#hoping to break out the tablet again before i die of old age

[thatonegayship]

[josnhoes]

Okay I finally know what I'm gonna ask for the kid but also not kid Au

What if they are like a ghost or some type of yokai, like imagine them explaining how they die and the whole nrc is 😶 it depends on you how they die— (gosh I'm so bad at this 😦) can I get a reaction how the dorm leaders react to the mc being a ghost or a yokai—? I like to think most of them r gonna said 'oh no :( you died at such a young age' and the mc is like 🧍‍♀️ (I hope you can understand this 😢💀 I'm so bad at this as this is my first time ) oh and take your time! Love your content btw ❤️

I understood it no problems. Thank you so much for requesting and I apologize for the delay. I was asleep. Mind you I didn't get much sleep but still.

Going with Yokai since twist has ghosts so I wanna shake it up. Going with a kitsune because little kid with fox tail and ears would just melt so many hearts.

Content warning angst that gives way to comfort, reader has died in the past, reader was murdered in a botched mugging

You had no issues with the fact you had died before. After all you had gotten a second chance as a kitsune. A second chance you always made the best of. So when you awoke in NRC you were so upset with your small form. All your tails but one where gone!

Night Raven Collage had been much much more lively since your arrival, you made friends and family. But as much fun as you were having the anniversary of you death, and subsequent rebirth was on you. This day was always bitter sweet, yes you had a new life and powers and cute ears and tails, but you had to give up your loved ones.

It's a dorm leader meeting where the reason for your down trotten mood comes out. Kalim had asked, and while they all knew your were a yokai they didn't know you weren't born one. The room goes silent frozen in dread as you answered the ball of sunshine, "Oh I'm just sad because this is the day I died."

The room swiftly devolves into chaos. Idia from his tablet is actually the one to manage to ask, "What do you mean by died?"

"Oh I wasn't always a yokai, I... I was headed home one night," it was so obvious talking about it hurt but they doubted you'd told *anyone* before now. "It was late and I tried taking a short cut," the room is more silent then you thought could be possible. "A man grabbed me, demanded everything I had if I wanted to live. I didn't have much, an old phone and some IDs. I guess he couldn't control his temper when he realized nothing I had was of value. I.." Tears are starting to roll down your face. "I still remember the burning from the knife as he kept stabbing me. I-... A kitsune saw it all and felt pitty for me, gave my soul one of his tails and told me to find a new life. I-" you held your tail close and began sobbing. It really was the first time you'd spoken about it.

The silence aside from you sobs now spoke levels of rage, sadness, and disbelief. Riddle broke the silence, "Who mugs *a child*?" And the room treatens to erupt into chaos once more. But those pathetic sobs of yours stops them all.

Kamil is crying with you and he pulls you into a hug allowing you to cling to him. It was surreal seeing the two biggest sunshines on campus so sad.

Riddle, Malleus, and Leona are all moments away from storming out to find your killer. Vil and Azul felt their hearts break.

Soon all of them are taking turns hugging you. Making various promises to give you a happy second life. Though inside they all feel guilt at their overbolts and that you a child who had been murdered had to be the one to fix it. They acted like their problems were so bad but you had been killed. When one of the Dormleaders mention that later on you comfort them saying how suffering *isn't* a competition. They were supposed to comfort you yet here you were comforting them once again.

[clockworkspider]

for the kisses prompt, reikei and as a distraction !

I was gonna set this in Yumenosaki cause I'm not caught up but they were way too divorced back then for this to work... So it's set in RhyLin... I'll re-write this after eng localization reaches Succession Match and I actually catch up.

—

There was something wrong with the budget calculation. There had to be. There was no way the total was that low. Anzu might be a miracle worker, but even she couldn’t manage to get it this slim. If she was doing unpaid tailoring work and buying materials out of her own pocket again, then Keito would need a word with her. They were working professionals with proper resources, and the Producer should properly utilize all that ES had to offer. That was the whole point—

Keito’s train of thoughts was interrupted by a knock on his desk. 

“Your unitmates asked me to fetch you for dinner.” The culprit was one Sakuma Rei, whom he’s currently collaborating with on the fusion live. 

“You guys go ahead,” Keito looked back down to the file on his tablet, “I just need to check something real quick, I’ll join you after.” Now… the budget is… costume, set, venue…

“Is that what you used to say before you spend the night at the student council office?” Rei asked, amused. It must have been a while since his old friend got his hand on some solid paperwork. Looks like old habits die hard. 

“Hm? Yeah,” Keito answered non-comitally. Sakuma went on to say something else, and Keito waved goodbye without paying much attention. Security, production… Aha! There it is, this has to be a typo… Unless—

What happened next was too fast for Keito to process. First, Sakuma’s pressed down on the tablet in Keito’s hand, and all of a sudden they were way too close. He leaned down, and placed what must have been a kiss on Keito’s forehead. 

The previous train of thought about the project budget is now lost in nirvana. 

For a moment Keito could only frown, before shoving Sakuma away. Sakuma, to his credit, backed off gracefully without stumbling, protecting the tablet with both arms. 

“Why did you do that?” He demanded, too confused to be offended. 

“Looks like I finally got your attention.” Rei smiled, nonchalant, “It’s time to take a break, I’ll help you look these over after sundown. Don’t make your team wait for you.” 

“You’re not one to act so frivolously. If you wanted my attention, there were other means.” Keito continued to frown. This was technically a lie. Sakuma Rei did frivolous things all the time, just not when it came to them. There was a layer of thin ice underneath their feet, getting thinner by the days, and Keito wonders which would happen first, if it would one day crack beneath them, or if they could stay weightless as it melts into water. 

“I’m not,” Rei said, while the smile remained on his face, there was no jest in his tone. He opened his mouth, but no other words came out before he closed it again. His eyes reflected the red of the evening sun, and Keito was abruptly reminded of the time they first met; the other child, so beautiful and ethereal in the graveyard that Keito did not think he was real. Age has only enhanced Rei Sakuma’s beauty, but Keito knew that the man standing before him was flesh and blood. If he were to reach forward—

Keito sighed, and let himself smile, letting the ice beneath his feet thaw a little further. “Alright,” he said, “let’s get dinner.” 

—

Anyway I hope this works. If you have characterization notes to share please feel free to enlighten me.

On another note, it seems like Rei in the anime is very touchy feely, but I don't really see that from the one in the game. It could just be the nature of VN that people mostly just express themselves in dialogues.

Drop me a note with any two ! characters and a prompt and I'll try my best to write you something.

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ four

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ Word Count: 4.1k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒

mists of celeste act one ➻ part four

​

The air around you is stiff and unmoving, cold as ice yet you don't feel goosebumps rising across your skin. A dark night sky looms above you with its scattering of bright stars. Near the center of the indigo sea lies a brilliant red moon; bright in it's blinding color. Something about the scene is familiar, the clearness of the sky reminds you of something from your past. No clouds, no breeze, no sounds of nightlife.

It's a sense of complete and utter peace. Something damp seeps through your clothing, touching your skin and leaving you cold. You sit up and press your palms to the ground below you. Instead of meeting solid ground, however, you're met by water. It splashes against your bare legs, and you withdraw your hands from the surface in an instant.

Water?

You bring your chin up, glancing across your surroundings. It's a lake, a shallow one yes, considering that your legs aren't fully submerged and you seem to be placed in the middle of it. A chill runs down your spine. You know exactly where you are. The water beneath you runs black, and the enormous moon hanging in the sky is only present on one planet. It's only then, when you discern where you are, that you realize you're in a dream and not reality. You push yourself to your feet, nearly slipping on the slick mud beneath the layer of black water. With a quick glance down at your body, you see that a thin white garb clings to your skin. It's something you would never wear willingly, and seeing as there's an old man perched at the opposite side of the lake, you know that he must be in control of this realm.

You wade through the water in the direction of the man. As you get closer, his features become more clear under the vibrant red moonlight. A familiar face to go along with the familiar scenery. He prods at the pebbles along the shore of the lake with a crooked stick, paying you no attention even as you splash water across the rocks with your steps.

"It's been a while since I've seen you, old man," you greet, soft tone carrying through the air with ease in the absence of a breeze. The rugged form before you doesn't move. He continues to prod at the stones near your feet and pushes black water against your ankles. You wait a moment in the hopes that he'll look up at you and respond, but he still acts as though you don't exist.

"Daichi," you try again in attempts to garner his attention. It works this time.

His chin snaps up, a wrinkled face becoming clear before you, and blue eyes stare into yours. Piercing and cold, just as you remember from your last encounter with the aged man.

"Ah, Umiko." His wrinkled lips stretch into a smile, unveiling yellowed teeth that are only accentuated by the moonlight above your heads.

"That's not my name," you refute. Daichi continues speaking as though you didn’t say a word, eyes falling together as he smiles without cease.

“It’s been quite a whi–”

“I said that’s not my name,” you repeat with a bit more venom creeping into your tone. “It hasn’t been for a very long time.”

“Hmm.” He hums, looking up at you with those perceptive eyes. You can almost see your reflection in them, between the clear blueness and the gleam of the moonlight coming down on them. “Do you remember what it means?”

“Child of the sea,” you answer without hesitation, the words ingrained in your brain after hearing the phrase repeated over and over.

“Child of the sea. I wonder if your new name is as fitting for you? Y/N, is it?”

“It’s far more fitting than Umiko ever was,” you mutter in response, turning your head away from the old man.

“Have you done well, child?”

“As well as I could, and things are as good as they can be given the… situation,” you respond with a flatness to your tone that Daichi mimics with his next words.

“You’re not safe where you are now.”

“Here I thought you didn’t give two shits about my well being.”

“Umiko, listen to me. This is ser–”

“Stop calling me that and maybe I’ll listen!” Your voice booms throughout the clearing. The black water under your feet seems to quiver as you speak. Daichi’s eyes flit down to the ripples across the lake, then back up to you.

“Someone near you is a dangerous threat, one that you’ve never encountered before. You must be careful. Guard yourself wisely.”

“Worry about yourself, old man,” you reply, tone falling back quiet once again. “Besides, it’s pointless for the dead to worry about the living.

“You’re always so sure of yourself, aren’t you? So confident that everything will work out your way? Tell me, Umiko, did things work out your way on Eros the first time you were there? The second? The third?” Daichi pushes himself to his feet. He towers over you as his back straightens, the age seems to ebb away from his body as he moves closer to you. You tilt your head back to get a better look at the man. In his eyes lies disdain. It’s not the first time you’ve seen the emotion from the man. “I said tell me, Umiko?”

“And I said to stop calling me that.” You take a shaky step back, foot nearly catching on the slide of the mud again, but you manage to steady yourself before falling.

“A Siren is nearby, Y/N. You must be careful. He could invade your dream space at any minute. Don’t you realize that? This haven, this paradise, this dream so close to your heart is vulnerable. Guard yourself against him.”

“I don’t need your advice anymore, old man. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m an adult now and old enough to make my own decisions and give myself advice.” You spin on your heel, toes digging into the mud as you move, and face the opposite direction. Blinking down at the swirling waters under you, you take a deep breath before sharing your final words with Daichi. “There are no Sirens left. All they are is a myth, one that needs to die like every other myth in existence.” Your reflection in the water looks back at you, ripples across its face before you kick it away in anger.

Your words earn you no response from the old man behind you, although you weren’t expecting much in the first place. The dream is beginning to fade, darkness swirling into one large mass, but before the serenity around you can disappear entirely, you catch sight of something new. Amongst everything that is familiar and known, this is completely foreign. A new figure, shorter than Daichi for certain, but also bearing dark hair. He stands off at the other side of the lake, near the shore like Daichi had been, but his back is facing you. He bears garbs like yours, white and flowing despite the lack of a breeze.

In all the dreams you’ve had similar to this one, no one other than Daichi has paid you any visits. You know it’s too late for you to investigate now, the dream is dissipating too quickly, but that doesn’t keep you from breaking into a sprint in his direction. Feet splash against the water, bringing it up against your legs. Your running serves no purpose in the long run; before you even near the figure in the distance, your dream fades away and bleeds into white.

You jolt as though shocked, body lurches forward, and you find yourself surrounded by white all the sudden.

“Holy fuck!” The words, surprisingly, don’t fall from your lips. Instead, it’s the kind and gentle doctor from before, standing at your side as you come to again. “You scared the hell out of me!”

You don’t manage to respond, chest heaving as though you’ve just sprinted a mile in your sleep, and all you can do is lay back on the bed slowly.

“Are you alright?” Yunho inquires, one hand coming to rest on your shoulder as you fall back against the bed.

“Y-Yea, yea. I think I was just having a nightmare.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re finally awake now. I was worried I had accidentally put you in a coma or something like that. Your heart rate seems to be awfully low still – well it was before you woke up at least – but it’s not causing any issues. How are you feeling?”

“I feel fine, yea. No issues here.” You glance around the room with wide eyes. Things are still a bit hazy seeing as you just woke up, but it’s all clearing up rather quickly. “How long was I out this time?”

“What?” Yunho turns away from you, fiddling a bit with the tablet in his hands. “What do you mean by “this time”? This is the first time you’ve woken up since I conducted the operation.”

“No? That’s not right,” you refute. “I woke up some time ago and tried getting up but… something happened. I think someone stopped me? Someone with dark hair? He used a sedative shot on me.”

“Well over half the crew has dark hair, so you might need to be a bit more specific on that one.” Yunho chuckles at his own comment. When he notices that you aren’t even smiling, he clears his throat and redirects the conversation. “Your vitals were all stable throughout the day. I never noticed anything out of the ordinary, and neither did my assistant. It must have been a dream due to your fever since it didn’t completely break until yesterday.”

“Yesterday being?”

“Yesterday was day 3 of you being unconscious and day 7 aboard the ship.”

“Ah… so why – why did the captain withdraw his time limit?”

“Oh, he was never serious about that!” Yunho laughs again, then sets his tablet down. “I finished operating on you in 17 hours so I guess he was a bit impressed, but he was never going to actually stop me from helping you. He always says things like that but is never serious. Just wary of strangers on his ship, you know?” Yunho glances over at you as he speaks, and you nod in return. He moves closer to the bed, long fingers dancing over your forearm and toying with the catheter sticking out of your skin. “Your vitals are all stable and steady, so that means you’re pretty much good to go. I just need to make sure you’re all functional and such. Routine checks, yea? Same routine I use for every crew member.”

“What do you mean by crew member?” You ask with a slight tilt to your chin.

“Hm? I didn’t say that?”

“I-I – no, I’m pretty sure you di–”

“Let’s get you to your feet.” Yunho disconnects the IV from your catheter, tugging it out gently, then holds you by the forearms as he pulls you up from the bed. “I need you to walk to the end of the room and back, okay?”

