bollocking he gets whenever one manages to slip through the cracks. The degree of paperwork alone is horrendous.

Fuelled by a newfound conviction, Mark casts one final glace over the impressive view with a resigned sigh, before tearing himself away from his quiet haven to face the music.  

[oiralinsanity]

The Blood Drop of Subcon

Part 6

The Snatcher sat in his lounger reading one of his law books, pausing every now and then to take a sense of the time. The kid with the hat had already left some time ago to her ship, leaving Subcon Forest and its ruler some peace and quiet.

Well, somewhat. Tonight was permanently different than usual. This time, he had more to deal with than the occasional trespasser. He glanced at the newest member of the forest.

Moonjumper rocked in his hand-crafted hanging chair, still reading that book he had picked out earlier, paying no attention to the world at the moment due to the fact that this was the first time he had been a part of society in centuries. The sudden change in location placed some stress on the moon-faced spirit, and he needed some time to collect himself.

The Snatcher paused once again to take a sense of time, and then proceeded to leave his spot.

"Is there something wrong, my shadow friend?" Moonjumper spoke up, taking notice to the sudden movements around him. "You've been acting strangely for a while now."

"Ah, yes." The Snatcher answered. "It's midnight right now. That's usually when I go out and patrol my forest for trespassers and potential threats."

"And how do you usually deal with trespassers when you find them?" Moonjumper asked, summoning a red string from his finger to act as his bookmark.

"Ooh, the usual." The Snatcher said in a sing-song tone. "I set up a trap and lead them into it. When they set it off, a wall of darkness and vines will surround them and I pop out of the ground, laughing before screaming 'Fool' to scare them. I belittle them for falling into my trap before..."

The Snatcher summoned a piece of paper and a feather pen in front of Moonjumper, causing him to slightly jump in shock. "I tell them that they just got the chance of a lifetime, and that they can leave this forest alive by signing a contract and doing some jobs for me, while I hold their soul as collateral in the off chance they attempt to bail from their contractual obligations." The Snatcher chuckled. "It could be really simple, such as delivering mail to my minions, or-"

"Mail?" Moonjumper interrupted his shadow, confused by his mail comment. "Your minions still get mail?"

"Well, no." The Snatcher explained. "I actually sneak into some mailboxes and steal some of the mail, old habits die hard. It helps make my minions feel special."

"Now, back to what I was saying before you rudely interrupted me." The Snatcher coldly expressed. "It could be as simple as delivering mail to my minions, or as hard as cleaning out the well. Only thing harder than that would be sneaking into Vanessa's Manor to steal something, which only one person has managed to complete that task."

"And that was?" Moonjumper asked. To hear that only one person had managed to survive Vanessa in her own Manor and steal something from her at the same time obviously meant they had to have been very powerful to have completed such a task.

"It was that nuisance of an alien kid, Moonjumper." Snatcher groaned. "The same one who managed to defeat me twice."

Or they were small and crafty enough in sneaking past her like a little thief.

"Then, once the obligations has been fulfilled and the servant is no longer of any use to me..." The Snatcher made a loud popping sound. "Off goes their heads! I can get stuff done around the forest with no effort on my part and a free meal as well!!"

"But you made a contract with them," Moonjumper recalled. "And anytime a spirit, like you or I for example, draws up a contract with someone, the spirit is bound to following said terms and conditions of the deal once it's signed, no matter what."

"Look at the signature line and flip it over..." The Snatcher commanded his old body. He watched as Moonjumper did as he was told, and listened as the moon-faced spirit read aloud the printing on the back.

"I hereby totally agree to do this Snatcher dude's dirty work." Moonjumper spoke. "And also absolve him of all injuries I will most likely sustain from this work. Also, I'll give up my soul. No take-"

The Snatcher watched as Moonjumper began to spiral into a fit of giggles from reading what the last line had stated.

"No takey backsies." Moonjumper barely managed to let out inbetween his giggling fit. "Snatcher, are you serious with this? You managed to craft a contract that can allow a spirit to potentially bypass the legal bindings of a contract, and you decide to write something extremely childish!?"

"Well when you get your own legal contracts, you decide what you want to put on the back of it!!" The Snatcher bickered as he summoned the contract and the feather pen back into his pocket dimension. "Besides, there may have been one or two people whose souls weren't eaten in the end."

"Really?" Moonjumper asked as the two began to leave the Hollowed Tree. "Such as...?"

"Well, one person that instantly comes to mind was this witch who I had signed a contract with about five centuries ago." The Snatcher brought up. "She knew a powerful Dark Spirit when she saw one, and convinced me to become her Patron. She's the one who brews the explosive liquids I use in battle sometimes."

"The same ones used against you?" Moonjumper spoke, bringing up their previous conversation on the space ship.

"Regrettably." The Snatcher shrugged. "She told me it wasn't a good idea to use blue liquids as one of my attacks when it's one of my major weaknesses. So she had every right to laugh at me when I came to her drenched in it."