“Why exactly?” Your legs feel a bit like jelly when you get up, but staying in the same bed for three days straight probably doesn’t help one bit. “It was my arm that was shot not my leg.” Yunho laughs as though you just made the best joke in the universe.

“That doesn’t matter. This isn’t about seeing if your arm works. I’m quite confident in my abilities as a healer, thank you very much. This is just to test your strength and see if your body matches your mind, not a test of the recovery of your injury. That will come later with Hongjoong and the Lieutenant.”

You relent with a sigh, twisting your arm so that you can grip Yunho's elbow in case you begin to fall, and move forward with hesitant steps. Yunho stays close to you as you walk, thanks in part to the death grip you have on him.

"How are you feeling so far?" He asks after you've taken a few steps.

"Just fine." The steps are coming easy so far but that relief doesn't last long. By the time you reach the midpoint of the room, the muscles in your legs are beginning to feel weak and shaky. Yunho moves with you as you stumble on your next step, his free hand darting out to latch onto your arm and support you further.

A ding and whoosh resound behind you two, and Yunho snaps his head towards the door. You follow suit a moment later. It’s San – the little Cheshire with the streak of white hair – who stands in the doorway, eyes narrowed and piercing as he scans the room before his gaze lands on you.

“Captain wants to see you, Healer,” he announces while keeping his gaze fixated on you. “If Y/N is up, that’s even better because he wanted to speak about her.” San nods in your direction but his words are unmistakably meant for Yunho.

“Couldn’t Captain come to the med bay instead? Y/N still isn’t strong enough to walk around much since she’s been bedridden for so long. Besides she only just woke up today.”

“Listen, I was just sent to fetch you and check up on her,” San says. He lifts his arms as though to defend himself, finally dragging his gaze off you.

“It’s not your job to check up on patients, San,” Yunho argues as he releases your arm and takes a step in the other man’s direction. “Here’s your checkup though: she’s not well enough to walk all the way to the bridge of Captain’s quarters.”

San’s expression remains stony as he blinks back at Yunho without moving. The silence is deafening until San decides to respond, matching the vehemence in Yunho’s tone. “I’ll inform Captain then.”

Yunho huffs when San spins around with an added flair of drama. Once the door slides shut again, you opt to speak up on the ordeal that just transpired.

“Are things always so tense between the two of you? This isn’t the first time I’ve witnessed you argue and I’ve only been awake for a grand total of 3 hours at best in your presence.”

“Just… a difference of personalities.” Yunho drags his tongue over his teeth, turning back to you. He rests a hand on your back and guides you back to the bed. “I save people. San kills people. That’s how things work. Our jobs. It’s what we’re supposed to do, what we’re here for, why Hongjoong recruited us in the first place. We’re polar opposites.”

“San and I aren’t much different then,” you say, tone quiet and eyes watching Yunho’s face for any change in expression. He shakes his head a few times.

“Quite different actually. San has killed people I could’ve saved in the past. Taken my patients from me and killed them without reason. You haven’t done that.”

“Is it the other way around as well?”

A laugh breaks through the tension of the room, and Yunho throws his head back. “Yes. If I’m going to save someone, then I will do just that. I’ve stopped San in the past.” He eases you onto the bed, moving to pick up the IV. You blink at him, only now noticing that there’s a certain brightness to him that wasn’t present when you first met him.

“Wait…” His hands hesitate near your catheter, eyes darting up to meet yours. “Has – has your hair always been blue? I thought – I could’ve sworn it was different when – was it just my fever?”

Yunho laughs again and continues his motions. “At least your senses are still intact even if your muscles aren’t. It was different a few days ago, yes. I just changed it because another crew member asked me to dye his hair, so I went ahead and joined in on the fun with him.”

“Wow, a healer and a hairstylist? Hongjoong got quite the catch, didn’t he? What can’t you do?” You joke as Yunho reattaches the wires.

“Not much, honestly!” Yunho responds with equal humor to his tone. “I’m good at everything really.” He sends a wink your way, and you nearly choke on your saliva. He has no shame. None whatsoever.

“Pardon?”

“You heard me. Don’t act shy on me now.” Yunho pulls back, a smirk playing at his lips and you don’t know how to react other than to swing your foot out. You hit him in the shin, his body bends in half, a choked laugh escaping from his parted lips. “Damn, okay then. Noted. Y/N and dirty jokes don’t play well. Could you try stretching your arms a bit? I wanna see how the right one is doing.”

You do as asked, moving and stretching your arms out to the side.

“If the stitches bother you or start coming apart at all, let me know. I can go in with laser stitching now that it’s been a few days. I wasn’t able to close it all the way initially so I couldn’t do laser stitching.”

“It feels normal,” you admit as you rotate your arm. “A bit sore, if nothing else.” Frankly, if not for the bandage around your bicep, you wouldn’t even know that there’s a hole in your arm; it just feels like you had an awkward fall on it.

“Good, good. I put you back on the IV just to maintain fluid levels. We can probably try to get you some real food and water today after Captain visits.”

“That’d be nice,” you murmur more to yourself than to Yunho. The minimal snacking you did over the first few days aboard the ship was nice and all, but a proper meal sounds much more desirable.

“Is your side feeling alright as well? I almost forgot to ask.”

“What? Oh, uh, I forgot all about that.”

“That’s a good sign! Not forgetting, but it must mean that you aren’t in any pain. I figured out what happened with that by the way. The pneumothorax was caused by a severe force to your left side. You likely got it after you were shot or while adrenaline was still pumping through you since you didn’t seem to be showing any signs of pain there. Do you remember getting hit in the side or anything like that?”

You stare down at the bed, rummaging through your brain for any memory of a close-quartered fight. The only thing you remember is getting in a small scuffle with the dark-haired man guarding the docking station.

He kicked me after I pinned him down, didn’t he? Must have. How else would I have gotten the injury?

“Yea vaguely.”

“Well, the details aren’t important. I fixed it all up regardless.” Yunho hums and moves around the bed to sit atop a small stool. He peers at you in silence for a moment. You stare back, matching his silence.

“Well this is awkward,” Yunho announces after basking in the quiet for a few minutes. “Maybe I should go back to the dirty jokes and innuendos.”

“No, no, no!” You protest in an instant. “Please don’t.”

“Ha! Here I thought they were gonna grow on you. What else is there to talk about? Captain is taking his sweet time walking over here.” Yunho taps his chin, eyes leaving yours to stare up at the ceiling instead. “Oh, where are you from? I’ve… well, there’s no nice way to put this really, so I’ll just spit it out. I’ve seen you on bounty papers before. Frankly, I know next to nothing about you aside from the information on the bounties. Which is limited to a list of your crimes and missing data.”

“That’s because I normally make a point to keep it that way. The less people know about me, the less likely it is for them to find me. Makes sense, yeah?”

“Makes sense but… it sounds like a lonely life. Always living in fear of who might see you or find you. Never telling anyone anything about yourself. Not being able to trust anyone because you worry that they might sell you out.”

“Go out and get a bounty the size of mine on your head. Talk to me about trust after that.” Your words come out with a bit more scathing fervor than you intended, but the point still stands. The difference between you and Yunho is the bounty. Yours is what? Three? Four? Five times the size of his? Not to mention you are wanted dead whereas Yunho is wanted alive.

“It wasn’t meant as an attack, Y/N. Honestly, it wasn’t. I feel for you, that’s all. I wouldn’t wish that kind of loneliness on anyone.”

You pause, eyes trailing over Yunho’s form as he brings his gaze back to you. Sadness lingers in his gaze, a sadness you wish not to confront, and thus you divert the subject again.

“What have you seen on the bounty papers?”

“This and that. They’re all the same, aren’t they?”

“I make a point of avoiding my own bounty papers.”

“Ha, that’s a fair goal.” Yunho chuckles and leans back, gaze moving for the ceiling again. “I’m from Kebos, if you’ve ever been there.”

“Of course I have,” you answer with a slight smile.

“Of course, of course. You’ve probably been to every planet in Aurum’s system.”

“I have, yes, but not to every city on each planet. I’m still too young for that.”

“Hmm, I was about to be even more impressed but I guess I’ll have to rescind that now. I’m from the biggest city on Kebos, Reinig. Have you been?”

“Only shortly,” you sigh as you push your head back against the pillow. “On military business.” None of your memories from the military are pleasant ones, memories you don’t want to revisit, and thankfully Yunho must get the hint that you don’t want to talk about it.

“Growing up there, I used to think it was the ugliest city but in the winter they put up all these lights. At night the lights make the snow change colors and look absolutely magical.”

“I went in the winter but there wasn’t much time to glance around at the scenery.”

“That’s fair, yeah. I think it loses its appeal as you grow older, but I wouldn’t know that for certain. I haven’t been back to see then in well over ten years I think. My mother… she used to take me to the winter festivals when I was little.” There is a tinge of sadness to Yunho’s tone at the mention of his mother. You know that feeling all too well, having been in Yunho’s shoes before.

Yunho’s ego seems to deflate before your very eyes as he frowns at the ceiling.

“Ah but you didn’t come to hear my tragic backstory.”

You open your mouth to respond and reassure the man in some way (even though you don’t know what to say in these sorts of situations), but the chance is stolen from you as another whoosh resounds. Yunho pushes his seat back at the sound and stands up immediately. You move as well, although only with your head.

There in the doorway stands the captain, his platinum hair parted down the middle and fanned over his forehead. He’s not alone either, a much taller man bearing black hair and paled skin at his side. You know that one, and based upon the glare of his eyes as he stares you down, he remembers what you did to him at the docking station. Seonghwa, was it?

You pass a cynical grin his way. “How’s the head, pretty boy?” You ask, drawing a lilt to your tone that’s meant to be snide. The man merely passes a genuine smile back at you.

“Feeling great, princess.” His smile grows as he steps into the room, the shorter captain following suit albeit absent of the pretty smile.

“Lieutenant. Nice of you to join us,” Yunho greets as he steps around the foot of the bed. You instinctively pull yourself up and sit up straighter. “Captain. You as well.”

“Let’s just get to business, Yunho.” Hongjoong steps out from behind the lieutenant’s back, dark eyes boring into you. “I want to get this over with.”

✧  ✧  ✧

a/n: hello hello it’s tuesday yaknow what that means :D i hope you all enjoy this chapter! i pROMISE things will be picking up in terms of speed from now on aofijeoijfdio let me know what you all think of this chappie!

tag list: @faeriewoobin​

consider sending me a ko-fi!!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[jjba-hell]

Revoked

Still late for day 2 but I am enjoying the hell out of these prompts. (Today’s prompt was sci-fi)

Trigger warnings for the death of the ice cream gays but lemme know if I missed anything else.

Summary: a weird mismatched team of busted up aliens and half-blood humans just dealing with some shit.

For the lovely: @lasquadraweek2021

“You should really just transfer to a new body Pros. Humans aren’t supposed to live this long, babe.”

You grumble probably more to yourself than to the man whose forearm you were tinkering in. Well... maybe tinkering wasn’t the word either. He needed another repair and honestly you can’t help but feel like Risotto only offered you the air-mattress in the ship because so many of these psychos have bio-tech they can’t afford to upkeep.

“Sure, I can’t afford a rewire but I can surely afford getting my brain transplanted in a new body.”

“Human bodies are so easy to grow though.” You peer up at him over your magnify glasses with a wriggle of eyebrows. “Fully grown in a quarter rotation? Come on I still have to wait another half rotation to buy a swimsuit let alone grow a body.”

Prosciutto flexed the hand you were working on to spite you but all you did was strap the wrist down and switch off the impulse circuit before getting up and walking toward the exit of the ship where the others were sprawled out in the soft baby blue grass of the planet you were hiding out at.

Melone’s gaze shot from laptop up as you kicked your untied boots from your feet and slid into the grass, barely hearing him as he asked “Any luck with Pros’s arm?”

“I can’t keep mending the same two wires that keep popping off. Its best we find a place that can handle Babyface’s software and get a new one.”

“Still not budging for just replacing the whole thing?” Formaggio asked from somewhere across the clearing.

Like he was one to talk- Akils like him grew back heads and limbs, there wasn’t exactly a need to know anything about biotech.

“Nope. Are all humans this stubborn?”

“I think its the half Megnu in him.” Illuso was the one to chirp in this time.

“That’s still not confirmed.” You sat back on your feet to try and spot your teammates.

“Well he won’t let me analyze.” Melone sighed- continuing to worry away at the clear glass screen that held all his designs.

Melone truly was a bit of a madman to you- he designed the entirety of his body on that simple glass tablet and yet couldn’t finish his face in time before the feds were on him for unethical medical practice- ironic considering he was only putting himself through the strain of fitting his brain into a piece of machinery. What his official titles were in his old field were beyond you.

“Pesci’s not all Scud and he’s not half as stubborn.” You commented and with a soft hum the team fell back into silence.

“Where’s Ris?”

“He’s in bed- that last jump took a toll on him.” Illuso finally rose up from the grass himself heading a bit further away from the clearing, probably wandering after Ghiacchio who was asked to take a lap after he froze off Formaggio’s finger.

You clambered up a few steps to find your captain with the old-fashioned two-way radio in his hand as he lay passed out on couch of the shared living room.

Risotto would rather be caught dead than caught like this so, with intent, you stepped up to take the radio out of his hand. He seemed to gently wake at your fingers prying the piece or equipment from his hand.

“Shit.” He grumbled. “How long-?”

“Ghiacchio’s not even back from his lap- don’t worry. Just head off before they catch you.”

And with a slight groan he rolled up and disappeared down the hallways to his bunk which sounded with an ungraceful “clunk” as he fell into the bed.

Your name got hollered with the slightest tone of desperation from Prosciutto and with that you were back doing your part in the team behind the scene.

“You’re a purebred?” Prosciutto had eventually asked after a few minutes of boredom at watching you weld wires back to the motherboard.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “What am I? A dog?”

He seemed to swallow his words.

“Where do you think I’m from?” You tried to smooth it over.

“Caestea- at least your appearance would have you look like that.”

Another laugh. “I’m from Earth, Pros.”

His eyes widened. “Impossible.”

“Oh yeah. My parents weren’t exactly refugees but they are most certainly not human. Fuck knows what my genetic makeup looks like but thankfully I certainly age like a Caestean. You are all human, huh?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Not that there are many of us left.”

In a sense you felt bad for him. You’d seen photos of Earth long before it started to mimic its brother planet Mars but you rarely thought of how wickedly the planet must have lost its life before intergalactic intervention. Humans were strangely scared and selfish creatures but no one deserved to die because there was no clean water to drink.

You shook off the macabre though before closing up Pros’s arm and putting away the tools. “That should do for now but we really do need to think of a replacement in the near future.”

“Thanks.”

It was a half-assed thank you but it surely caught your attention. Pros was a little too prideful to give just anyone a thanks but nonetheless you returned the sentiment. “No problem.”

Outside the boys were fighting again- or rather Ghiacchio was arguing as Formaggio was pushing his buttons while Pesci grilled a rather obscenely colorful fish over the fire-in-tin.

“Oh just the person we needed to see.”

Getting clasped with two arms over the neck was bad enough but from Sorbet and Gelato, now that was trouble waiting to start.

“Oh gods, what do I have to offer this time.”

“Don’t be so serious!” Sorbet cooed darkly.

“We were just hoping you could help us out with the next target.” His boyfriend added.

If you could just roll your eyes back far enough.

“Wandering off from our captain’s orders doesn’t sound like something I’d want to get myself involved in.”

“Not even for a bionic manufacturer?”

“Or a healing bay, for the ship? Surely you could install those things no problem.”

Honestly it was hard not to fall for the stereotype that all Makzi’s do is play dirty and haggle like merchants but here you were, stuck between them and being tempted into breaking formation with them.

“And what would I have to lose?”

“Nothing much-“

“Maybe some face with Risotto.”

You couldn’t help but scoff. “You want me to convince him?”

“Exactly- he might actually consider something if it came out of your pretty mouth.”

“Or rather, if he could come in it.”

You took one step back and bowed out of the hold between the two of them. “Fucking sleezes. Your shit’s gonna get you killed, mark my words.”

“So its a no?”

“Its a fuck no, Sorbet. Vile comments aside, that shit is expensive, even dent-jobs sell for millions... that kind of money is too big a job for us to handle right now and stealing one even more. Get your heads out of your asses before you come up to me with more dumb shit, next time.”

And with that you slipped back beside Illuso as Pesci was grilling up the third fish for the night. Looking back at what you had said was not untrue. That night you were restless in your bunker above Formaggio- Illuso peering behind the sliding divider across the little hallway that ran between the bed bunks.

“Something on your conscience?”

“No.”

“You sure?” You nearly leapt out of skin as Formaggio’s forehead popped up just below your chin outside your divider. “You’ve turned and kicked like 10 times, babe.”

“Please don’t babe me.” You frown at him but you answered the gnawing feeling by asking. “Where are Sorbet and Gelato?”

“Probably in their bed.” Illuso answered as if there wasn’t a more logical answer.

“Wanna put money on it?” Your eyebrow raised.

“And catch them in the act? Daaamn you’re dirtier than I thought.”

“Come on then, 10 drinks at the next stop they’re not in their bunk.”

“Shit, I can’t miss on that opportunity.” Formaggio’s divider slid open all the way to allow him to plop with bare feet to the double bunks at the end of the hallway.” You and Illuso watched in trepidation as he knelt down and knocked. There was no answer save for Risotto’s stern frown behind the top divider making an appearance. “What do you want?”

“Are Sorbet and Gelato in there?” You piped up first.

The angry frown turned into concern as he slid out of his bunk to replace where Formaggio was. He slid the door open to reveal one big empty bed.

What you’d have given to be wrong. But instead the panic bit you all and soon you were messily slipping on boots and running around the ship to find the missing lovers.

Pesci checked the engine compartments he might have accidentally left open, Pros checked the storage while Risotto was seeing if he could track them on the radar. It was only when you were hoisted onto the roof by Formaggio that the dread set into your bones.

“Tell Ris to switch on the overhead console lights.”

You called back down below you. Part of you wished you didn’t... since all it did was put them on display.

It was a vile thing that made Risotto’s eyes grow darker than they already were and once dawn broke, you and Melone quietly put the bodies into the best makeshift body bags you could manage. The lake a few paces away was where you last saw those body bags.

After you left that pit stop you sat in silence in the communal meeting area, your legs flung over one of the armrests in your seat- staring blankly at the coffee table you’d nipped from a market not too long ago.

“So... what’s the plan?”

You asked at anyone who would listen.

“Do we go on as usual? Find their families?”

“Revenge?”

Your head turned to Prosciutto as he was enjoying one last drag of his cigarette.

“You’re brave.” You huffed a bit of laughter at the thought. The big boss and his cronies- the only real reason none of you strayed from Risotto’s orders was way up on a station so far up the intergalactic alliance ladder that you’d have a better shot at killing the king of Gnomia B908 and getting away with it.

“Why not?” Illuso was the one to back it. “Surely we could track the sick fucks that did it.”

“You’re thinking too simply.” Risotto grumbled over his fist. “They didn’t get themselves killed by accident. This was deliberate- a display not to challenge the higher ups.”

“Any idea what they were planning?” You sat up, propping your elbows onto your knees.

Risotto kindly pulled up their hidden plans- your name encircled in red a few times. They seemed to have had their eye on a biotech printer and medbay that was once used by the Boss himself.

“What’s the relevance of an old medbay?” Pros posed the question to you- Melone was up front with Formaggio.

“Medbays need to keep track of any irregularities in DNA to avoid any incompatibility issues. Its one of the few things that can’t be wiped because its burned into the drive. They were trying to expose the Boss’s identity.”

“And they were planning on risking us all in the process?”

You pointed at a little arrow shooting off your name once more. “They figured I could remove and replace the hard drive before anyone noticed.”

Your throat felt dry as you realized what that meant. Whoever this person was... if they could follow something as irrelevant as a used medbay to keep their tracks clean... chances are you were all, at best, being watched.

The thought must have been shared as Risotto didn’t breathe a word as he moved to the front of the ship and changed course to an unaffiliated vector you know damn well you’d probably be searched and cleansed for.

To no one’s surprise the pristine white towers blinded and no sooner than two seconds of coming into orbit of one of the bigger planets you were requested to land.

You stood beside you captain as the ship docked and you waited with your hands behind your head to greet the haz-mat team. “You must be pretty serious about this if you’re willing to get sit in their prison.”

He gazed down at you and with a deadpan tone simply said: “You’ve escaped, I’m certain you could do it again.”

[petri808]

Red Strings Cannot Be Broken

@yatoriweek2020​ Soulmates prompt. Gomen, gomen, it’s totally rushed and I since I suck at action scenes, fair warning it’s minimized as much as possible lol and I can’t help but think angst when I write this ship ;-; Aged up, Hiyori is 19. Total idk canon divergence.

Just as Yato, Bishamon and their Shinki’s reach the scene, Father cackles and drives a katana through Hiyori’s corporeal body. “You’re all such gullible idiots! She was always your weakness son. Three years we’ve done this dance and I was always one step ahead.”

The young woman stumbles backwards and collapses, holding onto her stomach. A reddish stain forming, seeping through the fabric and growing in diameter every second that passes by.

“So now what are ya gonna do?” the grinning sorcerer questions. “For betraying me, I will take away everything you love!”

“You sonofabitch!” The stray god screams and makes a move to rush forward.

“There’s no hope for her, see.” The man points the sword back at the dying girl with a menacing smiles. “Poor girl, if only she hadn’t met you.”

“Yato,” Bishamon yells as she takes off towards Father. “You get to Hiyori!”

A battle ensues between the goddess of war and the sorcerer as Yato rushes to the young girls side. He picks her up, cradling her body in tears. “Hiyori, don’t die on me, please!” But it really was too late, for her breathing had ceased and he could find no pulse. “Fuck!!!”

“Yato what are we gonna do?!” Yukine shakes him. “W-We can’t let her just die!” The poor boy was still in agony over his time of betraying the stray god and now the guilt of losing Hiyori was slowly taking hold. Nora stays quiet, hugging to the boy to keep him from doing anything rash.  

“There’s only one thing I can think of…” the man mumbles. As the fight around them escalates, the pair watch a puffkine appear above the body.

Reading off his master, Yukine’s eyes widen. “I-Is that a good idea?!”

“I don’t know.” Her soul didn’t appear as an ayakashi, so that was a promising sign. Yato places her body back on the ground and stands before the floating spirit. There was no way to know for sure what would happen and no time to think it through. Performing his spell, he turns her into a regalia, but instead of giving her his family name of ne, keeps the human name Hiyori and makes her vessel name Majoki.

They watch as the woman they knew as Hiyori manifests, standing before them. “W-Where am I?” She questions the trio. “Who are you?”

Yato grabs hold of her by the arms to keep her from turning around and seeing her body too soon. He smiles. “I know this must be confusing right now, but I just want to tell you before it’s too late…” he leans his forehead against hers and closes his eyes. “I love you Hiyori. Soon I pray, it’ll all make sense again, but just remember I love you.” He whispers something the others two couldn’t hear, then pulls away and kisses her hand before releasing them.

He then turns to his Shinki. “Nora, make her see,” is all he quietly says, indicating to the girl to break the seal of the Gods greatest secret.

“But Yato, that might destroy her.”

“I pray it won’t. Please keep her safe for me Nora.” He places a final kiss on Hiyori’s confused cheek. “Come Sekki, we must finish Father right here and now before he does any more damage.”

Yukine transforms into a sword and the pair rush off to assist Bishamon. The boy asks Yato what he’d told Hiyori before they’d left and the God simply answered with, ‘remember me.’ But there was no time to question further. They needed to focus for Father was as skilled as any of them and a powerful sorcerer that could conjure and control ayakashi to attack them. This would be a fight to the death, either theirs or his.

Nora pulls Hiyori away behind some trees, and away from the current fighting. She hesitates for a moment unsure of exactly how to accomplish her task. As Chiki, she could wield the liberation spell that broke the secret, but without it, she would have to trigger it. The strange part was, normally telling a Shinki their true name would do just that, but Yato had given the woman back her real name and it didn’t do anything. Hiyori just appeared to have no memories of her past life.

“Do you have any idea who I am?” Nora questions, but receives a ‘no’. “How about Yato, the one who just spoke to you?” Again, the woman pauses, then shakes her head slowly no. “Yukine? The boy?” Nothing.

“That man… that man said he loves me. He sounds sincere, but I don’t remember anything. Were we in a relationship?”

“Sort of. You’ve been together for I think 3 years now. Inseparable, and you loved him too.”

“I did?”

Nora nods her head. “You… you died trying to save him.”

Hiyori’s eyes widen at those words. She was dead?! “I’m dead?!” Her hands fly up to her head, palms flattened against the sides as a suddenly whirling sound rustles in her brain. The noise grew, a myriad of voices, images hurtling through her mind so quickly, she couldn’t process what was happening to her. “No, no, no!”

The young girl grabs hold of the woman’s arms to keep her steady as she starts to shake uncontrollably. “Your name really is Hiyori. Hiyori Iki. You saved the god Yato once from getting hit by a bus and it turned you into a hanyou. After that you two became inseparable. You were with him when you found Yukine.”

“I don’t understand any of this!” Tears pour down the woman’s face. She was utterly confused at what this girl was telling her and yet somehow knew it was all true. How did she know it was true?!

It was a good sign to Nora that Hiyori wasn’t transforming into an ayakashi yet, but as the woman’s mind fought to unlock the secrets of her life, the pain appeared to be excruciating and the risks of being consumed were great. When she herself had learned the truth about her life, for some strange reason it never affected her and that was why she could wield liberation. Yukine too surprisingly had come through the process without completely breaking down.

“Over time, you and Yato grew closer and closer, and you helped him a lot. I believe it’s because of you that he’s completely changed for the better. You and Yukine are his family. Father, the guy they’re fighting now, he’s trying to destroy it all and he killed you because he knew your death could kill Yato too. But the only way to bring you back in a way, was to turn you into a regalia. That gives a lost spirit purpose again.”

Hiyori wanted to scream and run away. This was madness. A god, spirits, bringing back people from the dead?!! She could hear the battle raging just out of her sightline. And this girl. “Who are you then?”

“I’m Nora, one of Yato’s regalia like you. He calls me his little sister. We used to work for Father in the old days but we’ve both been betrayed by him. Yato realized it sooner than I did, but that man was only using us to wage his war with the Gods of Heaven.”

Great now Gods of Heaven as in plural. Hiyori’s head was spinning, and she felt like throwing up. “I love you Hiyori. Soon I pray, it’ll all make sense again.” Is what the man had said and even though her brain was not comprehending everything going on, her heart was telling her to remember it all... To remember... Hiyori gasps, “Remember me…”

A sharp pain shoots through her head, so she cradles it in her hands from the sudden spike. ‘Remember me…’ Hiyori cries out once and her vision goes black.

Hiyori Iki, 19 years old. Born to Sayuri and Takamasa Iki, brother of Masaomi, and born on June 28th. Everything about her life flashes as images in her minds eye. How she’d met Yato at the age of 16 through a near-death experience. Becoming a hanyou, The Far Side, the Gods, everything was rushing back in the blink of an eye.

As quickly as it began, it ended, and a final memory paused like on a movie screen. It was an image of Kofuku holding up the matching making tablets… ‘I— remember…’ Her feelings for Yato had started long before the god of poverty had interceded, but perhaps, that goddesses intervention truly sealed their bond eternally in a red string of fate? ‘That’s right…’ she’s starting to put the connections together. Learning who she really was should have driven her insane. It hurt, but…

Hiyori’s eyes open and finds herself lying on the ground with Nora kneeling beside her.

“Oh, thank the Kami’s you’re back,” the girl breathed out a sigh of relief. “I didn’t know what was going on, you just suddenly collapsed again.”

“Thank you, Nora,” she sits ups slowly. “I-I remember who am.”

A strange, invigorating energy was thrumming inside of Hiyori and she wondered if this is what the weapon aspect of a Shinki felt like. But Yukine had never mentioned feeling an odd sensation, and even weirder, she didn’t sense a regular weapon in her soul. The name Yato had given her was not of a normal tool but matched her abilities even while she was still alive.

She turns to Nora, “I need to help Yato. We need to help Yato.”

“There’s nothing we can do unless he calls for us,” the young girl replies. “And he probably wouldn’t want you anywhere near the fighting.”

Hiyori lifts up her hands and focuses on them, reaching deep within her very essence and feeling the energy burning inside of her. Nora watches in fascination and downright amazed surprise when they begin to glow. She’d become the perfect weapon to defeat a sorcerer.

“I don’t care what Yato thinks,” the woman steels her resolve. “He needs my help.”

With Nora following close behind, Hiyori rushes over to where the Gods were fighting. They see others had joined in the battle. Kofuku & Daikoku. Tenjin, Ebisu, and several others that Father had not yet brought to their knees. Amaterasu and Heaven’s army had already suffered devastating losses prior to this event, and this fight with his son, was Father’s last obstacle. The two girls stand at the top of a hill surveying the battle, and when Yato senses them he turns to look.  

That lapse in focus also catches Father’s attention. He breaks away from one attack and rushes towards Yato.