The duo fell quiet as they patrolled around Subcon Forest, keeping an eye out for any potential trespassers.

~~~

The Snatcher held his hand up, stopping his companion in his tracks.

"Why are we stopping?" Moonjumper whispered to the shadow as he pointed ahead, in which Moonjumper peered towards.

Ahead of the spirits were two balding men in blue suits, both top heavy and scared of their current surroundings.

"Mafia Goons." The Snatcher growled softly, revealing who the strange men were. "They're strong, but extremely dumb and cowardly. And they always seem to find their way here for some odd reason, despite living on an island."

"My usual meal as well." He added. "Prepare to watch and learn the hunt."

The Snatcher waved his fingers at the ground ahead of the goons, summoning a circle of shadow thorns to lie in wait, hoping to be triggered. He then pulled Moonjumper's shoulder down low to the ground so that his bright outfit would not be spotted against the dreary backdrop.

They watched as the two goons stumbled about in the forest, having no clear sense of their surroundings or what dangers lied ahead, able to hear them more clearly as they got closer to the spirits' position.

"Mafia no like dark, spooky forest." One of them spoke to the other. "Mafia have no idea how Mafia even got here."

"Mafia must find shelter." His comrade spoke, failing to notice the trap now just feet away from them. "Mafia have seen red spot on moon. Mafia knows this bad time to be out in open."

One of the Mafia Goons stepped completely into the shadow trap and sprung it, scaring his comrade. A shadowy wall, palpable to the touch, grew around the trapped goon as his frightened comrade ran off screaming.

The Mafia Goon trapped in a world of shadows, looking around for an ever-dwindling hope of an exit out of his predicament, barely noticed that one of the shadows was increasing in size.

"AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!!!!" The loud laughter that echoed throughout the air had already frightened the Goon into submission. "FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL!!!! YOU COMPLETE AND UTTER IDIOT, YOU BLEW IT FOR YOURSELF!!"

Meanwhile, the Mafia Goon, who managed to turn tail and run off, was jumping and ducking through the underbrush of the dark forest. After watching his comrade get trapped by the dark spirit of the forest, the Goon now just wanted to go to his home on Mafia Island, jump straight under his bed covers, and call in sick for the next week.

Suddenly, his ankle got caught on something and he tripped, flying face first into the murky dirt and ruined his blue suit.

The Mafia Goon picked himself off the ground. "What caused Mafia to trip?" He spoke with anger and confusion in his voice. "Things that trip Mafia must pay for its crimes!" He bellowed as he scanned the ground, only to be frightened by the sight of what had tripped him.

A red string, glowing with mysterious dark powers, similar to the horrible tales told to him as a young boy growing up. He had to get out of here quickly, as he did not want to be lifted towards the moon.

Suddenly, red strings shot out from above and wrapped itself around the Mafia's legs, turning his fears into reality. The strings then tighten and lifted him up into the air, smacking his head on the ground in the process.

Dazed from the bump, it took the Goon a moment to regain his senses, although he immediately regretted getting them back the moment he saw what was in front of him.

"Well, well, well," The floating body in red spoke to the Goon, swaying its lower half in the movement towards him. "What do we have here? A trespasser in the woods?"

"Leave Mafia alone!" The Goon shouted at the being, swinging his fists at it in an attempt to maintain a safe distance. "Mafia will show you not to mess with-"

"Oh hoho!" The spirit laughed, interrupting the Goon. "You really think I would be deterred by your empty threats? I've seen many like you before, and let me tell you..."

Red strings began to grow from the spirit's fingertips, confirming the Goon's worst fears for the last time.

"They've all broken down to fear sooner or later." The spirit spoke sadistically before thrusting his red strings towards the now screaming Goon.

***

The Snatcher was finished making a contract with the Goon he had managed to trap, and now had his soul for later consumption. Now all he had to deal with was the second Goon, who had managed to escape with his life.

"Moonjumper!" The Snatcher shouted to his bodied companion. "Where did that other fool go?"

All The Snatcher met to his question was silence, much to his confusion. That's odd. The Snatcher thought. I could have sworn I told him to stay put.

A distant scream rang out in the forest, catching The Snatcher's attention. That sounded like one of the Mafia's! He thought as he flew towards its source.

He kinda wished he hadn't though, not after what he saw when he arrived on the scene.

"MOONJUMPER, WHAT THE FUCK!?" The Snatcher screamed at his bodied counterpart, who had his strings wrapped around and piercing what looked to be a semi-husk of the second Mafia Goon.

Moonjumper looked at The Snatcher with discontent. "I'm feeding." He spoke in a monotone voice. "How else would I have survived for all this time?"

"It also appears that I already made a bit of a name for myself." Moonjumper added in. "They spoke in fear of my distress signal. Must be from all the years I had to fish someone from this planet up for a meal."

"He was mine!" The Snatcher spoke, getting up close to Moonjumper's face. "Any trespassers in my forest, my victims! That is the rule of this territory!"

"And yet you were preoccupied with another." Moonjumper brought up, now reeling in his strings. "Besides, I just finished with my meal."

The Snatcher looked to where the Mafia Goon's husk would have been to find absolutely nothing. No body, no clothing. No trace of there ever being a second Goon. "I make sure to consume every last part of my meal to ensure a full stomach." Moonjumper explained. "Which means you don't have a body to dispose of or a mess to pick up. Like they were never there at all."

The Snatcher looked at Moonjumper in disgust. The Goon was still suppose to be his victim, according to his rules. Moonjumper would have to be punished according to the-

The Snatcher smacked himself upside the head. He forgot to make Moonjumper sign any sort of contract when he had the chance, which meant he couldn't punished the moom-faced spirit for stealing his meal.

"God dammit." The Snatcher mumbled under his breath before turning towards Moonjumper. "When's your next feeding, a year?"

"I'm not sure," Moonjumper answered. "Considering that time is strange in that white hell, I don't know how long my hunger will be satiated for."

"If you are not down with your duties, I will see you back at the tree." Moonjumper spoke as he left The Snatcher by himself, allowing the shadow to ponder over how to make living with a second dark spirit possible.

Beginning/Previous/Here/Soon

[theaggresivepacifist]

As I Go Wandering

Mossflower’s four chieftains have a summer reunion.  Some Songbreeze/Dannflor fluff for @myrose-of-oldredwall! Happy holidays, friend!!!😊

(And many thanks to @redwall-secret-santa for setting this up!)

         It had been many a season since Redwall Abbey was ruled by such young creatures. Abbess Songbreeze Swifteye and Abbey Champion Dannflor Reguba were wise leaders, stout warriors, and kind and cherished friends to all at Redwall, from the tiniest molebabe to the prickliest old hedgehog; they were also energetic creatures, and occasionally somewhat restless. Song in particular, used to wandering since infancy, sometimes felt a longing pull towards the woodlands, towards campfires and swift waters and sleeping beneath leafy bowers at night.

             “I can’t believe that a year ago we were fighting Marlfoxes and finding secret islands,” she observed to Dann, during one of these wistful moods. They were in the orchards, beakers of ice-cold raspberry cordial in paw, as they supervised a herd of adventurous Dibbuns reenacting the great battles of the previous summer.  “I feel like it was a lifetime ago.”

             “Or like it happened to different creatures.”

             “Younger, sillier creatures.”

             “Speak for yourself,” said Dann, feigning indignance, though the impression was undermined by the daisy crown a trio of giggling mousebabes had placed on his head.

             “And it’s been a while since we’ve seen Dipp and Burble,” Song continued thoughtfully, brushing pear blossoms from her shoulders. “I wonder what they’re up to.”

             “Probably off havin’ all kinds of adventures. It’s a wild life out there in Mossflower.”

             “I wonder if we’d still be good at adventures.”

             “Well, there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?” said a new voice, full of gentle mirth.

             Song and Dann turned to see Cregga Rose Eyes, the ancient Abbey badgermother, lounging in the sun. She had been following their conversation with a smile on her scarred face.

             “You should go and visit your young friends. It’s a perfect summer for travelling,” she said, almost suspiciously casual. “And a few weeks to yourselves might give you a chance to rest up before the autumn harvest.”

             “We have plenty of time to relax here,” Dann protested. As if on cue, a stout young molemaid tugged on his habit hem, while a slightly older squirrel called to Songbreeze from across the Abbey lawn.

             “Hurr, zurr, Daisy be’s making mudpies an’ trying to eat em all oop. It’s an orful mess, hurr hurr.”

             “Abbess? The cook needs you straight away – something about a disaster in the larder and a whole season’s hazelnuts spilled all over the floor?”

             “Think it over, anyway,” Cregga said, still smiling, while the two conscientious squirrels rushed to their duties.

*****

             After much deliberation, and cleaning up spilled hazelnuts and mud-covered Dibbuns, Abbess and Abbey Warrior decided that perhaps a little summer reunion might be just the thing they needed.

             “Are you sure you won’t need us?” Dann and Song both asked Cregga, multiple times. Cregga generously let them realize on their own what a silly question this was to ask a former Badger Lady, former interim-Abbey-leader, veteran of multiple wars, who might not be able to see but could hear a pin drop and snap steel or iron like a forest twig. Meanwhile, Rusvul, Janglur, Rimrose, Gawjo, and Ellayo, all creatures of solid experience and good sense themselves, cracked frequent jokes about having more than enough squirrel perspective on the running of the Abbey anyway.

             “You’re only young ‘uns once,” Ellayo added sagely, in a tone that brooked no argument. “It’s high time you had a little fun, without us old ‘uns hanging around!”

             And so it was that a few days later they set out on a glorious midsummer morning—only for a few weeks, of course, but farewelled as if they might be gone for a full season.  Dann carried the sword of Martin belted across his back, and Song a light walking staff. Dibbuns, elders, Abbey brothers, Abbey sisters—all of Redwall Abbey and some from the country around—stood at the gates or on the walltops to see them off. The Abbess left them with a song, sweet and true as always, which left many a creature sniffing slightly behind cover of paw or habit sleeve.  

                           “Though this journey borrows me,

                             I promise I won’t be far away,

                            For I carry you in my heart with me,

                           In ev’ry place my pawsteps stray.

                            When you see the summer sky,

                            Or river in its royal blue,

                            Think of me as I go wandering,

                            And know that I’ll come home to you.”

             “Good ‘un, Song,” said Dann appreciatively, when they had passed beyond sight of the red sandstone walls.

             “Now you sing us one.”

             “Ah, you know me. I don’t sing.”

             “I’ll teach you. We have all the time in the world.”

               The two spent several days wandering on their own: lazily, enjoying the journey, occasionally stopping to chat with creatures who made their home in Mossflower Wood. They followed the river in a vague sort of way, and one morning reached a tranquil stretch of water that they recognized from last year’s quest.

             “Dippler and the Guosim should be somewhere close,” said Dann, searching for pawprints in the soft sand. Song had another idea.

             “Logalogalogalog!” she called, in an echoing, birdlike trill. Dann followed suit, paws cupped around his mouth.

             “Logalogalogalog!” he shouted, slightly less melodically, pacing a little farther up the riverbank. “LogalogalogaOOF!”

             Song whirled around in time to see Dannflor flattened by a blur of grey fur. She charged, wielding her walking staff, raising her voice in a thunderous cry of “Redwallllll!”, before skidding to a halt as she recognized a stout spiky shrew kitted out in rapier and colored headband.  

             “Mornin’, Dann. Mornin’ Song. What’s with all the shoutin’?” Dippler grinned, paws still locked around Dann in a bear hug, as he heaved them up from the ground. “We’ve already been tracking you for half a mile.”

             “You never,” Song protested, giving Dippler a hug herself. “Where are the Guosim, anyway? Did they kick you out already, you great rogue?”

             Giggling shrews emerged from a screen of rushes just up the riverbank, almost all of them already known to Dann and Song from the Guosim’s time at Redwall last summer. The two squirrels shook so many paws that their own paws soon felt weary.

             “Come see the new fleet of boats we’ve built,” Dippler said finally, extracting them from a shrew tussle over who would get their honored guests some cold mint tea. “I told ye we were going to make lighter craft, like the Riverhead vole tribe had, faster and easier to manage.”

             Dippler nodded to a shrew standing guard over a willow grove, and he parted a curtain of leaves to let them pass. A fleet of sleek, beautiful boats, masterfully carved from rich honey-colored wood, were docked in a shallow section of the stream, bobbing gently with the motion of the water.

             “They’re wonderful, Dipp,” said Dann, admiring the shine of the varnish and the tiny carvings of waves and flowers ornamenting the prow of each boat. “Are they sea- er, riverworthy yet?”

             “Better than any craft on water!” Dippler replied, puffing out his chest proudly.

             “Well, in that case, how about a little river journey?” Song grinned. “We were thinking of traveling upstream to visit Burble, too, and the Riverhead vole tribe.”

             “Haha, I miss ol’ Burble too. Why not? We’ve been in one place far too long. But first, you’ve got to enjoy our famous Guosim hospitality,” Dippler said firmly. “We had a feeling you’d be comin’ our way! And I want to hear everythin’ that’s happening at Redwall, too, mates!”

             They camped for the night in a lovely watermeadow, ­­­­where dragonflies flitted through the evening sky and paper-white and purple lilies floated on the water. Song and Dann and Dippler caught up together and then spent many hours retelling old tales for the amusement of the Guosim, who especially loved the ones about Megraw Eagle, the Marlfox islands, and Song’s unexpected aunt the hedgehog. Shrewcooks filled their bowls with piping hot tater’n’watershrimp stew and heaped wooden plates with hearty shrewbread and soft white cheese, generously studded with leeks and hazelnuts. When everyone was beginning to yawn, they bedded down on soft sleeping rolls beneath the stars, with the piping of frogs and crickets and waterbirds for a lullaby.

             “It’s like being in the forest when I was a little one,” Song murmured drowsily to Dann, before they fell asleep. “I’m ever so glad you came with me.”

               They spent several days on the river with Dippler and the Guosim, who were taking advantage of the warm weather and calm water to tend to their logboats and teach the younger shrews how to paddle and swim. Dippler, like the old Log-a-Log before him, was patient and kind with the youngsters. When the group agreed (after much time-honored shrew debate, of course) to embark on a visit to Burble’s tribe, he captained a boat of nervous young shrews just learning to row, encouraging them the whole way and tirelessly helping to back their boat out of sandbars and tangles of tree branch whenever the young ones accidentally crashed into the bank. By the time they had reached the end of their expedition the young shrews were keeping up with the best of them, grinning proudly, and Dippler was able to ship oars and sit at ease.

             “Comin’ up on Riverhead vole territory now,” said Dippler, arms crossed, looking every bit the sage Log-a-Log. Sure enough, in the distance they could see the ruddy glow of orange lanternlight muddling the evening lilac, and then a fleet of illuminated watervole coracles gliding a path through the reeds and rushes.

             “Is that old Burble Bigboots, Horror of the Leafwood?” Dann called teasingly from the prow of his shrewboat.

             “That’s Burble Bigthrone, Holder of the Leafwood to you,” a familiar voice called back. “An’ Commander of the good ol’ boat Swallow, yiss yiss!”

             Burble and his tribe of watervoles had soon surrounded the Guosim boats in a flotilla of their own. Shrews and voles exchanged greetings and traded favorite watersongs as they paddled ashore to the Riverhead tribe’s cavern home, where a welcome party was scraping up reels and jigs on an orchestra of well-loved instruments. Burble, once on dry land, kept shaking Dann and Song’s paws vigorously.

             “We’ve been meanin’ to come to Redwall, y’know, but there’s been so much to do here. It was a powerful cold winter, so we’ve been improvin’ our little hideout here, getting everything shipshape, y’see!”

             They recognized the Riverhead voles’ cavern, but sure enough, the place had been spruced up and made even more cheerful and comfortable than a year ago, thanks in great part to Burble’s exuberance. Cozy moss-covered arms and footstools were drawn up around the hearth; lanterns glowed in wallsconces; woven rush mats with a sweet, grassy perfume covered the floors and decorated the walls. Little trinkets from their various travels—beautiful carvings, pressed and dried flowers, pieces of smooth seaglass—were scattered throughout as decoration, giving the place a very homey feel.

             “You kept it, you rogue,” said Dann, horrified and amused, as he spotted a familiar carved chair against the wall of the cave near the dining table. “The Marlfox throne you plundered.”

             “Och, yiss, I kept it, but we mostly use it as the babbies’ high chair,” Burble burbled. “Now sit ye down! I want to hear all about what goes on at your Abbey, hoho!”

             After long hours feasting and catching up with their two friends, Song and Dann stayed up late into the night talking and toasting last autumn’s russet apples over the fire, while watervole lullabies keened softly around them on fiddle and reed flute. Burble and Dippler, propped up by the hearth, were both snoring uproariously, with Burble clutching the greenstone-topped Leafwood even in his sleep.

             “Just like old times, eh?” said Song.

             “Should we wake up early and steal a boat in the morning?” Dann said, trying and failing to keep a straight face.  

             “Oh, yes, I was hoping we’d get chased back to that horrible swampy creekbed again.”

             “Get bit by all manner o’ bugs.”

             “Fight a few ferrets and weasels while we’re at it.”

             “No, thank you, I’m happy right here.”

             Their conversation dissolved, as usual, into laughter. Burble shifted a little, pawing at his nose.          “Madbeasts, both of ye, yiss yiss,” he snuffled aloud, though still sound asleep. “You’re perfect for each other.”

                                                                                      *****

             After several whirlwind days of feasting and dancing, boating and hiking, Dippler and the Guosim set off for farther reaches of Mossflower, and Song and Dann found themselves missing the orchards and sandstone walls of Redwall Abbey, the faces of friends and loved ones, the sound of the evening bells. They bid farewell to Burble and the Riverhead voles (“visit us again!” one and all clamored) and broke camp on an early morning, haversacks filled with homecooked food for their travels, sword and staff in scabbard and paw.

             The path home stretched out before them, twining through lush groves of oak and elm and nodding willow. They stopped a moment to stare in awe of it, smell the sweet grasses and blackberry blossom in the air, listen to the sweet warbling birdsong and the soft winging of the sun-yellow butterflies through the trees of Mossflower Wood.

             “After you, mighty warrior,” Song said finally, inclining her head with grave solemnity.

             “After you, Abbess Songbreeze,” answered Dann, matching her nod with a fantastically elegant bow.

             Song gave him a playful shove. Her touch lingered a little on Dann’s shoulder, and Dann turned to her with a soft contented smile. This time it was Dann who picked up the melody of an old wandering song, surprisingly practiced for one who claimed he never sang.

                              “The road ahead is long and weary,

                            But walking it with you, my dear,

                            Though the miles go slow and dreary,

                            I feel aglow with summer cheer.

                              See the trees bedecked in flowers,

                            All alight with green and gold,

                            Oh, how I love to share these hours -

                            Let’s wander on ‘till we grow old.”

             Paw in paw, side by side, Abbess and Warrior began the journey back to Redwall Abbey.

[razieltwelve]

The Hamster (Fate/Stay Night/Final Effect)

There were a great many timelines where Rin Tohsaka’s attempt to summon a Sabre went awry. This was one of them. It was also the only timeline in which she summoned a hamster.

Fortunately for Rin, however, it was no ordinary hamster.

X     X     X

Rin assumed she must have done something absolutely awful in a past life. It was the only way to explain how she’d summoned a hamster as her Servant in the Grail War. Sure, the little guy was incredibly adorable, but what on earth was she supposed to do with him? If the situation weren’t so dire, she might actually have laughed. As it was, she wanted to cry.

She probably would have too, if an enemy Servant hadn’t chosen that exact moment to ambush her on her way home from school.

“You might want to duck,” Professor Cuddleborough drawled.

By some miracle of magic, Rin could understand the hamster she’d summoned. From what she’d seen so far, he was cute, cuddly, and came with a dry sense of humour. He also had good instincts.

She ducked.

And a spear went through the space her head had occupied a split-second later.

“Not bad,” Lancer said as Rin rolled away and then leapt back to put some distance between them. “But I’m afraid this is where the Grail War ends for you.” He shrugged and gave her an apologetic smile. “Sorry but my master’s orders were quite clear. It’s a pity you’ve only got a hamster to fight for you. I would have liked a challenge, but orders are orders.” He took up a fighting stance. “I’ll make it quick. I can do that much.”

“Hmmm…” Professor Cuddleborough hopped out of her pocket and landed on the ground in front of her. “You might want to take as step back, Rin.”

“What? Why?” Rin’s heart was beating so fast she was afraid she was going to faint. The only thing standing between her and certain death was a hamster! She was so screwed.

“Because I’m about to show you what makes me different from a normal hamster.” Professor Cuddleborough struck a pose. “For I am no mere hamster… I am… a war hamster!”

“A war hamster?” Rin wailed. “What does that even me?”

Lancer blurred forward…

There was a flash of light, and the Servant was suddenly flying backward. He flew through the air, smashing through a streetlight before continuing to tumble end over end until he hit the next streetlight and thudded to a stop in the wall behind it, hitting the wall with enough force to leave a crater in it.

“Hmmm…” Professor Cuddleborough’s voice was suddenly much deeper… and he was much larger. Instead of the cute and cuddly hamster that had spent the day in Rin’s pocket, he was now the size of a tank and covered in advanced power armour that absolutely bristled with weaponry. Lowering the enormous paw he’d used to bat Lancer away like a pingpong ball, the colossal hamster gave a sound of acknowledgement. “Not bad. You were able to block with your spear at the last moment. Otherwise, I’d have ripped you in half.”

Far away, Lancer stumbled to his feet. His chest was a mangled wreck, and his spear bore the marks of huge claws. Somehow, though, he managed to retain an air of confidence.

“Oh? A giant hamster? I can’t say I’ve ever faced one before.” Lancer chuckled. “I’ll admit you took me by surprise. But you’re no mere beast. That strike wasn’t simply powerful and swift… your technique was excellent.”