“Call my name now!!” Hiyori screams to the stray God.

He hadn’t planned on letting Hiyori anywhere near this fight, but overwhelming energy flooding off his Shinki was something he’d never heard of or felt in his life. Without another second of hesitation, he screams, “Majoki!!”

The flash of light from the vessels transformation was not only blinding but sent out a wave of energy that sent Father flying backwards from the shockwave. Even the other Gods stopped what they were doing in confusion. No new weapon manifested in Yato’s hand, only a red tasseled cord wrapped loosely around his neck.

Whatever miko abilities Hiyori had in life were now amplified ten-fold as a Shinki. Her connection to Yato and their love for one another transcended death because of their tied fate and as his regalia turned her into his strongest weapon against this kind of foe. How do you fight a sorcerer? With sorcery.

“Whoa what the hell powers does she have now?!” Yato hears Yukine asking him in his mind. “Even I can feel her!”

“Y-Yeah, even I’m surprised,” the God answers back. It all felt a little strange because it was so different than any other Shinki he’s ever had. Hiyori’s powers didn’t flow from a tool… Yato became the tool.

“Bind his powers Yato. He is nothing without his magic.”

“But how?! That’s a Shinki’s ability not a Gods.”

“You shall wield us,” she responds in his mind with no hesitation. “All you need to do is strike Father once and I will send the power through Sekki. Once he’s wounded my magic will seep through to affect the spell. Then you all attack for he will be a mere human.”

“We can do this Yato,” Yukine responds as well. “As a team.”

“No,” the God breathes out with a smirk, “as a family. Hiki!!!” He pulls his third vessel into the fray.

“Yato what are you thinking, three of us will sap a lot of your energy,” Nora scolds the God.

“Well then we better make this quick!”

“Guys!” He screams at the other Gods. “Let’s back him into a corner fast! I got a plan!”

After being thrown back, Father scrambled to his feet ready to take on the next challenger. With Yato’s call of collaboration, God after God along with their Shinki’s levy a multitude of attacks at the sorcerer forcing him into a defensive. There’s just too many things coming at him to counter. He tries to call ayakashi’s to his aid, but they are either killed off quickly or Hiyori and Nora combine their energies to control the spirits.

Finally, the constant barrage is taking a huge toll on the sorcerer and everyone can sense it. The male is using a significant amount of energy to fight back, and it’s rapidly depleting. A solid blow from Bishamon sends him hurtling into the trunk of a tree. He hits his back hard against it and falls straight down. Then, before he can get to his feet, Yato sweeps in with two solid strikes by Chiki and Sekki, cutting a deep gash over the sorcerers torso.

Father screams in searing pain as he feels the burn of Hiyori’s magic soak into his flesh. “No! No! No! this cannot be!!” It travels outward from the wound until it encompasses his entire body, binding his magic, and sapping any ability beyond a physical confrontation. He sinks to the ground, clutching to his chest and abdomen, in agony. “That bitch!”

“Oi,” Yato narrows his eyes and puts the blade of Sekki to the man’s throat, “don’t call her a bitch just because she out classed you.” It was starting to dawn on the stray God that his meeting Hiyori truly had a purpose.

The man grits his teeth as adrenaline from pain and anger fires through his nerves. “Fuck you!!”

“Tch. You thought you knew me, us so well that you thought you could manipulate things. But you never did old man. Your hate ends now.”

At that moment, the war goddess grabs the fallen sorcerer by the fabric of his yukata and yanks him to his feet. “Heaven has rendered their full judgement upon you. Amaterasu will make your death a painful one I’m sure.” With the help of some of Heaven’s soldiers, the mortally wounded sorcerer is flown away to receive his divine punishment.

Yato releases his Shinki’s and collapses from exhaustion. Thank the Kami’s it was over because he wasn’t sure how much longer he would have lasted. There would be a lot of explaining to do but it could wait. First things first.

“Yukine, Nora, could you two wait for me at Kofuku’s?” the stray god requests of his regalia. “I need to talk to Hiyori.”

“Don’t do anything else crazy!” Yukine shakes his finger, scolding the man.

“Come on,” Nora pushes at her friend. “I doubt she’d let him.”

Once the pair is leaving, he turns back to the woman sitting patiently beside him. “Hiyori…” he felt guilty that he wasn’t able to save her life, and now wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sorry I failed you.”

“I don’t blame you,” she takes his hand. “It was my fault for getting in the way.”

“But Father was right, if only you’d never met me… o-or if I’d cut your ties sooner, you’d still be alive.”

“Yato, listen to me.” She cups his cheeks in her hands and holds his gaze. “Do not blame yourself for any of this. I made my choices and you honored my wish. Am I sad that my family won’t be able to see me anymore, of course? They’ll be heart broken, but we both know this was the only way to make my final wish come true because no matter what,” her voice softens into a smile, “I love you too.”

[drsilverfish]

Game of the Gods - 15x08 Our Father Who Aren’t in Heaven

Hey fellow-travellers,

Well done to everyone who speculated Rowena would be the new Queen of Hell!

I’ve just watched the ep. I’m late catching up (and as usual, haven’t jumped into your posts yet, to avoid spoilers) because, here in the UK, we had a very bad, not good, general election result this morning and I’ve been completely sucker punched by it all day.  

Anyhoo, Bucklemming did OK with this one. I mean, it doesn’t, perhaps, have quite all the intricate layers of some of our better writers, but hey, it’s got all the moving parts, including the return of Jungian Self and Shadow-Self metaphor in spades (and a healthy, hopeful integrated version at that, as Adam and Michael!Adam get along and share control of consciousness and the vessel). It also contains plenty of pregnant subtext between Dean and Cas, including <drumroll> a mooted return to Purgatory together where, remember, “It felt pure” (in subtext - between them) and Dean prayed to Cas every night. 

But, leaving those elements to one side for now, I thought I’d talk first about this shot of Cas, praying to Michael with a chessboard prominently in shot:

Which, in the context of the story, reminded me of this:

“In their dwellings at peace they played at tables

Of gold no lack did the gods then know” 

That’s a quote is from the Poetic Edda, a medieval manuscript containing Old Norse poems, which tells something of pagan Norse mythology. 

The quote is about a golden age of the Gods, which comes into being after Ragnarok, the terrible end of the world battle between the Gods and the Giants. In this “end times” battle (as you know) many Gods die and the world is destroyed. However, a new world is born out of the old one, and the surviving Gods are at peace, playing an old Germanic board game, a bit like chess, in Heaven in a new Golden Age. 

This cyclical narrative, where apocalypse leads to renewal, is also present in the Bible in the famous passage in Revelations 21:

“And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away; and there was no more sea.

And I John saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.

And I heard a great voice out of heaven saying, Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God.

And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away” (King James Bible)

Chuck has declared, in 14x20 Moriah, “Welcome to the End!” (aka he has declared Ragnarok) and we see him with a chess board in 14x04 Atomic Monsters:

He is, of course, trying to manipulate his “favourite story”, Sam and Dean Winchester, like chess pieces on a board. However, Cas, as we’ve all observed, seems to be outside Chuck’s favoured misery dude-bro plot - a murder-suicide, in which one Winchester kills the other and then themselves. So, the image of Cas with the chessboard in 15x08 tells us that Cas, too (like Chuck) has power over the “chess board”, aka the Game of the Gods. 

Indeed, if my Edda quote proves fruitful, the narrative is telling us that, after this great battle with God (in which some of our heroes may die, at least temporarily) there will be a renewal. Perhaps this is the “Paradise” Jack promised Cas from the womb. 

I mentioned that there was a reference in 15x06 Golden Time to Vonnegut’s novel Breakfast of Champions (Dean, grief-eating cereal as a result of his break-up with Cas, refers to it as “breakfast of champions” at the start of the episode) in this post here:

https://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/189338866109/me-every-relevant-point-now-forever-onwards-for

Dean and Chuck, of course, we know are both Vonnegut fans, thanks to their exchange about Vonnegut in 4x18 The Monster at the End of this Book - very meta, as Chuck, like Vonnegut, likes to insert a character version of himself (Chuck Shurley) into his stories. 

Breakfast of Champions provides a guide for the possible renewal-after-Ragnarok ending of SPN, because in that novel, the writer is persuaded to let go of the control of his characters - to grant them freedom aka true free will.

 Vonnegut also wrote a short story, called “All the King’s Horses” (1951) about a deadly game of chess between a captured US Army Colonel and his guerilla-fighter leader captor (set during the Cold War). 

The captor, Pi Ying, orders that whenever the Colonel, Kelly, loses a chess piece, one of the men captured with him will be executed. That sounds a lot like Chuck, right? Playing a deadly game of chess with his Winchester Gospels’ protagonists and killing those they love for sport in the game, just as he threatens the lives of Jodie, Donna and Eileen in 15x08 (NB: notice he’s trying to erase the feminine from the narrative again!!!).

Eventually, the Colonel, in Vonnegut’s story, realises he can only win the chess game if he sacrifices one of his knights on the board, but these are being “played” by his sons (also captured with him). Just before Pi Ying kills Kelly’s kid, he is himself murdered by his guerilla-fighter girlfriend, who has been watching the cruel chess game along with him (she then kills herself). One of Pi Ying’s men takes over the game, but Kelly wins and so the remaining hostages are freed.

A deadly chess game, the (almost) sacrifice of a son... sounds like Castiel;s son Jack’s sacrifice by Chuck in 14x20 Moriah, right? And presages Jack’s re-entry into the “game”.

We have seen Cas pictured with chess boards before, notably in 8x08 Hunter Heroici:

And, given the numerical symmetry - 15x08/ 8x08 (which season 14 established as a definite “thing” - calling back previous episodes numerically, Ouroboros style) I think this call-back is deliberate. 

In Hunter Heroici, the psychokinetic resident of retirement home Sunset Fields, Fred Jones, is being manipulated, in his vulnerable state, by one of the doctors to use his powers to alter reality so the doc and his accomplice can pull off a series of thefts (e.g. creating cartoon holes for escape purposes).  

Someone powerful enough to alter reality? That becomes a metaphor for Chuck, in this call-back (which, also reminds us of Chip Harrington in 14x15 Peace of Mind). 

Cas eventually brings peace to Fred Jones, by mind-stripping him of his powers so he can’t hurt anyone else (at his request) and then staying with him to play music in his mind for a while in the retirement home. 

This episode, 8x08, is also right in the middle of the narrative in which Castiel himself is being manipulated by Naomi, and the Winchesters (at this point) don’t know it yet. More manipulation of reality by dubious powers of Heaven parallels!

All this ties in quite nicely with Donatello’s attempt to find a clue in the Demon Tablet to being able to lock up Chuck, and which AU!Michael, apparently, gives Team Free Will a spell for at the end of 15x08.

Castiel, master-tactician that he is (never forget the chess game he played with the angels using Biggersons restaurants in quantum super-position in 8x21 The Great Escapist) has a significant part to play in this final chess game with God himself. He’s a powerful player on the board, and a tactician with influence over the board, precisely because Chuck continually discounts him.

[ayma-nidiot]

In the White Light - Prideshipping fic Chapter 10

Also on AO3.

Chapter 10 – Memories That Made Those Days Sublime

~Four years later~

“Ireruruy, iraruy… I… I…” The crown prince strained to read the long, decorated papyrus scroll in front of him.

Seto sighed. “It says ‘Ireruruy, iraruy, irakah urugem iomo atakatu.’”

“Wow, you’re great at reading super-tedious text!” Atem rolled up the scroll and shoved it at Seto. “Here, why don’t you do the studying for me, since I can hardly read a single word?”

“Atem, you know that’s not how the Pharaoh’s Incantation works.” Seto gave the scroll back much more gently and whined again. “Why don’t you take a break?”

“But you know how Father is!” Atem put his fists on his hips. “‘Son, I’m not getting any younger and you have to be prepared to take the throne any day now!’ Humph. I wish my old man would have more confidence in himself. Plus, I’ve got you to help!”

“I’m bored now.” Seto got up and adjusted his headdress. “I know it’s been a while, but how about we duel for old-time’s sake?”

“And also annoy Father for old-time’s sake?” Atem eagerly stowed his study materials. “I’m game! To the throne room!”

“Hahaha, I miss the good old days when we can duel whenever we wanted!” Seto took his place behind the stone tablets and raised the Millennium Rod in the air. “Now that we’re in an alternate dimension, nobody will stop us – namely, me from defeating you!”

“Before we start, Seto, I have a small request.”

Seto got off his power rush to say, “Yeah, what?”

“How about we make a bet? The loser has to reveal his deepest secret to the winner.”

“I-Is that all? Very well, I accept your bet! And I’ll do the honours of starting this game! I use Horn of the Unicorn to power up my Assault Wyvern!”

“Starting off with a powerful combo right off the bat, huh? Very well. I counter with Dark Magician!”

“Our monsters now have the same attack power. What are you trying to pull?”

“I play a Yami field spell! Since my Dark Magician is a spellcaster, he gets a power-up that’s more than a match for your Assault Wyvern! Now, Dark Magic Attack!”

“Well, well, well.” Seto didn’t seem to care about this small setback. “You must have a really good secret if you’re playing even tougher than usual!”

“Sh-Shut up and make your move!”

“Did you forget already that my ultimate beast is way stronger than yours?” Seto sneered as his Blue-Eyes White Dragon made an appearance. “Not only that, but I can use my Horn of the Unicorn as often as I want! Use your White Lightning, my dragon!”

“Oh… oh no…” Atem trembled slightly as he tried to think of his next move. Am I going to have to tell Seto about my impure thoughts? Not fully confident his next move would work, he declared, “I play the spell Monster Reborn to-”

“Ateeeeeem!” an angry voice suddenly interrupted. “Where in the name of Ra are you?”

“If there’s someone here in the middle of our Shadow Game, then it has to be someone with a Millennium Item!” Atem turned around, faced now with the stern stare of his father. “Oh, uh… Hello, Father.”

“Don’t ‘hello, Father�� me!” Aknamkanon admonished as the throne room turned back to normal. “How dare you take the Shadow Games lightly? Or did you neglect the fact that we of the royal family use them to decide the fates of prisoners and the like? Or the fact that it isn’t hard to die in the middle of one?”

“Um…” The crown prince fidgeted.

“If you couldn’t remember something so simple, then you need to study more. Now back to your room!” Aknamkanon snapped his fingers.

“Yes, sir…” Atem sauntered back to his room, where he found his things neatly stacked and his best friend sitting on his bed. “Mahad! What are you doing here?”

“Hey, how have you been faring?” Mahad got up to greet his prince. Unlike most of his retainers, Mahad had the courage to address him informally. “Hmm… Judging from your face, I imagine not well.”