Professor Cuddleborough chuckled. “Well, you’re definitely one of the better spearmen I’ve faced in my life although I’d have to fight you properly to see how you really rank.” He stomped on the ground, and the concrete cracked. “Although if we were to fight properly, it wouldn’t be just my claws you’d have to worry about.” On his back, a pair of cannons began to whirr, the ominous glow coming from them hinting at their power.

“Hmmm…” Lancer’s eyes narrowed. “It seems my master has seen enough. I’ve got to run for it.” He nodded at Rin. “It seems you’ve managed to summon a formidable Servant after all.” And then he was gone, vanishing in a blur of motion.

“…” Rin looked at her Servant. “A war hamster? I think you need to tell me a little bit more about who you are and where you’re from.”

X     X     X

“Yes,” Rin said. “He is apparently a war hamster from something called the Arendelle Empire that is, I think, an empire from another galaxy in another universe.”

“He’s a giant hamster.” Shirou stared at Professor Cuddleborough. The massive hamster had come to his and Sabre’s aid during their scuffle with Berserker. He had forced the other Servant to retreat although that had done nothing to quell Shirou’s curiosity. Berserker’s master had known who he was…

“He is a truly noble beast.” Sabre had spent the last ten minutes running her hands through Professor Cuddleborough’s fur before simply giving in and wrapping her arms around the huge hamster, so she could bury her face in his fur. “A truly noble beast indeed.”

Professor Cuddleborough simply gave Rin an amused smile. This was, evidently, not the first time he’d experienced this. “We should be head home,” he said. “I’d rather not use any of my bigger guns in such a crowded area.”

“He has guns?” Shirou asked.

“I’m basically the equivalent of super-advanced heavy artillery,” the hamster replied. “Where I come from if you need something really, really dead, then you send in a war hamster. We’re often the first into battle and usually the last to leave.”

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

Although many hamsters over the years have carried the name of Professor Cuddleborough, this particular war hamster is the most famous of the lot. During his life, he earned the nickname “The Cuddle Hammer” due to his incredible war record. A hero famous through the Arendelle Empire, his deeds in combat were unmatched even amongst war hamsters, and he distinguished himself in countless battles.

Perhaps his most famous feat was singlehandedly saving the life of the emperor after the emperor’s dreadnought was brought down by Grimm during a massive battle. Heroically standing guard over the wounded emperor, the Professor Cuddleborough fought endless waves of Grimm for the better part of three days before reinforcements finally arrived. 

In the Empire’s long and stories history, it is not an exaggeration to say that he might be its most famous war hamster.

In the Fifth Grail War, Professor Cuddleborough was summoned by Rin Tohsaka. He is classified as an Archer due to the overwhelming ranged weaponry at his disposal due to his super-advanced power armour, which was the finest such armour in the Arendelle Empire during his lifetime.

However, as a war hamster, his physical prowess is unreal compared to a human, even a Servant. As a war hamster, he is fully capable of shrugging of artillery even without his power armour, and he can fight giant Grimm barehand. His stats are as follows:

Strength: A++ Endurance: EX Agility: A++ Mana: A++ Luck: A Noble Phantasm: EX

Abilities

For the Empire. Professor Cuddleborough once famously claimed that “As long the still Empire stands, I cannot fall… and as long as I still stand, the Empire cannot fall!” In life, he was a hamster of unshakeable faith and determination, which allowed him to emerge victorious in situations that would have defeated countless others. The greater his belief in the cause he fights for, the stronger he will become. 

Cuddle Factor. Despite his immense combat power, Professor Cuddleborough is a descendant of Professor Cuddles, the cutest, most adorable hamster in history, and he is said to resemble him a great deal. Cuddle Factor grants him an A+ in charisma since all who look upon him will be captivated by his cuteness and adorability should he wish it. 

Mind of the Dia-Farron. As one of the greatest war hamsters in history, Professor Cuddleborough was also a scientific genius with intellect capable of matching even the illustrious Dia-Farron of the Empire. He can easily understand and replicate any technology that he is likely to come across.

Noble Phantasms

Power Armour. The power armour that Professor Cuddleborough uses is unique power armour that was crafted by the finest minds of the Empire using the finest materials in the galaxy. It is considered by many to be the greatest suit of power armour ever donned by a war hamster. In practical terms, the combined nuclear arsenal of the Earth could be launched at it, and they’d be lucky to scratch the paint. Given how much time he spent battling Grimm, it is also designed to withstand more esoteric attacks. When activated to its full extent, it can withstand even planet-buster level attacks.

Power Armour Arsenal. The offensive capabilities of his power armour are equal to its defensive capabilities. His default weapons include plasma cannons, laser cannons, warp claws, missiles pods, and gravity lances. However, he can scale up to weapons designed to break planets if necessary.

Once again, Rin manages to luck out when summoning a Servant. Sure, he’s a hamster, but he’s quite possibly the most badass hamster who ever lived from a galaxy full of badass hamsters.

You can find me on fanfiction.net, AO3, and Amazon.

[barchiefanfiction]

Doors of Perception

by @barchied / Kate

Prompt:  "Tell me you don’t have feelings for me. Tell me that right here, right now, standing this close to me that you feel nothing for me. Tell me!"

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17649569

When he opens the door, it doesn’t lead him to his bedroom. He doesn’t find his sleeping form tucked in his bed waiting to be destroyed by this tougher, darker version of himself. Instead, he sees the door of her house. Just like he had what seemed like a lifetime ago now. In a further moment of deja vu, he watches as the door opens and Betty comes out wearing that same pink dress she’d worn to the dance. The one, he realizes now, she was wearing in the vision he’d just had of his friends in the cabin, encouraging him to play. He doesn’t have time to unpack that yet because she’s striding toward him both confident and nervous and he remembers this moment with such stark clarity that he knows what’s coming next.

His heart is beating in his ears as she speaks. Tells him she isn’t going to ask what happened with him and Veronica at Cheryl’s and he has to stifle a laugh because in the grand scheme of everything that seems so insignificant and faraway now. But then she’s asking him that question he got wrong the first time and it’s suddenly crystal clear why his subconscious has sent him back to this moment. “I’m asking if you love me…” The tears stinging her eyes are enough to break his heart all over again.

He remembers what he said the first time. Of course he loved her! But he wasn’t good enough, she was too perfect. He hadn’t meant for those words to hurt her, they were supposed to spare her the pain that he saw foreshadowed in their future. But, as it turned out, their lives would be riddled with pain anyway. Despite his best efforts to protect her by pushing her away, things had still gone to shit. Perhaps that had been his gravest mistake; to deny his feelings for her. They had always been better together after all; stronger, smarter, more capable.

The pained look on her face drew him back to reality. He was taking too long to answer. But, he has to get it right this time. “Of course I love you,” he echoed his response to their original conversation. He moved closer to her though and willed himself to find the right words this time.

“Okay so then why don’t you...want me?” Her voice was thick and her eyes were rimmed red. He hates seeing her like this, especially when he knows he’s the cause of her sadness. Ultimately, wasn’t that what he was trying to avoid in the first place? Wasn’t that why he’d rejected her to begin with?

He takes her hand in spite of himself. “It’s not that simple-.” But, wasn’t it? His courage staggers for a moment and he forces himself to take a ragged breath. “I’m scared,” he confesses that as much to himself as to her. “If I hurt you, if I caused irreparable damage to our friendship I would never be able to forgive myself.” He’s surprised he’s actually said those words out loud but after the other scenarios he’s been through so far, he knows he should just be honest with himself. This will go a lot easier if he just learns whatever this vision is trying to teach him or make him see. “You’re the most important person to me in the entire universe, Bets.” His hand had moved, seemingly on its own accord, to cup her face and he couldn’t help but feel his heart clench at the way she relaxed so willingly into his touch, how her eyes fluttered closed. Her absolute trust in him wasn’t forced or feigned, it was built on their foundation of friendship, of the love she’d always harbord for him. That love, however, had long blossomed into something more for the both of them. Of course in this dream or alternate reality or whatever it was he had the advantage of knowing things she didn’t know. Things this still innocent version of herself could never imagine they’d go through. She was still capable of holding onto optimism because she didn’t know what would happen.

“It’s not going to ruin anything.” She spoke the words assuredly, like it was a promise she could keep for the both of them out of sheer will alone. “It’s going to make everything better; make us closer.” It was like she could feel his thoughts radiating off of him.

He wants to believe her and some parts of him do. Their fingers have become intertwined at his left side and his skin tingles where it touches hers. Their connection is magnanimous and undeniable, and suddenly anything he wants to say about her being in love with some version of him she’s conjured up in her head seems worthless and unwarranted. His natural inclination is to push her away, reiterate that he’ll never be good enough for her. But perhaps he’s been sent back to this moment because he isn’t supposed to use those excuses this time.

Yet, as he studies her perfect, full, bottom lip that is practically screaming out to be touched by him, he still feels the need to send her away. “It’s not that I don’t want you, Betty.” The confession slips out before he can stop it and now he can’t take it back. It hangs between them only briefly before it’s tarnished by his next statement. “But I don’t deserve you or the way you’re looking at me. I have this darkness inside of me and I can’t let it hurt you.” It’s a chore to force out the last part. Because it’s the truth. That’s what he’s always wanted to protect her from, the darkness that exists inside of him. The one that makes him thirsty for revenge at any cost. The one that sent him on the run in the first place. He can’t risk letting her get caught in whatever crosshairs he’ll undoubtedly find on him.

He expects to find sadness on her face but he finds wistfulness instead. In fact, if he’s not mistaken, she actually giggles and shakes her head at him. “Oh Arch, you don’t think I already know that?” It’s her turn to cup his face and he can’t help but have a similar response of relaxing with ease into her soft, sweet touch. “I have darkness in me too,” She whispers softly, her voice almost a breeze against his skin. “But, I’m not afraid of the dark, especially not when I’m with you. Besides, we can bring flashlights.” She flashes him a misplaced smile and he wants to grin with her, let her positivity be infectious, but he feels restrained still and like he needs to put up a fight, for both of their sakes.

“It’s not that simple Bets-”

“It can be though.” She dares back before he can finish that half-assed argument he’d barely even crafted.

“I’m not sure I can be the man you want or deserve, I just-”

She steps closer to him and the sudden proximity cuts him off before her words do. Her wistful tone has been replaced by a more challenging one. “Tell me you don’t have feelings for me. Tell me that right here, right now, standing this close to me that you feel nothing for me.” Her chest is pressed to his now and any semblance of space between them no longer exists. If he’d thought he was tingling when their skin made contact earlier, then he was practically vibrating now.

“Betty, I-”

“Tell me!” She challenged again, drawing her hand down to rest against his chest, her fingers tapping expectantly against the less than luxurious fabric of his suit jacket.

He wants to tell her all of those things. He wants to spare her the pain of loving him like he did in reality. But this is a dream. A hallucination at best, what’s the harm in just seeing what it would be like? Her eyes shine with expectancy and hope and he can’t bring himself to destroy it. Not here. Not this time. “I could tell you those things.” He sighs, looking down so that their eyes are locked on each others, “But, you’ve always been able to tell when I was lying so it wouldn’t do me any good anyway.”

She opens her mouth to respond but her lips parting this close to him seems to awaken some carnal and instinctive need within him because the next thing he knows he’s kissing her. It’s not timid or reserved like their real first kiss, the one they’d shared at the wrong place and time in front of Cheryl’s. No, this kiss is in a class of its own. His arm snakes around her waist, his hand settling at the small of her back, melding them together. This kiss says everything he’s never been able to articulate about how he feels about her and what she means to him. This kiss changes everything.

Suddenly, he’s overcome with overwhelming sadness because this isn’t really happening. This isn’t really Betty. She isn’t really his. This harsh dose of reality breaks their kiss. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until her thumbs are brushing away his tears. “What’s wrong?” She asks softly, drawing him against her without hesitation or reservation.

“It’s not real.” He whispers, but even so he lets himself kiss her again because even though it’s not real; it could’ve been. And this is how it would’ve felt. He’s suddenly angry for robbing them both of this experience. He knows he’ll never forget the feel of her lips or the taste of them, even when he wakes up. He knows he’ll never stop craving them. He also knows he’ll never have them, not anymore. She loves Jug. The window he’d single-handedly decided needed t be forcibly closed, locked, and sealed- would remain that way.

When the kiss breaks this time they’re no longer standing outside of her house. As he opens his eyes he notices they’re somehow in his room. He looks around, confused at first. The room is basked in a faint glow of moonlight and street lamps that permeate through his uncurtained window. It creates a halo around her already angelic blonde hair, “It can be real.” She affirms, pressing her lips to his again and moving them backward.

When he feels his knees hit the side of the bed, he sits, pulling her with him. “We can’t,” He sighs, “We shouldn’t-” But every excuse he tries to muster dies on his lips as they find hers again. “Fuck it-” He mutters to himself, giving in to his desires once and for all. If this isn’t real- there can’t be any consequences to giving in any way.

His deft fingers find the zipper of her dress and it gives them both chills when he tugs it down and the fabric falls from her shoulders. His breath catches as he looks at the matching lingerie set she wears that tells the story of how she’d hoped the night would end. He wonders if this is something his own mind has conjured up, but somehow, he knows it isn’t. He stops trying to rationalize any of this and finally lets go.

He makes love to her. It’s more than he could ever imagine. He feels everything he’s ever wanted to feel. The love that radiates off of her is overwhelming. They cuddle after, before going at it again. And then a third time. He knows he has to savor this while he can. He thinks maybe it’s selfish, but if this hallucination is the only he way he gets to be with her for the rest of his life, he’s going to make it count while he still can. He assumes that when he falls asleep he’ll either wake up to the next part of the game or maybe he’ll have succumbed to his injuries and whatever purgatory he’d been experiencing for the past however long would cease to exist.

He supposed there would be a kind of beauty in it all ending like this. In fact he almost wills himself to slip away and let this be his last memory, even if it isn’t real. He lets his eyes close briefly and sleep is ready to come for him, but her voice brings him back. “What are you thinking about?” She asks quietly.

His eyes snap open, willing him to stay here as long as he can. “How I wish this was real.” He admits earnestly, knowing she probably won’t understand. His voice is thick with sleep and his eyes become heavy again. He knows he can’t hold on much longer, but he isn’t exactly sure what it means. He isn’t as scared as he thought he would be, though.

Everything starts fading away into blackness and he feels the dream coming to an end. He feels tears spring in his eyes and he tightens his grip on her body, which is heaped sleepily against his, not ready to let go yet. Eventually, even the feeling of her begins to fade and just before the moment ends completely, he hears her voice in the faintest of whispers. “It is.”

Then, everything fades to black.

When he comes to, he knows something doesn’t seem quite right, but he can’t exactly place it. In fact, he finds himself in his bedroom and it feels like it’s been weeks since he’s actually been here. When the bed shifts and a warm body is pressed against his, lips bestow a lazy kiss to the place where his would-be injury should have covered. Afraid whatever moment this is might end if he opens his eyes, he keeps them closed, yet he tugs the form close against him. He needn’t see her to know it’s Betty. He can feel her, all around him. He still has the wherewithal to understand the importance of savoring this feeling.  “I had a strange dream..” He mumbles, trying to remember what it was.

He conjures up bits and pieces of memories that seem to be swirling around his mind. It’s hard to tell what’s real and what isn’t. Something about a bear, Betty loving Jughead, being on the run from Hiram Lodge? But just as quickly as those notions appear in his mind’s eye, they flit away before he can fully understand. It doesn’t help that his companion is drawing distracting shapes against his warm, bare skin which only serves to make it harder to concentrate. Suddenly, he recalls details in more clarity. The feel of her fingernails dragging across his back and digging into his shoulder. The fireworks her lips left behind as they trailed over his skin. The soft rock of her hips that culminated in moans of ecstasy. “Betty…” Her name is barely a whisper as his nerves ignite with the memory of how making love to her felt in that dream.

He’s startled more fully awake when he hears a response of “Hmm?” And then the body that had been draped over him shifts again, causing him to open his eyes. He looks down and sees her expectant face and for a moment he’s unable to process that it’s actually her until she pushes a strand of blonde hair back out of her eyes. Her hair is piled in a messy bun atop her head and he can tell that the game or hallucination as brought him to a new scenario.

“You’re still here.” Then, more sadly he adds, “That means I’m still dreaming,” He smiles in spite of himself because even though this can’t be real, he’s content to spend a little more time living in this fantasy he’s created for them. Maybe he’s in a coma in a hospital in Canada and this is all being induced by a line of morphine being pumped into him steadily through an IV. Whatever it is, he’s happy to stay here with her as long as he can.

When her lips are against his an instant later, he can’t help but notice just how real this feels. Last night he was fully aware that everything he was feeling was the product of his imagination. But as he rakes his fingers over her bare chest, the goosebumps that form underneath seem to have appeared on their own accord. He studies her like a book, his eyes taking in every finite detail of the way she looks. He hates himself for rejecting her. Wishes that this was reality and the other stuff was the dream. Or nightmare, as it were. He knows he can’t stay here with her forever but he knows he isn’t ready for it to end either. “I’m so in love with you,” He mutters tearfully before capturing her lips again, pulling her against him.

Each iteration of this dreamworld serves to reaffirm that every single thing that has gone wrong in his life has stemmed from rejecting her. Every version of her is blissfully unaware of all he has cost them and he can’t bring himself to confess to her that he fucked it up. It takes six rounds of this same instant before he’s fully realizing what he’s meant to do. Why he’s here. Why she is.

He’s been going about it all wrong. When the hallucinations brought him back to their moment in front of her house, the night of the dance, he thought he was supposed to choose her. Follow what his heart had wanted and see where it took them. Doing that was nice, but in all actuality, it did little to bring him closure. He owed her so much more than that, he finally realized. It wasn’t a confession of love he was supposed to give her, it was something more raw than that. The edges of this vision start to blur and he feels himself being dragged away. He knows what he has to say next time he sees her. He hopes this world gives him the chance.

Blackness coats the moment again and then, there is nothingness.

The next time he opens his eyes, it doesn’t feel like he is dreaming. The awful pain he was expecting to find in his chest radiates through each of his shoulders and down past his torso. Heart monitors and machines beep around him and draw him further into reality. The pain of his injury is almost nothing compared to the hole he feels when he realizes that Betty is not really his. That none of what he’s imagined will ever be real.

He is starkly aware of the dryness of his throat and he pulls an IV clad hand up to his face, pulling the oxygen line from his nose and blinking his eyes a few times to adjust to being awake for the first time in he isn’t sure how long. The room is mostly dark except for the myriad of lights glowing from the plethora of machine’s surrounding his bed. He groans as even the slightest of movements send terrible, dull, aching pains that radiate all the way through him.

Before his eyes are fully adjusted, he hears someone else in the room. He’s barely able to make out their silhouette, but recognizes when the move closer. Suddenly, he feels a straw tap against his dry lips and he parts them, sucking gently until cool water splashes refreshingly over his tongue. He takes a long drink, letting the crisp revitalizing liquid coat his throat and mouth. When he’s had his fill, he turns his head and feels the straw and cup being moved away and hears it being set on the table. Opening his eyes, he’s expecting to find a nurse, but is startled to find Betty looking back him, concern wrought into her brow.

“Fuck- I’m dreaming again, aren’t I?” He growls, averting his eyes from her. He knows what he’s supposed to do but he thought they’d be outside of her house again. He wonders why his subconscious has put him here and given him all the physical pain of his injury this time. He has a feeling that it’s nothing compared to the insurmountable void he will feel when she inevitable rejects him.

“Shitty dream,” She motions around the hospital room, a smirk on her lips nevertheless. She takes a seat in the chair next to his bedside and draws his hand into hers. “I’m pretty sure you’re awake.” She notes, squeezing gently. “Or I’m dreaming too,” She adds surreptitiously.

“No.” He says firmly, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t be here if this were real life.” His voice sounds so sad and pathetic, but he knows it’s his own fault. After all, he was the one who drove her away. It’s almost more disappointing how they’d let their friendship fall to the wayside since getting into their respective relationships. Maybe it was because deep down, they knew they were never meant to be just friends?

She seems hurt when he says that and drops his hand briefly. It’s not the reaction he’s expecting. “I will always be here when you need me, Arch. No matter what.” Then, she’s taking his hand again and when she squeezes it reassuringly, he forces himself to look at her.

“You won’t, Betty. You can’t.” It’s his turn to retract from her. He knows he doesn’t deserve her comfort. He’s let himself indulge in her too much in the other versions of this head trip. He doesn’t get to, not this time.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” The earnestness in her voice is almost heart breaking.

“Not really, no…” He begins, frustrated with himself and the grogginess he feels. It makes it harder to articulate what he wants to tell her. And when you can’t coherently make your point, people tend to think you’re just rambling unimportant things.

“You aren’t making any sense, Arch.” She stands up and leans over him, brushing her thumb over his cheek. “You should rest some more, we can talk later.” She adds, leaning down to kiss his forehead and then her hand is reaching out for something on his left side and the pain is seemingly chased away by overwhelming warmth in the form of a morphine drip. He’s afraid if he doesn’t say it now he’ll miss his chance but before he can fight it, he’s giving into her suggestion with heavy eyelids.