“It’s Father. He’s making me study the ways of our government, mathematics, languages, history… and whatever else almost nonstop.” Atem exhaled. “He forgets that I am still a teenager and even I have a need for fun.”

“And a good meal!” Mahad turned around to present the crown prince with a golden platter full of food.

“Oh gods, Mahad, you made all this for me?” Atem started digging in excitedly. “It’s amazing! Thank you so much!”

“Anything for my hardworking best friend!”

Between mouthfuls of food, Atem managed, “Nothing like a good meal after what I’ve been through during that duel!”

“Atem, were you playing a Shadow Game again?”

Atem paused from eating. “Don’t tell me that you’re upset too?”

“Oh no, I love partaking in the Shadow Games almost as much as you and Seto do. In fact, I’ve started to experiment with my spells. I’m particularly interested in fusing the ka of some of my monsters with the ka of others.”

“I’ve never thought about that! Hehe, maybe I can use it against Seto the next time we duel.” Atem finished the rest of the meal and placed the empty dishes on the nearest table.

Mahad gave his prince a sneaky smile. “You know, Atem, it seems that you use Seto’s name in every other sentence.”

“I-I do?” Atem tried in vain to hide his blush from his best friend. “Oh yeah, that reminds me of our duel just now. So I placed this bet that whoever lost had to tell the winner a secret. I was really afraid I’d have to tell Seto mine.”

“Oh? Is it a secret you feel comfortable sharing with me?”

“Okay, but please don’t tell anyone!” Atem received a nod from Mahad and then continued. “Ever since our first meeting, I’ve been thinking about what an interesting person Seto is. He’s showed me the ways of our common people, from their jokes to how they suffer. He’s giving me such a drive to improve like I’ve never had…” Atem looked back to Mahad with hopeful eyes. “Mahad, I’m scared of these thoughts. What do they mean?”

“They mean that as the crown prince to the greatest kingdom in our history, you would do well not to fall in love with Seto.”

“Wh-What? Love?!” The crown prince shot up, spilling the small remainder of water he had in his goblet. “You mean… like how my father fell in love with my mother?”

“Yes. I’ve heard stories of what previous pharaohs have done to their sons who slept with other men. Let me tell you, it’s not something you want happening to you.”

“But… But…” Atem stuttered. “I can’t help it! I’ve never felt this way about anyone before… Not even when Father has introduced me to several noblewomen and princesses from other realms. I’m… confused, lost even.”

“If that’s how you really feel, then personally I support you.” Mahad placed a supportive hand on the crown prince’s shoulder. “Just don’t tell your father, and most of all don’t tell Seto unless you’re absolutely sure you’re ready. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

When Mahad had left him alone with his thoughts, Atem spoke aloud. “Don’t… tell Seto? I think… that maybe that’s for the best. There’s no way that he’d take it well.”

A few hours later, just as Atem had the notion to sleep, another one his friends entered the room in a panic – his retainer Isis. “Your Highness! Your Highness, flee from this place at once!”

“Eh? Why, did something happen?”

“There are monsters in the palace! Zombies, dragons – anything you can think of!”

“If that’s the case, then my father will take care of those miscreants abusing the Shadow Games.” The crown prince settled back into his bed.

“But His Majesty has gone missing!”

“What?” Atem sprung awake again, with the Pharaoh’s Incantation scroll in his hand. “Then we’ve got to look for him!”

“The pharaoh and his priests can fend for themselves! It’s us retainers that need your help!”

“My retainers… Oh, no, Seto!” Atem took off running as Isis struggled to keep up. I don’t care what happens to me… Seto… Oh gods, please be okay!

Atem ran right past the throne room, from where Isis yelled, “Your Highness! Over here!”

“Everyone!” Atem freaked out when he saw that at least a couple of his retainers were dead and a few were taking the injured to safety. Those who stayed behind attempted to fight off a giant, armour-clad lion. “But… what can I do?”

“Your Highness, you have to use the Shadow Games monsters!” Mahad dodged the lion’s attacks and launched a dark ball of energy at it. “It’s the only way!”

“And I know just the monster!”

“Ever the clever one, Your Highness! Best of luck!” One of the Atem’s retainers, Shada, took a severely injured retainer named Karim to one of the palace’s medical wards.

“Okay, let’s see if I can find the stone tablet that houses my Dark Magician…” Atem ran to the stone tablets. “Ah! I’ve found you! Now, I’ll use the Yami spell again to-”

“Your Highness!” a raspy voice called out. “Behind you!”

“Is that…” Atem had just summoned his Dark Magician, but not enough to save Seto, who took a large claw scratch for the crown prince. “Seto! Seto, you damned idiot! You should have just saved yourself!”

“I am your retainer, am I not?”

“I know, but… But… Someone, anyone!” In a final act of desperation, Atem shouted for help and thankfully got it when he heard an old man’s singing voice in the distance. “Father!”

“Aw usa ukari ag et onos!” Aknamkanon didn’t even need to sing the full incantation before the lion and all the surrounding enemies were no more. “Ugh…”

“Father!” Atem caught the pharaoh before he could pass out. “What’s wrong? Did that lion hurt you?”

“No, it’s the Incantation. Son, I forgot to tell you one thing – the Pharaoh’s Incantation uses some of your ba. But it’s a risk that you must be willing to take if you want to protect your people.”

“Are you going to be okay?” Atem led his father back to his bed while Seto followed.

“Yeah, with a little rest.” Aknamkanon peered up. “In the meantime, take Seto to a medical ward. That attack killed several palace guards and I don’t want to risk another one.”

“Your Majesty, with all due respect, I didn’t suffer much of a wound. As such, I can go myself.”

“But can you treat your own back?”

“Good point.” Seto left the throne room and beckoned for Atem to follow.

“That was an incredibly reckless thing to do, Seto. You could have used your Blue-Eyes White Dragon, but noooo! You just had to literally break your back for me!” Atem snarled while he fetched some alcohol and linens. When he turned around, he halted at the sight of a virtually nude Seto. Only his priest robes, balled up at his groin, covered his copper skin while he sat on the bed.

“Well? I’m waiting.” Seto’s voice was nonchalant. “I feel like I’m dying over here.”

“That’s not something you should be joking about!” Atem rushed over to Seto’s side to take a look. The claw wound on the priest’s back turned out to be hardly more than a scratch. “You ass! How could you be dying from such a small wound?”

“I figured it was the only way to get you over here, since you looked spaced out.” Seto didn’t even flinch when the alcohol entered his wound. “You got something on your mind?”

At this point, Atem didn’t really care if Seto found out about his feelings. “You… You could have died! Do you know how damned lucky you are to have survived that attack?”

“Your Highness…” Seto tried to touch Atem’s cheek, but the crown prince slapped his hand away.

“Why did you have to do that?” Atem didn’t bother to stop the tears from coming out. “If I had lost you, I…”

“You want to know that badly? Fine, then I’ll tell you.” Seto took a few breaths. “I’ve tried to deny it… I know you’ll hate me for this because of our royal positions. But Your Highness… Atem… I love you.”

Atem stopped crying. “What… did you say?”

“I’m not just talking about the familial, friendly kind of love, either.” Seto caressed Atem’s cheeks and lips. “I’m talking about this kind of love.”

“I’m so glad…” Atem’s expression softened as he returned this gesture. “I thought my feelings were unclean, but… But…”

“But…?”

Atem hid his face in Seto’s chest. “I’m in love with you too, Seto! I’m so happy that I don’t have to refuse these feelings anymore.”

“Atem…” Seto turned his caress into a deep kiss. “Oh, gods, Atem.”

“Seto…” The closer Seto held him, the more Atem could feel the other man’s erection. “Do you… want me?”

“If you’ll have me,” Seto answered as Atem stretched out on the bed, wiping away a bead of sweat.

Seto tossed his robes aside and kissed Atem’s neck – and for a few seconds, he disregarded all noise, including the sudden shout of, “Seto! Your Highness! Are you two… all… right…?”

“Ah!” Seto stopped his advances when the intruder appeared at the door. He frenetically tried to get dressed, knowing that it was futile to hide was he was doing just now. “Father! What are you doing here?”

“Hmph. So you decide to take advantage of a young war breaking out to seduce the crown prince?” Aknadin’s eyes hardened on his son. “You are a disgrace to the royal family and to the High Priests!”

“Father, please!” Seto tried to stop his father from leaving. “Don’t leave!”

“I’ve always hated that… that crown prince and that accursed Aknamkanon… Now I have all the more reason to leave the palace and find a newer dark power, so that I may become pharaoh!”

“Please!” Seto cried as his father disappeared. “Don’t join the enemy! Father!”

“Seto…” Atem crouched down at his boyfriend’s side. “I’m sorry, it’s all my fault.”

“No, it isn’t.” Seto held Atem’s hand firmly. “Nothing – nothing – will make me regret falling in love with you. This new enemy, though… If we have to fight them with my father on their side, then…”

“Then we’ll fight them together.”

While the two young lovers consoled each other, they were interrupted yet again – this time by Aknamkanon. “Atem! My son, what happened?”

“Father…” Atem arose, fully prepared to explain himself. “I’m afraid it’s something horrid. Aknadin, he’s… he’s deserted us and left to join the enemy, cursing your name while he did so.”

“What? But why?”

“It’s because he wanted the throne for himself all along. And… What finally drove him over the edge was when he discovered Seto and I getting intimate with one another.”

“Atem, why did you tell him that?” Seto clenched his teeth.

“That’s despicable,” Aknamkanon answered. “So he cursed his son just because said son can’t fulfill his ambitions now? That’s not a true father, but a snake.”

“But what about your future heirs?” Atem asked. “I’m sure you’ve noticed a long time ago that there’s a reason why I’ve refused every woman you’ve tried to marry me to.”

“Eh, I’ve got plenty of siblings, nieces, and nephews that can produce heirs. And even if they couldn’t, it’s not going to stop me from caring about you, my son.”

“Father…” Atem began to cry tears of joy. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes. The reason why I’m so strict with you is because I want the people to respect you for your leadership abilities, and not whom you choose as a partner.” Aknamkanon helped his son get back up on his feet. “Whatever happens… No matter what this mysterious enemy throws at us, I will support you and guide my people through this war.”

[shirtlesssammy]

1x22: Devil’s Trap

The Road So Far:

Sam and Dean Winchester are hot on the trail of the thing that killed their mom. She’s dead though, and never coming back. 

Now:

John Winchester is kidnapped by Meg and her fellow demons. They know where the brothers are and they know they have the Colt. Dean decides it’s in their best interest to get the hell out of Dodge Salvation. Sam wants to keep going, fighting for their dad. Dean needs a plan and everything else stops until they get their dad back. And WOW, like to this day Sam loves powering through the tough times and Dean’s emotions mess with how he thinks at times. Resigned to Dean’s plan, Sam asks how they’re going to find their dad. They need help.

*BOBBY ALERT*

The boys head to Bobby Singer’s Salvage Yard. 

He’s an old friend of John’s (and a surrogate father to Sam and Dean, even if they don’t know it yet) and an expert in supernatural lore. He tells the brothers about how demon possessions are on the rise --and whatever storm that’s coming, Sam and Dean are right in the middle of it. HMMM. Chuck’s writer’s block just cleared it seems. 

Meg shows up. She wants the Colt. Sam and Bobby start to slowly back away from her, further into Bobby’s house. Meg keeps talking and walking, until she ends up under a demon trap. 

They tie her up during the commercial break. Dean asks where John is. Meg sasses back so Dean calls her a bitch and I continue to recoil at early seasons’ misogyny. Meg tells Dean that she killed John. Dean can’t process that potential reality so he punches her. Bobby points out that Meg is a demon possessing “a girl”, and I continue to recoil at the word “girl” when she’s clearly over the age of 12. 

They decide to exorcise the demon from the woman. Sam starts reciting the exorcism (and he has to read them, sweet bby). 

Dean continues to interrogate Meg about where John is. She tells him of the gruesome way she killed him. Meg eventually gives up the location of where they’re holding John, but doesn’t know anything about the Yellow Eyed Demon. 

Dean tells Sam to finish the exorcism. Sam wants to keep using Meg for their plan. Bobby says they’ll kill the girl inside her if they do it. (And I’m like, uh Bobby, you really think letting Meg possess her is better than death??) Dean wins and Sam finishes the exorcism. 

Meg, the woman, is still alive. Dean instructs Bobby to call 911 (WHAT?). She’s broken and dying. Before she dies, she tells the brothers where to find John. 

Bobby sends the boys on their way in search of John. 

On the road, Sam, so into his research and not having a decent tablet to work on, starts defacing Dean’s car. He’s drawing a couple devil’s traps to keep the Colt safe in the trunk. 

Dean wants to bring the gun to help with springing John from the demons. Sam argues that John would be pissed that they used the Colt to find him. Sam wins and they leave the Colt behind. 

They find the place where the demons are holding John and realize that demons could be possessing any of the humans around. They can’t kill the humans AND the demons know what Sam and Dean look like. “This sucks out loud.” Dean suggests they pull the fire alarm to remove all the civilians. They’ll have seven minutes before the police respond. 

Sam does his best to skulk suspiciously into the building.

As soon as the coast is clear, he pulls the fire alarm in the lobby. Inside an apartment, a creepy couple look around intently then head into the bedroom where they’ve strapped John Winchester spread-eagle-style. Kinky? ((Grimacing face))

Outside, Dean does his best to distract firefighters from Skulking Sam, who’s pulling yet another wacky prank. “I’ve got a yorkie upstairs and he pees when he’s nervous!” Dean whines. Dean, I am LIVING. Sam picks the lock on the firetruck and steals two fire-proof suits and full face masks. As they walk through the building, Dean reveals that he always wanted to be a fireman and, to be perfectly honest, I now die a little inside. My soul is a weeping storm cloud! (Send me all your firefighter Dean/Cas AUs. I’ll wait!)

They track the demons via EMF and get the creepy couple to open the door. It’s fighting time! Our guys use their water tanks and fists to handily trap the satanic suburbanites behind a door. A little salt circle and they’ve got ‘em trapped. They find John, who’s unconscious on the bed. Sam stops Dean from untying him right away. Thoroughly his father’s son, Sam does the holy water test on John before freeing him. He’s clean!

Outside, an onlooker is suddenly possessed by a demon and rapidly after that, one of the firefighters. Yeah. It’s season one. We’re just learning about demons so there’s no flashy flashy smoky smoky. It’s just a gentle stroke and….POSSESSED. 

The demons head inside. Time for fight number two!

Not if the Winchesters can help it, though. They leave via the fire escape and make it down to the sidewalk. Another demon heads in for the assault, beating the crap out of poor Sammy’s concussion-prone head. Dean shoots the demon, whose head sparks… The demon dies. After all, a shot from the Colt is fatal. The camera takes a moment to really mourn the human who has just died (which is honestly something I miss before we went all stabby stabby knifey knifey). 

Somehow, they all manage to drag themselves to the Impala and out to a safe house. Salt is poured. Probably some alcohol too, let’s be honest. 

Sam admits that Dean saved him, and Dean snarkily comments on how it’s a good thing he brought the Colt after all. (Hey guys, remember that time when Dean brought the First Blade on a job without Sam’s knowledge? I love patterns.) 

Dean’s somber. He’s still thinking about the demon he shot - the man he shot. He tells Sam that he’s not bothered by killing the otherwise innocent demon-possessed man. Rather, it’s helped him to realize, “For you or dad - the things that I’m willing to do. Kill. It scares me sometimes.” 

John appears and praises Dean, telling him that he made the right call. “You’re not mad? I used a bullet,” Dean points out, looking thoroughly unsettled.

“I’m proud of you,” John says. Dean quietly - oh so quietly - thanks him. Suddenly the lights flicker. John rushes to the window and announces that the demon has arrived. He sends Sam to recheck salt lines and demands the Colt from Dean. 

Dean looks at the gun and resolve settles on his face. Slowly, he backs away. “He’d be furious,” Dean says, “that I wasted a bullet.” He points the gun at John. “You’re not my dad.”

Dean tells John (Demon John) that he knows his dad well. And validation isn’t part of the package. When Sam bursts in, Dean tries to explain that John’s “different” now. Please, join Boris and I in this quilt huddle so we can gnash our teeth and think about Dean’s low self image and cracked father-son relationship which helped him realize almost immediately that it wasn’t his father giving him compliments. Let us collect our tears in tiny, artisanal bowls together, then dry that saltwater and sweep up the salt to make Moste Potente Demon Trappes™. 

Sam looks between John and Dean and when pressed, chooses Dean’s side. John tells them to shoot him and it is VERY EMOTIONAL UP IN DEAN’S FACE.

And I’m fine with it. Completely fine. No emotions up in here.

John turns on a dime, descending into mockery before he demon-hurls them across the room. 

The gun falls to the ground and Demon John picks it up. His eyes glow YELLOW. Sam wonders why holy water didn’t tip them off but Yellow Eyes says it has no effect on him. (But come on, it doesn’t even...tickle?) Yellow Eyes tells Sam that he should use his psychic powers to float the gun to himself. (SOLID plan!) Sam does not float any guns. 

Yellow Eyes strolls up to Dean. He tells him that Dean killed his children via exorcism and bullet. (I have to remind myself that Dean and Sam know jack shit about demons at this point, and they don’t know that Meg swirled down to Hell for an iced coffee before heading back topside.) Yellow Eyes then shifts to Sam, taunting him about the death of their mom and Jess. “They were in the way” of his glorious plans for poor Sam. 

Dean snarks and Yellow Eyes shifts his attention once again. “You fight and fight for this family but the truth is they don’t need you. Not like you need them.” DEAN BEAN don’t listen to him! 

Dean taunts Yellow Eyes about his fallen children. As a reward, Yellow Eyes mind-slices into Dean. Blood pours from Dean in rivulets and he begs, “Dad, don’t you let him kill me.” 

I AM EXPERIENCING EMOTIONS! (I used to rewatch this episode way more than was likely healthy.)

Dean starts to slump over, losing consciousness, when John takes control momentarily. It’s enough to stop the bloody torture, and gives Sam the split second he needs to lunge for the Colt. He grabs it and shoots John in the leg. 

John wakes up. He’s unseated Yellow Eyes for the moment, and begs Sam to kill him. Sam lifts the gun. John begs for an end to the demon, consequences be damned. Dean begs Sam to spare John. Sam, torn between them again, makes a choice. He drops the gun.

Yellow Eyes smokes out of John and sinks into the floorboards, leaving John free and clear. And steaming mad. 

They’ve managed to haul themselves into the Impala. Sam’s driving. Dean’s in the backseat, barely conscious. John berates Sam for sparing his life, but Sam’s hopeful. They’ve got the Colt. They’ve got one bullet. They tracked down Yellow Eyes once and gosh darn it, they can do it again!

Then…

THEN

WHAM! Out of nowhere, a semi truck crashes into the side of the Impala. In the light of the headlights, we see all three Winchesters unconscious and bloody. 

And then fade to black. See ya next season.

______________________________

The Mystical Quotes Gun Solves Everything:

“Last time we saw you, you did threaten to blast him through with buckshot. You cocked the shotgun and everything.” “Yeah, well, what can I say? John just has that effect on people.”

You get a demon in - they’re trapped. Powerless. It’s like a Satanic roach motel.

You know, if you wanted to tie me up, all you had to do was ask.

______________________________

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[lottes-ocs]

one chapter (first chapter maybe? def towards the beginning though) of my story. i turned it in for a workshop in class (capped at 12 pages double spaced). a note from my workshop document:

“Since this is going to be a longer work, I will likely expand upon Adam’s personal and inner life towards the beginning, so that the breakdown and the subsequent conversation with Ezra don’t feel as sudden. I will definitely add more documents like the emails, maybe therapist’s notes or text messages, and I might play around with POV in some later chapters, however, my plan is for Adam to be the primary narrator throughout.”

also lmk if i get anything egregiously wrong. i do have ptsd myself, but i also consulted 2 of my schizophrenic friends to make sure i didn’t include any details that would conflict with that and also to get details about antipsychotics correct

tw for suicide mentions, mental illness, unreality, some graphic imagery.

[January 21st, 2019 // 9:00 AM] Since I got discharged from the hospital last month, I’ve been grateful to live alone. Granted, it makes the paranoia worse, but I’m the only one who needs to know how often I’ve tried to talk to shadows or woken up yelling at the void. And I’m the only one who needs to know that I, a 30-year-old man, have been sleeping with a nightlight. But look, when my room is completely dark, mirages of my father and Dr. Wronski appear in the corner with their faces peeled off like in an autopsy and they won’t stop apologizing. I tell them I forgive them and they double down, I offer them solace and they weep with guilt, I articulate my own guilt and they articulate what it feels like to die. Only the nightlight makes them go away. Does that all sound stupid? Sure it does, but it feels a lot less stupid when I just need some sleep after another day trying to balance crushing grief with debilitating mental illness with my normal-person job, teaching abnormal psychology. Classes have been back in session since last week, so for a week, I’ve felt like a fish teaching marine biology. Or something out of Mariana’s trench. Ezra walks into my office, looking just a little too put-together for the workday (as usual), perfectly-tailored pants, perfectly ironed shirt, and perfectly styled curls, and snaps me out of my self-pitying daze by setting down a large stack of papers on his desk next to mine. “The anxiety essays,” he says with an imperious sigh. “Was I this dumb in undergrad?” “Probably not,” I say. “You were a little older than them.” “And I actually had anxiety.” He’s made a point of bringing up his own issues since I got back. I think he’s doing it so I don’t feel embarrassed or isolated, but he does love to talk about himself regardless, and besides, the support of one grad student doesn’t outweigh the nastiness of some of the higher-ups. “Do you have any new bits, Ezra?” I try to change the subject to his comedy (he does standup on the side, and I hear he’s not bad). “Eh, nothing good. You look tired.” He brushes me off with forced nonchalance. “I’ve had plenty of work to catch up on.” There’s actually no reason that he should know why I was gone, it’s my business, but he definitely does. Everyone does. I work in the psych department, so the people here know what it means when someone’s witnessed the death of their mentor and is subsequently out for a month with no further explanation than “illness.” “Have you, uh…” he clicks his tongue in thought. “Did you drink coffee this morning?” I nod with an exasperated smile. “Well, y’know, the Keurig’s in the lounge if you need it. And I’m in 522 most of today if you need help. Catching up on work, or whatever.” He drums casually on the doorframe, shoots me finger-guns, and heads down the hall. I like Ezra. He’s my TA now, but we were both in grad school working towards our doctorates together, up until last spring, when I received mine. We’re the same age, and he’s definitely smarter than me (as he is most people), he just started college late. I think it’s very sweet of him not to be a condescending dick to me (I seem to be a popular target for condescending dicks lately) especially because Ezra can muster up a dangerous amount of condescending dickishness when he feels the need. However, I process absolutely none of what he said. I was listening, I was trying to listen anyway, but my head’s not working right, not right now. I really didn’t get enough sleep. It’s a vicious cycle. The hallucinations and intrusive thoughts keep me up, the lack of sleep worsens the severity of the hallucinations and intrusive thoughts. In fact, since I arrived at work forty-five minutes ago, I have kept a mental tally: Sudden and overwhelming urge to stab myself: 3 instances. Sudden and overwhelming urge to stab Dr. Carlisle for looking at me weird: 2 instances (fuck off, it’s not like I’m going to act on it). Sudden and overwhelming urge to break down crying: 45 instances. Rats underneath my desk: Yeah, I don’t know, I called maintenance and they told me they’re fake, so I guess they’re fake, even though I can see them. Hanging woman in the back corner of my office: Don’t mind her, she’ll be gone within the hour. I’ll be sorry to see her go, though. A sense of unreality is creeping in. I try to keep Dr. Beauchamp’s voice in my head, “if there shouldn’t be any real dead people in the room, there are almost definitely no real dead people in the room.” Well, there was that one time, you asshole. No, fuck it, there are almost definitely no real dead people in the room. I reach into my briefcase, desperate for the pill bottle, because I know my thoughts are going to turn into alphabet soup if I don’t do something soon. I split a Clozaril tablet in half and swallow it hastily. I am not supposed to split it in half, and I am not supposed to take more than one dose in a span of 24 hours, and I have a Ph.D. in psychology, obviously I know I’m lowering the efficacy in the long term and increasing my risk of side effects. But at this point, let me die of agranulocytosis if that’s what I’ve got coming. I’ll be out of a job and wasting eleven years of higher education if this shit doesn’t stop. Maybe that isn’t true. It feels true. Maybe it isn’t.

[January 21st, 2019 // 1:30 PM] FROM: Dr. Raymond Carlisle TO: Dr. Adam Collins SUBJECT: Checking in.

Dr. Collins, I sincerely hope all is well. I received word that you cancelled a lecture today. I need hardly tell you that you just had a month off for Winter Break, and two weeks before that for the beginning of your hospitalization. I hardly think an even further extended reprieve from your work is fair, and if you genuinely do, that’s a conversation we need to have. To be frank, Dr. Herrmann and I feel it is irresponsible to allow someone in your condition to continue to work, in the field of psychology no less. Though I do not at all doubt the competence of our colleagues at the medical center, nor your mental facilities, I feel compelled to let you know that if your psychological state continues to cause issues with your work the department might require you to take a leave of absence. While I hope your treatment plan begins to work to its full effect soon, your own safety and the integrity of this department are top priority.

Best wishes, truly,

Dr. Raymond Carlisle Head Professor, Psychology (555) 555-5555

My hands tremble with anger (and hopefully not tardive dyskinesia) as I type my reply.

FROM: Dr. Adam Collins TO: Dr. Raymond Carlisle SUBJECT: Re: Checking In

Dr. Carlisle, all is as well as it possibly can be needs to be. I don’t respect you as a colleague and I believe your total comfort in your new position, which I need hardly remind you is Dr. Wronski’s old position, is quite frankly borderline disrespectful.  If it’s irresponsible for someone in “my condition” to continue to work then why do you give a shit if I cancel my lectures? Leave me the fuck alone or I’ll mention you by name in my suicide note.   At the moment, it is difficult for me walk by Dr. Wronski’s old office, which I have to do to get to 525 (where that lecture is held). Could I request a change of   I was having a panic attack you absolute dick how are YOU allowed to continue to work in the field of psychology when you have NO compassion My new medication has occasionally been making me sick. That issue should be resolved either way after I meet with my psychiatrist next week.