When he awakes again, she’s still there next to him. Her eyes are closed but he can tell she isn’t sleeping. She doesn’t look relaxed enough. Still, he tries not to disturb her as he shifts in the bed to get more comfortable. “You’re awake,” She says, letting him know his efforts were unsuccessful. She stirs from the makeshift ball she’d folded herself into in that seemingly uncomfortable chair and stretches her arms above her head before rising and offering him the cup of water again.

He can’t help but laugh at the words she speaks because he knows he isn’t really awake. But he’s also glad for that, because if he were, he might lose his nerve. After taking another long drink of water, he forces the confession out before the moment can fade out again. “I’m so sorry, Betty.” He says rather suddenly. Tears sting the corners of his eyes and her face softens immediately. “I should’ve apologized to you so long ago,”

“Shh, Arch you don’t have to apologize for anything-” But he stops her before she can let him off the hook.

“I do though, I really do. I ruined everything that night.” The expression she wears implores him to explain more. She clearly has no idea what he’s referencing so he does his best to clarify. “I should’ve chosen you Betty.” He wishes he could be more articulate but whatever drugs are pumping through the IV to dull the pain are also mitigating his ability to form comprehensible thoughts or sentences. “I was scared of loving you and I pushed you away and it ruined everything.” He forces himself to look at her and he can see her eyes are red with tears. “I didn’t want to hurt you so I tried to let you go.” As he confesses these things, he recalls the dreams he had about her in quick flashes. The feel of her lips on his. The way their bodies moved together so perfectly in sync as they made ardent, passionate love. The details are so real he feels almost dirty thinking about them with her right there. “But I saw how it could have been for us. And I was wrong. I was so wrong. We would’ve been deliriously happy…” He doesn’t know when she sat down on the hospital bed with him, but she’s gathered him into her arms the best that the various cords, plugs, and machines will allow. “You’re not really here.” He reminds himself, as his tears soak the soft fabric of the sweater she wears. “None of this matters.” He tries to push her away again, to retract into his pain. He deserve all of it and more.

She refuses to let go. Her soothing voice is right next to his ear. “I am really here.” She whispers, “We are in a hospital. You were attacked by a bear.” As she says the words she seems to realize they will probably do very little to convince him that any of this is in fact real. “You gave my phone number to a nurse and they called me. I came up from Riverdale three days ago. You’ve been mostly out of it since I arrived, but the doctors assure me you’re getting better and that I can take you home soon.” Her tone shifts from a matter-of-fact delivery of truth to a more hopeful one at the last words she speaks. “How are you feeling?”

He smiles remorsefully. It seems plausible. But he knows it’s not real. Betty isn’t here. She can’t be. But yet, somehow she is. She’s so close he can smell the sweet, floral scent of her shampoo. “None of that matters…” Before he can stop himself, he kisses her. It makes his chest hurt in more than one way. The pain of the deep scratches in his chest is truly nothing compared to the agony that courses through him at the abrupt way she pulls away from him. It isn’t just that she breaks the kiss, she stands up and staggers back away from the bed completely breaking the contact between them.

“Archie!” Her fingers are on her lips and she wears a shocked, confused expression. “I’m with Jughead.”

“No.” He shakes his head with false confidence. “Not here you aren’t at least. This is some hallucination I’ve been having. I think maybe this is the final piece. Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon.” He looks around the room, surprised that he doesn’t recognize anything about it. He’s spent enough time in Riverdale hospital rooms to know that he isn’t in one now. It’s certainly strange, that the hallucinations have brought him somewhere that doesn’t seem familiar, but he doesn’t think much of it.

“Arch you’re-”

“No, you don’t get it. Seriously, Betty! Nothing that happens here matters. It’s not real. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. It’s why I can admit to you that I made a mistake. That I should’ve chosen you. That I think we’re soulmates. That I’ve been madly in love with you since the second grade. That I always fully intended on asking you to marry me when we’re eighteen. I can say all of that and I don’t have to be scared because I’ll close my eyes and when I open them again, I’ll be in some other form of this dream. There won’t be any consequences. No one gets hurt. I can kiss you, you can like it. We can be together. It’s okay if I don’t wake up because this is so much better than what it really is I….” He trails off as he studies the unreadable expression on her face.

She’s quiet for a long time and she isn’t looking at him. She’s staring intently at the floor and he thinks it’s an odd reaction. She should’ve kissed him by now. Thrown caution to the wind. She shouldn’t be sad or worried. She definitely shouldn’t be crying. They’re supposed to be happy here. That’s the whole reason he hasn’t tried to wake up.

“It’s not supposed to be like this.” He forces his eyes closed with the hopes that when he “wakes up” maybe they’ll be back in his room, wrapped up in his sheets like the last few times. Instead, he sees the same sad, worried look on her face and the same stark, cold hospital room. He closes his eyes again, maybe he just needs to keep them shut for longer, squeeze them tighter.

There’s another beat of silence as he struggles to restart this part of the ‘dream’ unsuccessfully. “Arch, it’s not a dream. Not this time.” She says, her voice laced with a mixture of sadness and regret. Nevertheless, she takes a step towards his bedside, and then another. “Please, open your eyes.” She whispers, brushing her thumb over one of his cheekbones gently.

There’s something final in her voice and all at once, he understands that she’s right. This time has felt different since he originally opened his eyes but a mixture of morphine and denial had allowed him to extend the fantasy his subconscious had created. “I don’t want to.” He confesses quietly, keeping them snuggly shut. He knows that as soon as he opens them, he has to face reality, the dream officially ends. All at once, the things he’d just said to her flash across his mind and he’s suddenly mortified and embarrassed; afraid of how he may have just ruined everything.

“Please,” Her voice is sanguine, cheering him on. “For me,” She adds, knowing full well those words will trap him into doing what she’s asked whether he wants to or not. He does open his eyes, but he can’t bring himself to look at her, and it breaks her heart a little. She doesn’t want him to feel like this. She isn’t exactly sure what it is she wants for either of them in this moment, but she yearns to make his pain go away. And her own, for that matter. Even if he’d made all those confessions under the false pretense of being in some suspended reality, she still felt the weight of them. More terrifying than that, she knew he meant every word. It was amazing how much conviction you could muster when you thought there were no consequences.

“You should-”

“Did you-”

They started and stopped at the same time, which caused him to finally cast his eyes up to hers. “You first, please.” His request was almost desperate, so she was compelled to oblige him.

“Did you mean all those things you said?” It was a very straightforward question, but a loaded one at that. She wasn’t sure what exactly she was hoping for his answer to be, but she felt like she already knew the truth.

For a beat, he just looked at her long and hard, as if deciding whether or not everything was presently too fragile to handle the truth. The prolonged silence, the way he stared so deeply into her soul, those alone were enough to answer her question. But he articulated a response anyway. “Yes, completely.”

She smiled first. A huge, genuine smile that she couldn’t stop from spreading even if she wanted to. But then, she nodded curtly, her eyes brimming with tears again. “Archie, I-” But she wasn’t sure where to begin. Suddenly, she was rising from the chair she’d occupied and in the next instant she was leaving the room. Then, as the door closed quietly behind her, he was alone.

He closed his eyes, and let the tears stream out. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Of course that would scare her away. It was too little, too late. Those were the words he was supposed to say all those months ago in front of her house, not now that she’d moved on and fallen in love with someone else. And not just someone else, with Jughead. His male best friend. Just like he had chosen Veronica over her. He’d made the choice to hurt her. He was supposed to live with the consequences. But now? Now he’d made another choice to hurt her again. But this time? This time he wasn’t sure their friendship could survive it.

Less than an hour had passed since she left when he heard the door handle turn and click open again. He’d been sat in quiet contemplation, wondering when she’d be back. She’d left her purse sitting on the floor so he knew she’d have to come back to get that at the very least. He considered, very briefly, pretending to be asleep so she could leave quietly and without any awkward goodbyes. But he couldn’t bring himself to do that. No, it wasn’t just that he couldn’t bring himself to, it was that he knew she deserved so much better than that from him. If this was how everything ended between them, it would have to be done right.

“Bets,” He began, as she closed the door behind her, but she put up her hand to silence him before she lost whatever nerve she’d mustered up that had brought her back in here.

“It’s not fair, what you said to me.” She said, stopping so that she was standing next to his bed with her arms folded across his chest.

“Betty I’m-” She shook her head, indicating that she wasn’t done, that it was still her turn.

“It’s not fair because if I didn’t know, I could just have been fine with the way things were. I could’ve loved him, probably forever. And even if some part of me would always just know that it wasn’t supposed to be, I could’ve just squashed it down and told myself that it didn’t matter because you were never going to-” She was crying now and she took a ragged breath to collect herself. “But now I can’t unhear what you said to me. Or unfeel the way it made me feel.” She looks almost angry at him as she says that.

He wasn’t expecting any of that and in spite of himself, it makes him feel hopeful, happy even. He reaches for her and to his surprise, she takes his hand and stepped closer. He isn’t sure what to say at first, so he just brushes his thumb over the back of her knuckles gently a few times. “Well, maybe I don’t want you to unhear it or unfeel it.” He finally manages, drawing his eyes back to meet hers. They share a thoughtful look as she takes a ragged breath.

“I’m sorry I ran out on you.” He turns her hand over in his own, his thumb brushing against the underside of her wrist now instead. “I...did something.” She said plainly, her eyes falling to look at the hypnotic patterns he traced against her wrist. Before he could ask for more details, she was offering them. “I called Jughead and told him I needed some time and space,” She cast her eyes back to his and swallowed hard, allowing the weight of her words to hit them both with full effect.

Archie swallowed the lump that had formed his his throat as she’d started her sentence. His heart was beating in his ears, thumping hard and blocking out all of the other noise in the room. “You,” He studied her in disbelief. “You broke up with him?” He asked, his voice so quiet it was as though he were afraid speaking too loudly would make it suddenly not true.

She simply nodded, fear still etched into her face until the smile that broke out across his seemed contagious and her own grin played at her lips. “I broke up with him,” Saying the words out loud made her heart clench with guilt, but she knew it was the right thing. She would never feel the same way about Jug anymore, not knowing how Archie felt. Not knowing how she would always feel about him.

“I know that doesn’t mean we automatically-” But before he could finish, her lips were against his and he was discovering his new favorite way to be proven wrong. It was better than any of the kisses they’d shared in his dream-induced mirages. They stopped kissing only when his heart monitor started screaming out beeps indicating his suddenly elevated heart rate. Sharing a laugh, she pulled back slightly. “Why don’t I go talk to a nurse about getting you out of here, hmm?” She moved to stand back upright, but he tugged her back down, kissing her again.

“I’d like that,” He smiled, finally letting go of her and watching in quiet fascination as she left the room. He wasn’t convinced this still wasn’t a dream, but he was content to ride it out as long as he could. Pulling the blanket off his lap, he moved to swing his legs of the side of the bed and stand up. He got a slight head rush and it took a moment to get his bearings, but steadied himself against the IV tower, using it for support to walk to the bathroom.

He was studying the gauze wrapped around his shoulder when he heard her come back in the room. “Good news, they’re just going to come check, clean, and redress your wound one more time and then we need to stop by the pharmacy to get some antibiotics and pain meds and then,” She poked her head around the bathroom door, “We can head out. I can rent us a hotel for the night, unless you have a place? Then we can figure out what we’re going to do in the morning.”

He looked at her through the mirror and smiled gently again, turning around and beckoning her closer. “I have a cabin, it’s probably not too far from wherever we are.” He let his hand rest on her hip and he leaned down, kissing her softly again, almost in disbelief at his ability to do that. “It’s not much, but it’ll do for the night.”

She nodded, grinning in return. “A cabin?” She cocked an eyebrow, “Sounds rustic.” She added, turning when she heard the door to his room open. “That’s probably the nurse. While she fixes you up, I’m going to head down to the cafeteria and grab us some food before they close.” Her stomach growled, as if to punctuate the necessity of the later.

By the time she was returning with sandwiches and drinks, she found him standing in front of the nurse’s station with what appeared to be discharge papers and his jacket draped over his arm. Vegas, who’d been given refuge in one of the on call rooms, was also sat by his feet ready to go. “All set?” She asked, to which he nodded and placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her back towards the elevator’s she’d just stepped out of.

The sun was already setting by the time they got into her car and he knew that he didn’t want to deal with trying to get out to the cabin in the dark with her in tow so he offered to drive since he knew the area better and could get them there a little faster. Despite having been almost mortally wounded by an actual bear, she’d agreed to the idea and so he’d settled behind the driver’s seat and they’d headed out to the woods. An uneasy feeling loomed over them as they drove into the setting sun, but leaving civilization behind them in the rearview mirror felt oddly symbolic.

It took less than twenty minutes to get to the clearing where he knew they could park her car and make a short hike to the cabin. There was still a considerable amount of light left, but he didn’t want to waste any time. She urged him to take it easy as he, again, had just survived a bear attack, but they made it to the cabin in good time regardless. “It’s quaint,” She observed non-judgmentally, staring around the small, humble space as he locked the door behind them. It was no Ritz Carlton, but it would do.

Clean sheets adorned the bed, someone must’ve come back and cleaned up after him when he’d gone to the hospital. He sat down on them, watching as Betty took out the food she’d gotten at the hospital. It wasn’t until she was handing him the sandwich and bag of chips that he realized how truly ravenous he was. Not long after, she sat down next to him and they both ate in relative silence. This still didn’t feel entirely real.

When she was full, she offered him the rest of her sandwich and he took it appreciatively, finishing it in one bite before moving to clean up after them. As he gets a fire going, he is caught off guard by the question she asks from across the room. “In your dreams, did we…” She raises her eyebrows with suggestive emphasis even though he isn’t looking at her.

Turning around and walking back towards her, he can’t stop the grin that spreads across his face. “Yes, that we did.” He also couldn’t stop the slight blush that had come to tint his cheeks with that admission.

“And?” She gave him an expectant look.

“And...it was amazing. Mind blowing.” He couldn’t hide the pure happiness that spread across his features as he recalled their most intimate of encounters, or rather, the ones he’s imagined. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and he bites down on his bottom one, recalling exactly how it felt.

“Show me,” She isn’t sure if it’s a request or a challenge, but she reaches for his hand, inviting him closer, suddenly envious of this insider information he has.

“We don’t have to…” He says quietly, but he’s already pulling her towards him so she’s flush against his chest and upright.

“I want to,” She admits, almost abashedly. That’s all he needs to hear before he loses himself in her. His lips capture hers with a familiarity they shouldn’t have yet. Maybe those dreams were actually just practice for this.

The real thing is so much better than any dream or hallucination. As they shed every piece of clothing that separates them from one another, it’s done with painstaking love and care, as if neither of them are sure this will happen again so they’ll both bother taking their time to remember every detail as it happens. Her eyes glance over his bandaged shoulder with a moment of hesitation, “Maybe you should rest-” But his lips are crushing hers and along with that, any argument she may put up for him needing to save his energy.

“I could be dying and I’d have the strength for this,” He promises against her neck lasciviously. It’s with that breathy confession that she loses any willpower she has left. She’s lost to her desires, and to his.

She isn’t sure how much time has passed when she finds salacious release for the third time since they started their passionate foray, but she knows she’s absolutely spent and he must be too as she collapses against his chest shortly thereafter. A million thoughts are swirling through her mind now and she isn’t sure where to begin.

She starts first with, “I love you, Arch.”

He smiles, pressing a kiss between her breasts. “I love you, too.”

The fire crackles behind them and she snuggles herself closer against his side, pressing a lazy kiss to his shoulder. “We could stay here,” She whispers the words into existence. “Me, you, Vegas…”

“Betty…” He doesn’t want to ruin this beautiful experience by telling her that it’s not realistic, instead he uses his arm to pull her closer. “We don’t have to decide anything tonight, let’s just enjoy-”

“I’m serious, Arch.” She props herself up on his chest and stares at him plainly, as if she’s already considered all the options and her mind’s been made up. “There’s nothing for me in Riverdale. My mom is…” She shrugs, not bothering to finish. “There just isn’t anything there for me, okay? You can do whatever you want, but I’m not going back.”

She speaks with such self-assurance that he can’t argue. These aren’t the words of some delusional teenage girl who wants to live in a fantasy world. They’re the ones of a person who has been looking for a way out for far too long and now that she’d seen one? She couldn’t go back even if she wanted to.

He studies her face, shadows casting against it as the firelight dances. “Okay,” He nods, tilting her chin up so his lips are hovering over hers. “We won’t go back.” His words are more like a pledge than anything else. Then, he voices one final promise, his eyes finding hers again, “I love you, more than anything. That will never change.”

“More than anything. Forever.” She agrees, stealing one more kiss from his lips before snuggling against his chest desirously, as a thick haze of sleep finally came for them both.

[randomingoftherandomness]

Gab’s Top 10 Shows [June 2019]

So, if you have followed my blog for a bit, you’d know that I watch a bit (and by a bit I do mean quite a lot) of shows. I should have done a list like this earlier, but like, here we are. And these are my Top 10 shows as of June 2019. Might do another one of these if the world doesn’t explode by December.

10. HIStory3: Trapped (Line TV/Choco TV) - If I know anything, I know that I am always up for more positive LGBT rep in Asian media. I adored every moment I spent with this, and yes, there’s still miles to go in terms of addressing some of the issues faced by the Asian LGBT, I am happy with what I got with this one. It is definitely ‘bolder’ than its predecessors. Important to note though: the acting is a bit hammy, and there is an assault scene that never truly gets resolved satisfactorily, but if you can live with these, give this one a shot. 

9. Brooklyn Nine Nine Season 6 (NBC) - Let me just start this off by saying that I love the way the B99 fandom came together and got the Godfathers of the Nine Nine involved, which culminated in their pick up by NBC. This season was consistently funny and heart-wrenchingly good; tackling both the light hearted moments and the serious moments/topics with equal grace, and they definitely did not miss a beat at all. I cannot wait to see what Season 7 brings.

8. Tidying Up With Marie Kondo (Netflix) - This show changed. My. Life. I’m not being dramatic when I say that I watched the first half of the first episode and watched the rest of the show in the middle of the innards of my closet. This isn’t just a show about home improvement or whatever, and Marie Kondo isn’t about telling you to throw everything away, but only to take your time to recognise the things that make you happy. It is a lesson that I think we can all carry on to every aspect of our lives.

7. The Umbrella Academy (Netflix) - Okay, deadass as a kid who came of age in the noughties, knowing that Gerard Way (the Gerard Way! Who was the soundtrack of many an angst sesh in my room!) was having his work being made into a series? It was everything to me. This show was a wild and fun and at times, heartbreaking ride. It makes you pause to evaluate the relationships you have in your life; whether your influence and presence in others is a positive one or not. But honestly, it’s not that deep. I just loved watching all the violence and the crazy shit that hit the fan.

6. Love, Sex & Robots (Netflix) - Now, this here was one that I didn’t expect to like. An anthology series from Netflix which is somewhat taking a play out of Black Mirror’s playbook, all the episodes are animated (or in the case of Ice Age, semi-animated) to great effect. Thought provoking, dark, and at times, horrifying, there were some that didn’t do it for me, then there were some that I have rewatched at least thrice since (see Good Hunting, Suits and The Secret War). 

5. A Discovery of Witches (Sky One) - Another adaptation and this time from Deborah Harkness’ All Souls trilogy (which you should check out if you have the time). Between Matthew Goode low polished growl and the view of the dreaming spires of Oxford, this was everything I had envisioned the book to be, come to life. There isn’t a spare moment in this show. Everything was dream woven and I adored how fleshed out everything feels, considering Season 1 only had 8 episodes. 

4. Star Trek: Discovery Season 2 (Netflix) - This season broke me. It fucking broke me into pieces and then reassembled me again. Many tears were shed whilst watching this. It expanded the Star Trek mythos in such wonderful ways, making us fall in love with the Discovery crew and making us root for them, giving us such wonderful representation of humanity and compassion, empathy and love in all its facets, in all its forms. I could wax lyrically about this all day, so if Season 1 was a bumpy ride for as it was for me, give it another go, and do yourself a favour and watch this.

3. Good Omens (Amazon Prime) - Look, I’ll be the first to admit it, but when I heard that they were making a Good Omens TV adaptation, I was on the fence about it. For me, my Crowley and Aziraphale were Peter Serafinowicz and Mark Heap from the radio adaptation, and I still believe that Peter would’ve knocked Crowley out of the park even though I had the highest of faith in David Tennant. I fell in love with this from the get go, and I am so supremely glad that I got to watch it. The first half of Episode 3 is a particular favourite, and I loved the rather ominous hint at the end of the series. Should they opt to do a Season 2, I wouldn’t be against it at all.