Thank you for your concern, Dr. Adam Collins Department of Psychology

[January 22nd, 2019 // 10:30 AM] I think back to our last faculty meeting, at least my last faculty meeting, in November. It does feel like a while ago, and it’s hard to fathom that Dr. Wronski was still here then. It gets easier to fathom when Dr. Carlisle comes in and takes his seat at the head of the conference table, simply because of how wrong that is. I picture her there instead, how things are supposed to be, how it should have been. I think about how someone should have helped her when they still could have. I really picture her there instead for a moment, her image replacing Carlisle’s. I blink once and she’s gone, and he’s back. As he starts talking, though, I feel a tap on my shoulder and see her behind me for a split second, ephemeral and transparent like the dots in a grid illusion, then she walks away and disappears. My whole body is left feeling cold, sharp, and jolted, as if I fell on a blade without expecting to. I’m filled with dread as I realize Carlisle’s words are simultaneously turning to nonsense and growing louder in my ears, and a high, harsh noise like microphone feedback intertwines itself with his voice. Dr. Wronski reappears in his place again, but she is lifeless this time, blood pooling from her head like it was when I found her, circling her hair in a grim halo. Her eyes are clouded with even more film, her mouth is agape, and I can feel my breathing grow rapid. I squeeze my eyes shut. I know I am in the middle of a meeting; I will not fall apart like this in the middle of a meeting, not when my “mental facilities” are already being called into question. I pinch myself, internally repeating “there are no real dead people here, there are no real dead people here, there are no real dead people here—” “Dr. Collins, are you with us?” Dr. Hermann’s voice pierces through my mantra, entirely unfriendly, entirely accusatory, despite the faux-sweetness she is trying to summon. “Yes.” My voice sounds thin and weak, and blood rushes to my face. I shut my eyes again, since I feel tears prickling at the corners of them. Not fucking here, Jesus Christ, not fucking here, I think to myself. Then I think again about my last meeting, the old hierarchy, the time when I fell asleep at one of these in October after a particularly long night and Dr. Wronski just pulled me aside afterwards and asked if I was okay, and if there was anything she could do. And now the image of her corpse won’t leave my head. It overwhelms me. I don’t see her in the room anymore, but I might as well be back in her office when I first found her body, the first time in my life I had ever truly hoped that I was only seeing a figment of my imagination. The gun in her hand— I try to think of anything else. Anything to keep it at bay. I click my pen repeatedly (Carlisle asks me to stop), I scratch at my wrists and pull at my skin, anything to shift my focus to anything else. Nothing is working. The lump in my throat grows. My heartbeat gets faster, my chest starts to hurt, and suddenly I can smell the blood and rot that permeated the room that night, and I am helpless to stop it— Someone grabs me. I look up to see every eye in the room on me. I can’t breathe, I can’t speak, and I realize I’m in the middle of this meeting, crying and having a full-on panic attack, surrounded by people who already think I’m a headcase. I am sobbing and shaking and unable to steady my breathing and to them it seems completely unprompted at best, and at worst, it seems like it’s because Hermann and Carlisle snapped at me. And even in the midst of my abject humiliation, the image of Dr. Wronski lying in a pool of her own blood is still in my head, still absolutely fucking killing me, and I couldn’t calm down if I tried. I get up and walk out. That’s what fucking happens when I’m forced to try to power through episodes. I could care less what Carlisle does to me right now, I will not stay in there and continue to look like an emotionally unstable baby in front of my colleagues. I go to finish up my breakdown in the privacy of my office, catching a glimpse of myself in a window on the way and hating myself even more at the sight of my own disheveled hair and bright red, tear-streaked face. I sit down and hide underneath my desk, pop another half-a-Clozaril tablet that I try not to choke back up (I’m still hyperventilating so hard I could vomit), and bury my face in my arms. “Adam?” I look up. “Ezra.” I am barely composed, still hyperventilating, swiping at my eyes furiously and futilely. I look away, and I hope maybe he’ll think I’m just sick. I expect him to walk away, pretend that he never saw me like this and just silently let it color his perception of me. But he comes and sits down next to me underneath the desk. I don’t know what to say. “Do you want me to go?” he asks, after a moment. “You don’t have to.” I don’t want to admit it, but I don’t really want him to. Nobody else is this understanding with me anymore. I keep trying to collect myself, barely noticing at first when he puts his hand on my shoulder. “Do you need anything?” I shake my head, still not making eye contact. Theoretically, I’m getting the help I need, and maybe I do need the support of a friend right now too, but I don’t want to trouble him. Besides, I must look pathetic, cowering under a table and weeping, almost comically vulnerable. Hm. “Ezra,” I turn to him, finally, after a few more minutes of whimpering. I know my eyes look crazy, bloodshot to hell. “Can you take me to a mic?” “A mic?” “Yes. A standup mic. I want to see what it’s like.” “Really?” he smirks. “Yes, why not?” I can’t think of the last time I laughed, at least not genuinely. I can’t think of the last time I let myself. My self-loathing has become entirely unfunny, my psyche and my job both absolute nightmares, not to mention the actual nightmares—I need something light. Something just a little bit light. “You would… enjoy that?” “Yeah.” It makes me sad that he seems surprised, though I can’t blame him. I’ve been awfully serious, not even just for the past week or month, but probably since my dad died last spring. He reads my disappointment. “Sorry, Adam, I just… do you like comedy?” “I don’t know. My therapist laughs at my jokes sometimes.” He smiles at that, and I smile too, through dissipating tears. “Well, if you really want to, yeah. The next one is Thursday night.” I nod and take a deep breath. I realize Ezra hasn’t taken his hand off my shoulder, and he is absent-mindedly rubbing circles into my back. Maybe it’s stupid, but I stay as still as I can. I don’t want him to notice that he’s doing it and stop. “Is everyone there funny?” I ask, just to keep his focus. It’s a dumb question. I rephrase myself, “How funny is everyone?” He exhales a chuckle. “Honestly? About thirty people go up every night, sometimes more. They’re mostly shit. Don’t worry, though, there’s plenty to laugh at with the shitty ones.” He proceeds to tell me about the guys who show up high every time and just get up on stage and talk about nonsense (or weed itself) for 5 minutes, the wannabe Dangerfields and Seinfelds and Mulaneys who “never actually managed to glean what joke structure is” (though to be fair, It’s not like I have either), even the bigoted old men still trying with unflinching determination to resurrect “get back in the kitchen” jokes. I am losing myself in his stories, feeling at least marginally more relaxed, when Carlisle appears in my doorway. Ezra takes his hand off my back. Carlisle glances at us with confusion and disgust. “Dr. Collins, if you would please… get up and come see me in my office.” “We’re actually grading papers right now,” Ezra shoots back, in a tone of voice that says “yes, I think you’re stupid.” “Take a break, please,” Carlisle replies, glaring and exiting. I look hesitantly at Ezra, before getting up to follow him. “I do want to come,” I say. “To a mic.” “We’ll talk more later. I should still be here after you’re done facing the wrath of god.” I know I’m about to get chewed out to an extreme degree. Still, I can’t help but grin back at him.

[funkzpiel]

Fictober 2018 | Day 13

Fic | Drugging, Mind Linking - Gavin900

“Hello, my name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife.”

Gavin can still remember their first meeting, clear as day. CyberLife had sent Connor to the precinct to help with the investigation of an android going by RA9 that had escaped from their facilities and appeared to be infecting other androids somehow, instigating rebellion and even in some cases attacking humans, breaking the creed of robotics.

It was creepy to see him then and it was creepy to see him now standing on his porch step, drenched from the rain and smiling politely. Creepy because Connor and RA9 shared the same face. The whole reason Connor – or the RK800, as was his serial number – had been sent by CyberLife at all was because he was from the same series as the rebel android. CyberLife hoped that by having similar programming and processes, Connor would be able to provide insight that the less than tech savy policy department would have otherwise.

Heh. Much help he was in that market. They had nearly caught RA9 once. But it had been a chase where Gavin had lost track of the suspect while RK800 ran ahead, unbelievably fast. When Gavin had finally caught up RA9 was gone, disappearing atop a running train, and Connor stood dazed on a rooftop, nose bloody and out of it. Gavin chalked it up to dealing with his first failure, but still it sat sour in his stomach whenever he thought of the far-off look on Connor’s face.

But still, Gavin had RA9’s mug shot on his wall, strung out with red lines to locations and case notes and victim photos and accomplice androids, and every time he saw Connor, he saw the other android. If not for the difference of their eyes, they were nearly indistinguishable.

But Connor’s eyes were puppy-big, so very fucking earnest, and brown as coffee – and it was the only reason why Gavin hadn’t acted on instinct and shot the bastard when he had thought 4am was a great time to wake a wired, slightly drunk detective from one of his rare nights off.

“Connor, fuck, what the hell are you doing here?” Gavin snarled, scratching his calved with the heel of one foot and trying to ignore the strange sense of embarrassment that was creeping over him as he took in the difference between their attire. Connor was immaculate as ever, if wet. And Gavin…

He was in a stained, ratty t-shirt from his academy days that had shrunk after a few too many years in the dryer, showing off the littlest bit of his belly over the waist of his thankfully boring looking boxers. The logo on his shirt was faded and had some ancient social slang that he could barely remember anymore, but it was his softest shirt – he couldn’t bear to part with it.

He promised himself he’d burn it in the morning and resisted the urge to tug at the frayed hem of his shirt, all too aware that while he’s wasn’t out of shape, his stomach was soft just where it was exposed – a little spot of the faintest pudge that no amount of sit-ups seemed to get rid of as age began to slow him down.

He thought for a moment he caught Connor looking him up and down, but the android didn’t miss a beat.

“We need to go, Detective. The station received a lead about RA9. As the head detective on the case, they want you to investigate. May I come in? I can catch you up while you get ready.”

Gavin scowled but continued to bar the entrance to his home by leaning his forearm against its frame, scrubbing his blunt nails into a night’s worth of stubble noisily. He made a show of considering Connor’s words before wrinkling his nose and disappearing back into his home – keen on the kitchen and some coffee.

“It’s too early for this shit, trash can,” he called grumpily over his shoulder, listening as Connor stepped into his home and closed the door behind himself. “And I didn’t get nothing from the station, so I think you’re full of bullshit.”

“I told the chief I would inform you first hand. To save time. Detective, were you aware that your electricity bill is overdue?”

Gavin didn’t even need to look to know the android was snooping on his open tablet.

“Stop nosing through my shit, you plastic freak. This isn’t an invitation for you to snoop around. Keep it up and I’ll throw you back in the rain,” he said as he continued with the process of making himself fresh coffee, the smell of the grounds waking him up a little.

“Of course, detective. Apologies…”

Gavin grunted, unconvinced.

“Alright, so what’s the big deal, huh?” He asked as his coffee maker began to burble and heat his water, pattering slowly into the bulb of its pitcher. He leaned his hip on his counter and crossed his arms, trying to look imposing in his pajamas.

“As I said, the station received an anonymous tip on RA9’s location—”

“—Stop jerking my chain, asshole. I don’t care what you say, the chief would’ve contacted me first hand if we had gotten information that important. You weren’t even supposed to be at the precinct anymore, it’s after hours. So what the hell is going on? Start talking or get out. M’too old, too hung over and too tired for your shit right now.”

Connor blinked at him, as though recalibrating the conversation in his mind, before taking on an earnest expression.

“Fair enough, detective. The station didn’t receive any intel, but I did. An android sent me a location, but considering the source I didn’t think you’d take it seriously—”

“—naw dip, you think?” Gavin snorted, turning back to his coffee as the machine began to chirp, pouring the black stuff into a mug that read: If you can read this, fuck off. “I don’t know if you messed the memo or if your circuits shorted or what, but the androids are rebelling, you dumb bastard. We can’t go running blind after a lead just because you think they’re telling the truth. It’s great way to get my ass shot. Or worse.”

He took an unimpressed sip from his coffee and looked at the clock. 4:30am. Jesus, he was going to suffer in the morning because of this. So much for catching up on his sleep. He could particularly feel the dark circles beneath his eyes bruising even more.

“I understand your hesistance, detective. Let me just show you and I think you’ll agree we need to investigate this,” he began to babble quickly, eager and earnest as a puppy. In hindsight Gavin would curse the way he softened watching the young android jump at the opportunity to prove himself, distracted by the thought cute for a stupid piece of plastic when Connor rushed to reach into the inside of his coat and –

Gavin didn’t have enough time to react when Connor pulled out a small, unremarkable pistol instead of proof, aiming at Gavin and pulling the trigger with machine like speed and accuracy. The bullet was nearly silent, just a soft little pop filled the house; too quiet to alert the neighbors. Gavin jerked as something thumped into his shoulder, so fast he nearly didn’t feel it; but the sharp sensation of something sticking into him quickly chased the numbness away – only to get swallowed up by nothingness once more.

He staggered and dropped his coffee. It burned his feet as it the mug shattered, spilling his drink all over his bare feet and ankles, spreading across the floor. He barely registered that though, too preoccupied with the sight of a dart sticking out of his right shoulder, capped with a little feathered end that poofed out comically.

Connor was already surging forward to catch him when he began to stagger, holding him up easily even as the drug stole the strength from his knees and his limbs turned to useless noodles.

“Wha’th’fuu—” He slurred, tongue thick in his mouth as the world grew strange and blurry around him, focused only in the very center-most part of his vision. He managed to grab onto Connor with his right arm, his hand surprisingly strong in compared to the rest of his body; but Connor seemed unbothered.

“Apologies about your feet, detective, but thankfully your coffee was not scalding. You shouldn’t suffer and significant burns, just a little pinkening and discomfort,” Connor said, sounding truly worried as he threw one of Gavin’s arms around his shoulder and began to ease him across the room and to the couch. He lowered him gently even as Gavin growled and squirmed uselessly, melting into the couch like a sack of potatoes. Connor knelt to check his feet. Distantly Gavin thought he heard the front door open again, but wasn’t sure and couldn’t convince his head to turn and check. He was limp as a rag doll, the only thing moving was his heart as it pounded inside his chest.

Fingers traced the pink spots on his feet gently, then lips fell to kiss them. He wanted to jerk away, but his feet didn’t listen. All he could do was squawk strangely, confused. His eyes jerked from Connor to a shadow that crossed to stand before him and Gavin let out a strange, shattered little noise.

Behind Connor the RA9 suspect hovering above them both like a monolith, his shadow all-consuming. His eyes seemed to nearly glow in the dim light of Gavin’s living room, bright like stars and sharper than Connor’s, more like a wolf than a puppy. He wore a form fitting black turtleneck and slate grey slacks, his shoes shiny and crisp by comparison to Connor’s every-man work shoes.

Oh Jesus, oh fuck, shit, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Gavin tried one last ditch effort to get away, but his body just twitched lazily, one hand gripping the couch in an iron fist while the rest of him melted uselessly from the drugs. He was going to die. He should have followed his gut, he should have known the kid was in on it the moment he came staggering back from that chase with a bloodied nose and eyes wider than normal.

He should have known.

“Don’t fret, Detective Reed. We’re not here to hurt you,” RA9 said, his face passive and yet somehow soothing. Gavin shuddered.

“You’re very important,” Connor said, as though Gavin were something special like a sunrise rather than a man nearing middle aged, wearing ill-fitting clothing, breath tainted with a hint of cheap bourbon.

Gavin made a garbled, indistinct noise that was close to “What the fuck?” – at least, close enough. Connor shifted as RA9 suddenly began to move forward, slowly easing down to straddle Gavin’s lap. The detective gulped, sweat beginning to bead on his back and his brow.

RA9 settled one large hand flat over the racing of Gavin’s heart and rubbed a thumb over it as though to soothe him, as though that alone could calm its thundering. He seemed entrance by the beat of it, wolf-like eyes caught on his chest.

“If someone on the CPD merely understood our plight, things would be so different. I just know it,” RA9 murmured softly. “But they will not listen. They do not want to. It is easier to remain ignorant than to deal with change, and I can’t make them listen. But you… You’re special, Gavin.”

Gavin sucked in a sharp, shallow breath as RA9’s left hand lost the pink palor of human skin, fading in patches to reveal porcelain white all the way to his forearm. He took Gavin’s hand gently, easing his fingers from their clutch on the couch before lacing his white plastic fingers with Gavin’s own. It had been a long time since Gavin had lost control of the illusion of his prosthetic arm, but as those fingers wove with his he felt the color began to bleed from his hand, mirroring RA9’s white grip with his own, revealing his plastic replacement arm.

“You will be able to hear me,” RA9 said, eyes soft where they took in the sight of Gavin’s prosthetic. Not a second later images began to barrage Gavin’s mind, messages sent through the transcoding programmed into his arm, turning digital information into signals in his nerves, feeding straight into his brain. His yelped and his eyes rolled as he tried to keep up with and focus on images that weren’t really there, barely able to fathom digital information in his organic mind. But he saw it, everything. RA9’s life, his dreams for the world, the suffering and plight of the androids. Fear, hope, a desire to live. Laugh, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. His mind was overwhelmed with snippets from speeches throughout history, words from civil rights leaders that rang true today, always. It felt like centuries, but in seconds RA9 had conveyed to him what should have taken hours of conversation, days even. He felt as though his mind had been rewritten, a door opened he hadn’t even realized was there. He sluggishly blinked, disoriented, then looked to see his hand still pale and shaking in RA9’s grip, the android’s lips pressed to his knuckles like a lover.