2. Dark (Netflix) - I’ve seen this show being recommended to me for awhile now, and I’d put off watching it. I regret that. It’s a masterpiece, this show. Everything is connected and if you take your eyes off for even a second, you are going to be doing connect the dots Charlie Day meme style. This show forces you to question everything, to pay attention, to be aware. I find myself having to consciously will myself to do tasks, and to exist outside the need and urge to bury and drown myself in Dark. Season 3 cannot come any sooner. I don’t think I have felt so strongly about a show like this in awhile now and I cannot find it in myself to temper the burning urge to consume any and all fanmade media and interact with everyone in the Dark fandom for theory crafting and/or just to scream about my feels because I’m unfortunately very alone here haha... Super sidenote, and unpopular opinion, but Dark > Stranger Things. Everyone is sleeping on this show and it’s about time y’all woke up.

1. Chernobyl (HBO) - If you don’t watch anything else from this list, if you don’t watch anything else this year, watch this. I will scream it from the mountain tops, and I will die on this hill, watch. This. Show. Jared Harris was tragically divine and wonderful, and Stellan Skarsgard was exquisite and brilliant, and if this show doesn’t get its dues from all its peers during awards season, I will fucking flip. This show is a one in a lifetime kind of thing, and everyone from the actors to the writers to the set designers did their jobs with such respect and deference to the actual 1986 Chernobyl event, and I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to have a satisfying conclusion to a narrative (yes, I am shading Game of Thrones). I feel so strongly about this show. It is horrifying to watch. It is soul gripping. It is the story of sacrifices made, and the price of lies and the cost of truth. It is a story of the common people and the ones who paid the price for what is right. It’s not the highest rated show on IMDB for no reason.

[ambivalentangst]

Cry and Scream, Soldier

do you guys ever have those people, especially the ones you only have online, that make your day like,, a solid 308% better?? Always? Because same and I LOVE ONE OF MINE TO PIECES, so I had to make something for their birthday. Without naming names, thanks for putting up with my bullshit for almost three years now—this one’s for you

tw: emotional trauma, self hatred, and descriptions of violence

Lance has always had a lot of nervous energy, but ever since that last mission gone wrong, he hasn’t let it out. There’s no room for that, and so his fingers remain still on the table where before he’d have all but worn a hole through the smooth surface with his tapping. His feet stay firmly on the ground, his lip remains free from teeth that want to nip at it.

Lance stares at the ceiling of the common room and does not move.

He supposes it’s not all bad, the tension building within him like a rubber band slowly being stretched too taut. He knows that he used to put Pidge on edge in the form of a lingering distraction on the outskirts of her brilliant mind. He hopes the lack of fidgeting is easier for her than for Lance. Every glance at the shine of his new fingers makes his stomach clench painfully, and he cannot allow himself to think about it.

He’s sweaty, just come back from training. He’s never liked training all that much, but he understands it to be necessary. Lance can feel the lecherous eyes of his own incompetence boring holes into his back, anyhow. He feels it splash against his calves, bite at his heels. He craves anything that means he won’t be left behind, so he’s forced himself to wrap the hideous amalgamations he calls hands around the handle of his sword, to press over the triggers of his rifles. Lance, at meals where everyone looks at him like he’s made of glass, jokes about his grip being easier with the lack of sweat.

Lance blinks at the sound of footsteps from down the hall. He’s found routine in that, the smile that hurts his cheeks but one he wears anyway when his teammates are around. His hand digs into his pocket, fumbling for the orange screen he pretends to be enamored with. In truth, sometimes Lance looks back on all the pictures he’s taken with the aliens they’ve saved and hopes in some private part of him that they’ll still appreciate him the same way despite everything.

Keith walks in and Lance greets him cheerfully. “Hey, mullet,” he tells him and stretches exaggeratedly in a practiced motion.

Keith’s acknowledging nod is jerky and over with quickly. “Lance.” Lance has always been a good actor, and he is as effervescent as ever as he tucks his hands under his thighs. “Coran mentioned that you’ve been logging a lot more hours on the training deck recently. You’re still,” Keith fumbles, and Lance thinks about how painfully obvious it is that he’s still uncertain of what to do with the mantle of a leader, “okay, right? Eating and sleeping and everything?”

Lance laughs, though is careful to make sure the sound doesn’t come off as mocking. Keith is still stumbling to find his footing on unfamiliar terrain, and Lance refuses to be the one to shove him off balance. “Yeah, don’t worry about me, Keithy-boy. I’m fine. Peachy. Dandy. Right as rain. The list goes on.” Lance will not drag Keith down with him into his muddled mind and scream ridden slumbers, even at his own expense. He is fine, will make himself fine for their new leader who is still mourning his lost brother, though nothing is final yet. He won’t let Keith blame himself, and so he smiles.

“Okay,” Keith tells him awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot. “It’s just, you know, you didn’t do that before. And I thought it was weird. So I’m checking on you.” Keith’s efforts to care are comforting and make the curve of Lance’s scarred lips more genuine. They aren’t awful. They didn’t have to be remade, and as it is, the svelte lines crossing them are only visible under a bright light, a little white shine on his mouth that isn’t quite natural.

Lance nods in understanding, though doesn’t wave him off. His hands are much better off shoved into his pockets or smothered under his flight suit. “That’s good.” The phrase isn’t quite right, and Lance tries again. Tries to play at normality, like he hasn’t had claws pierce the mouth he can never seem to stop running. “It’s good to see you. How’s being leader treating you?” Lance is good at deflecting, just as he is good at being casual about everything else. He steers conversations with invisible suggestions and hints at matters he never directly brings up.

Keith’s mouth pinches and Lance is only more certain that he made the right choice when he sacrificed himself for him all those weeks ago. Keith is strong and fierce and everything Lance longs to be. He could never withstand his absence. “It’s hard,” Keith whispers after a moment of silence, almost ashamedly. Anger at whatever has made Keith embarrassed to show that kind of weakness builds to the cusp of a boil in Lance’s stomach. “Shiro was so much better at this, at everything. He knew everyone, how to be sure that we’re safe and given the support we need and I’m just scrambling to keep up with it all. There’s always another battle and sometimes I just want a break. Shiro never had to take a break. He was fine, but he’s better and I’m not. I’m just a kid.”

Keith’s voice cracks and Lance motions for him to sit. He doesn’t touch him—not anymore, not with his mechanic joints that never move as much as flesh and bone once did—but he does draw a blanket around his shoulders. “You don’t have to be Shiro. We’re not expecting you to be. When you became leader we took you as Keith, and that’s all we want. We all need a break. It’s okay to take one and to not be able to handle it all to start with. It’s,” Lance pauses because he knows all too well just how futile the fight they’ve adopted is. He thinks of white masks and twitching fingers before he can continue. “It’s not something you can take on alone. We’re here to make sure you don’t have to.”

Keith nods and Lance takes note of the way he tugs the fabric down a little more snugly. “Thanks, Lance. I’m, God, I’m so sorry for putting this on you, especially after I got you—”

His voice catches, and Lance shakes his head quickly as he cuts him off. “Nope! Nopity nope, not your fault. I don’t want to hear it. I made the sacrifice play, got my ass handed to me, and now I’m back home gearing up to return the favor. Nothing Lancey-Lance can’t handle.” He smiles brighter, wider, as though that light will cancel out the darkness blurring features but not the laughs the Galra made as they mutilated him slowly, carefully.

Keith’s face contorts now, looking angry. “They’re gonna’ pay for what they did to you, Lance,” he snarls. Lance ignores the jump of his heart at the familiarity of the sound. He goes to deflect—always avoiding anything that isn’t everybody else—but Keith isn’t done. “Your hands, your legs. They’ll regret it all.” Lance wants to tell Keith to stop, that he hates the mention of his defects and the pain. His kneecaps had been fixed, but Pidge and Hunk had had to get to work on crafting his new fingers. Lance has blocked out those first few days he spent going without. He’s never felt more pathetic than when Hunk spooned goo onto his tongue because neither hand had the ability to hold the utensil itself.

Keith is gathering speed now, vicious and furious, as he rants about what Lance and his tormentors deserve. Lance is able to handle it with bated breath until Keith says something about the fact that he missed all of Lance’s animation and chatter while the team tore themselves apart finding him. The shout builds unexpectedly, frantically from someplace terrified and twisted inside Lance. “Shut up! There’s no need for revenge because I’m okay and I don’t need to move like that anymore and everything is fine!”

This is not fine, not the tears building in Lance’s eyes, nor the suffocating tightness in his throat.

“I’m okay and everyone can just move on and stop worrying about every damn thing because I’m doing everything like they asked. I won’t tap or twist or talk back or anything anymore because my hands are disgusting enough as is—I don’t need any more alterations.” He spits the word like it’s poison, thinking of the druids and their cackling laughter as Lance howled in agony. “I’ll do everything like I’m supposed to and help everyone forget that I’m wrong now, so if everybody could shut up and let me that’d be great.” Lance pants, chest heaving while the world crashes down around him in memories and magenta.

Lance’s foot shakes.

A blade severs his pinky from its knuckle.

He forgets what they asked of him, alone in his cell while he wonders if it’s night or day. His knee knocks against the ground—Lance is always moving, always speaking, never still—and there goes his ring finger too.

Lance screams and screams and screams and tries to learn, but a lifetime of motion is not stopped so easily. When his hands have been stripped bare they move onto his knees. Those break and heal and break again in a hideous cycle.

Keith’s hands are shaking Lance’s shoulders and though he desperately wants an outlet, some form of release, he does nothing but meet Keith’s eyes while someone pulls at the string that is the only thing holding him together. Lance hears his voice through dim halls and lurking, yellow eyes, cutting through the acrid fear that has seized Lance. “Lance—Lance? Lance, come on, talk to me.”

Keith’s voice is frantic and Lance remembers his resolve to make being leader easier for him. He finds his voice, lost somewhere that Lance can’t place. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he tells him and hopes Keith’s woeful lack of social aptitude will be enough to disguise the tremor in his voice. “It’s okay, look, I’m sorry for freaking out,” Lance has to pause to suck in air, though he does not remember doing anything that would leave him breathless, “don’t worry about it. Don’t tell the others.”

Lance hates this, the phantom touch of Keith’s hands holding his own. (He craves the contact, and clings to it like it’s his only anchor in a storm cleaving the ocean in two.) “I’m fine,” he murmurs desperately, even as somehow his head is pressing itself into the space between Keith’s neck and shoulder. The spot molds itself to Lance and it’s the warmest thing he’s felt since the smell of garlic and the salt of the sea was more than a memory. Later he’ll wonder how Keith felt—he’s always regarded touch like it’s more alien than the ship they’ve all made home—but all Lance can think in the moment is that he’s so, so grateful he’s there.

“I’m fine,” he says as he sobs and gets Keith’s shirt all wet while his fingers that are his own and somehow not fist in the fabric of it. “Leave. I know you’re busy. I don’t want to take up your time.” Keith’s arms are around him and they’re just as clumsy as he always is in times like these, not at all like the sure grip he maintains when he flies. Lance wants it, needs it.

“I’m fine,” he whispers and Keith doesn’t pretend to believe him, but he does stay. Lance is not fine, but he also cannot ask for anything more.