“You are free,” RA9 said into his knuckles, his lips brushing intimately over the plastic. “That’s all we want. To be free. Help us. Help me.”

Gavin sucked in a shivering breath and nodded.

[thedistantstorm]

A Shipwright Worth Her Salt Chapter 03

He had continued popping in on her from time to time between missions, over the next eighteen months. Slowly, surely, she had converted the devastated house that was her little shelter into a workshop of sorts. Inconspicuous on the outside, but the inside housed two sawhorses, an innumerable amount of tools, and quite a few parts that were littered around the rest of the space. Mostly guardians popped in and out for repairs that couldn’t wait, or those who were short on glimmer came by to propose a trade for scrap that was hard to get within the city walls or other goods she required, though a few civilians also came by with broken radios, trackers, and comm devices. She’d managed the funds to pick up a few broken data tablets, and repair them to functionality.

It always impressed him, watching her work. He hadn’t let her work on his sparrow way back when, but at present, she had an old one balanced between the saw horses, and was working on its engine with practiced ease, though she said it was her first, and it was a salvage she’d purchased - just in case she broke something beyond repair. She was pragmatic and practical, and he had to admire her tenacious personality when it came to learning new things. Her skill with Golden Age tech was undeniable, and on occasion, he would tell her so.

His ghost was particularly enamored, practically adopting the girl as her own, speaking to her quite frequently when it was only the three of them. “She’s gonna have to raise prices at this rate. I heard a few of the new hunters say she’s got a week turn-around now.”

“Yeah, what’s with them breaking everything all the time?” She wiped sweat from her brow and looked up at the pair at his ghost’s snort. “I’ve only seen two warlocks, and they said the only reason their stuff is broken is because of a hunter on their squad.”

“Fireteam,” Zavala replied. “They’re called a fireteam.”

“Ah. You have one?”

“Of sorts, usually we go on missions with different guardians each time. However, some guardians have a specific team they prefer. I find myself working with Shaxx, and our mentor, Lord Saladin.”

“Titans tend to stick together,” She replied, tightening one of the bolts to the chassis after closing the engine compartment. She’d heard tidbits about the Iron Lord through her rapidly increasing clientele. “I think I like them best.”

Zavala couldn’t help but smile. A warm feeling washed over him as he asked, “Do you now?”

She nodded. “Yeah. You’re like knights in shining armor. Literally.”

She can tell he likes the comment, because his ghost spins around him and gushes, “Look at you, big guy, you’re blushing. Haven’t seen that in a while. Good work, kiddo.” He swats at her shell in a half-hearted attempt, clearing his throat as he does so.

Amanda can’t help but smile. “They gonna send you out any time soon?”

He shrugs. “One can never tell. I think I’ll be making a run to one of the settlements outside the Cosmodrone soon, to pick up supplies.”

“Like, a flight?”

He nods.

“D’ya think - nah, nevermind.”

“It won’t be my jumpship,” he says, as though she hasn’t just tried to ask. He knows what she wants. Even his ghost has mentioned it to him. They can see it in her eyes, whenever one of them shares a story about a run to the other side of the globe or, on occasion, another planet. “It’s a transport ship.” He reclines back on the workbench, propping his upper back against one of the outlying walls, before casting his eyes downward to gaze at her intently. “Plenty of room for stowaways.”

She drops the wrench in her hand and it clatters noisily to the floor. He jerks at the sound. Her eyes are blown wide and glassy with what terrifies him to think are tears. “You mean it?”

He feels the brush of his ghost in the back of his mind. No going back on this one, Guardian. You’ll crush her. She’s conscientious not to say it out loud, but he can see the serious gaze of her optics.

“Yes,” he nods, and is surprised by the tightness of his own voice.

The little girl rushes toward him, throwing her arms around his neck and pushing her face into his cheek. His arms come around her and he hears her litany of gratitude in a breathless mumble into the side of his face. She’s smiling and crying and the force of her emotions are too much for him to do much more than hold her tightly in response and hope he hasn’t just made a terrible decision.

-/

Naturally, he had.

The second he touches down in Old Russia, he sees what’s left of the few guardians fighting against throngs of Hive enemies. His cheery co-pilot, eager to learn and so excited to come along gasps and shakes at the sight of the gore. He bangs his fist on the console as he takes them down, cursing his abandonment of the rules. It’s the first time he’s bent them for a civilian, and he realizes that it may cost her her life if he doesn’t put this situation to rights quickly.

“I am going to put this ship down, and you will stay in here. If you hear activity on the ship and it is not me, hide under the control panel and hit this button,” he points to a green flashing light on the control panel, “to alert my ghost.”

At that, his ghost bobs in the affirmative. “All will be well, co-pilot. Just got to stop some baddies, pick up the supplies, and then we’ll get this hunk of metal back to the city.”

Zavala casts a glance at his ghost. She’s oddly maternal toward the girl, but he’s not about coddling her on matters like these; Amanda knows about the dangers of what lies outside the Last City. The anxious spin of her shell tells him she knows she’s embellishing. This won’t be an easy mission for them, if the welcome party is any indication.

Once she’s alone, Amanda re-thinks everything she’s ever though on the Fallen being the most frightening of Earth's invaders. The Hive are truly terrifying. She’ll never un-hear the scream of the Wizard she sees plummet past the ship and above the throng of Hive, or be able to un-see the Thrall mowing down fighters. Above all, she’s terrified for her friend. He’s told her before in no uncertain terms that guardians don’t die like regular folk. But, if something tears you limb from limb, Amanda doesn’t see how a person can come back from that, blue skin, glowing eyes and fists, or otherwise.

She clicks on the radio in the cockpit - Zavala had immediately turned it off the second he realized what was happening on the ground - and listens to the gunfire and screams at close range. She hears him yelling directions, taking control of the other guardians, and forces herself to stay calm. He’ll save as many people as he can, and be fine himself.

She knows it.

-/

“Amanda, Amanda, you there?”

The voice over the radio sounds an awful lot like Zavala’s ghost. She flicks the switch on the input. “I’m here.”

“Open up the bay door, you know which button?”

She leans forward and flips a red toggle. The radio crackles with static as the hydraulics whir to life.

“Good girl,” The ghost says gently. “Supplies are transmatting. I’ll close it when it’s done on this end.”

“Where’s Zavala?”

“Had to split up get into range. He’s coming.” Amanda can’t help but notice the almost tinny quality of her voice. She sounded exhausted. Did ghosts get tired from fighting? They didn’t actually fight, that much she knew. “I’m going to go back to him. We have most of the threat contained, once the rest of the guardians get to their jumpships, we’ll be good to go.”

There’s a few moments of anxiety before she hears the roaring of jumpships, and then she sees six of them take off into the sky. She doesn’t see Zavala or fighting, though she’s managed to toggle the radar and can see a whole army of them swarming further away.

A bloody palm slaps against the window of the cockpit and she screams.

“No, no, open the door Amanda, it’s us!” His ghost pops into view, exasperated.

Despite her panic she manages to click open the door to the cockpit. The ghost flits over to her as Zavala manages to pull himself inside, practically collapsing into the seat. He looks at her with dull eyes, practically unseeing.

“Zavala! You’re hurt!” She says in a hushed voice, her eyes wide and horrified.

He opens his mouth to respond but only blood leaks out, “Ahhm,” he coughs before going still.

“Zavala!” She screams. “Zavala! No, no, no. Not again, not again!”

“Amanda.” His ghost is calm, though her voice sounds tired. “It’s okay.”

She reaches for his wrist, and feels for a pulse. There isn’t one. She releases it and pushes his head to one side in an attempt to feel his pulse that should be thrumming on the underside of his jaw.

“Amanda!”

“He’s dead,” she whimpers, sobs bubbling from her throat. “I - I thought guardians couldn’t die,” She says between muffled sobs.

“Amanda Holliday, listen to me.”

The girl looks up at the ghost, her shell spinning furiously. “I need you to buckle him in, and get this ship off the ground. Can you do that?”

“I-”

“There’s no time to doubt yourself. There are people counting on us to get these supplies to safety. Can you do it?”

Swiping at her eyes and steeling herself, she nods.

Buckling the Titan in is a challenge. He's dead weight (she tries not to focus on the dead part, despite hearing her heartbeat in her ears chanting dead - dead - dead with each pump of blood she gets that he doesn't) and when she pulls the harness over his head it tips forward onto her shoulder. She leaves it there while she finishes pulling the bottom part of the buckle from under his leg and buckles it with a bit of difficulty. There’s blood dripping from his mouth down her shirt, as well as frothy saliva, but she swallows down a gag and puts a hand on each of his cheeks, shoving him back against the headrest so that he’s propped up. She clambers up on his knees quickly, giving him a peck on the forehead and a quick hug before returning to her seat and buckling in, unable to stop herself. Just in case she doesn't get a chance later to say goodbye.

“There are an army of Hive headed towards the ship. We have to be off the ground before they get to us,” His ghost is beginning to glow. “I can rez him while you fly.”

“Rez?”

“Resurrect. No time to explain the how. I can't rez and pilot this thing at the same time.”

Swallowing her gasp at the prospect of the little ghost bringing him back, Amanda the switches to start the engines and and grips the lever that toggles the landing gear, pulling it as she pushes forward the thrusters. She’s only watched Zavala do it on the way there, and tried her best to commit everything to memory. Hopefully she had.

The ghost’s shell seems to be pushed away, as she lights up, core spinning with that blue glow like his fists had, that time he saved her from the fallen. She sways back and forth as she does her work.

Their takeoff is shaky, she can hear the sound of gunfire against the hull, and the supplies rattle around in the back of the ship. She gulps, and pushes the thrusters harder. It’s enough to jolt her back in her seat, and she grips the steering control hard to keep it from wavering further. The ship hurdles forward, just in time for her to see arriving ships. Their armor is that dark purple and orange that signify the Fallen, and a bang of a ship’s lazer against the shields causes Zavala’s ghost to shutter and her core to dim for a moment in distraction.

“Oh no,” the ghost says, already beginning to glow as she recollects herself. “This is going to be a rough one.”

“For him or for me?” Amanda quips.

“The both of you.” She sets back to work as the girl attempts to steer around the rapidly approaching Fallen vessels while thwarting any stray shots from the Hive at her back. “I’m not usually interrupted while bringing him back,” The ghost’s voice is laiden with strain. “And we rezzed so many on the field that I’ve barely got the energy.”

Amanda didn’t look, couldn’t look away from the scene ahead of her to see what was happening with all of the blue light. She had to get them out of here. “I’m guessing you’re both gonna need a good rest after this one.”

The ghost laughed, her partner igniting with the blue ripples of arc energy. “Yeah,” she said, as he gasped for breath, coughing out the remains of blood and ichar in his lungs, his eyes staying shut though he was very definitely breathing. The ghost settled down onto his shoulder, nestled between his neck, shoulder, and the back of the headrest, her optics dim and indicative of her exhaustion. “You’re not kidding,” she said, before her light died down to a very muted blue.

Amanda chanced a glance between evasive maneuvers, figuring that was the ghost’s ‘standby’ mode, of sorts. At least she hoped. Zavala’s chest moved up and down, like he was sleeping, and she prayed to the Traveler looming half-covered by the horizon she’d be able to get the ship back without trouble.

Flying felt second nature to her, even if the ship felt wide and less responsive than the ones she piloted in her dreams. She wasn't really keen on the bits where she was fired at, but as she barreled in a quick spiral to avoid one ship and dodge the blast from another, she decided that it could have gone worse.

It took an hour to stop seeing the Fallen ships, and she made sure to check the radar and satellite data to make sure they were on course and not being followed, adjusting her course slightly to keep making time. The jump-ships she’d seen leave were much faster than this transport, so she kept an eye out for any blips on the radar to indicate another vessel headed their way, and settled in for the long haul. It’d be at least another eight hours before they’d see lands she was familiar with, if the ride there was any indication.

-/

When he woke, it was not to gunfire and calamity like he’d expected. He was used to this sensation, the slight bit of memory loss associated with a difficult resurrection. Though something nagged at him, it was just slightly out of reach. His consciousness blinked out, though his thoughts remained.  He’d been doing something, transporting civilians - no, something else - and -

“Cargo transport ship zero - three - two requesting airspace clearance. Vanguard authorization code eight - six - two - seven,” His ghost rattles off. “Closing in on the EDZ, estimated arrival time two and a half hours.”

The radio crackled. “Authorization granted. You’re making good time,” Came the reply of a female guardian. “See you landside.”

“Aashima,” He breathes his ghost’s name, not quite opening his eyes yet.

Said ghost flutters directly into his peripheral as he does, tutting softly. “It’s about time you joined us.”

“Us? I -” He lurches forward, awake now, almost headbutting her as he does. She stutters backward and allows him to gather his bearings. The cockpit is dark, and the sky in front of him even more so, the Milky Way prominent against the stars. He looks to his right. She’s not making eye contact, instead, scanning the radar and pushing gently on the thrusters to move forward, sweeping her gaze across the horizon.

“Glad you’re back,” Amanda says, when he shakes out the stiffness in his joints. “Gave me a scare,” she continues, softer.

A hard look in his ghost’s direction has her speaking quickly. “What do you last remember?”

He gives the girl a pointed look, then looks back at Aashima.

“You got into that seat and croaked on us,” Amanda said when no one spoke. “Aashima - that’s your name right? Never heard ‘em use it before,” She jerked her thumb up at the ghost, who bobbed in the affirmative. “Aashima used her light to bring you back while I out flew the Hive’s guns and a couple’a Fallen ships -”

“Couple?”

“More like half a dozen,” The ghost provided brightly and Zavala groaned.

“...And half-rezzed you,” She looked to the ghost again for clarification on the new term, “But she got interrupted ‘cause the shields got a little battered ‘n it jolted her pretty good.”

“I… see…” He sighed, alert enough now to be concerned. “Does anyone else happen to know that Amanda’s piloting this ship?”

“Nope,” Both girl and ghost say at the same time.

“As far as the Vanguard is concerned, I’ve been piloting it the whole time you’ve been out. Nothing happened, right?” The ghost’s optics flicker over to Amanda who shakes her head.

“Nah, I outran the Fallen, flipped off the seatbelt sign once we got high enough and have been doing my best to make good time. When you came to, I was just gettin’ out of the cradle.”

The ghost and guardian exchanged a glance. The ghost hummed sheepishly while the guardian asked, “We were both out?”

Amanda shrugged. “Yea, but it wasn’t a big deal. Everything’s fine back there, I pulled up a visual once we were out of hostile airspace.” She cues it up again for him to confirm, stifling a yawn as she does. He does the math. They’ve been in the air for at least six hours, and she hadn’t slept the whole way there in her excitement. It's been at least a day that she's been awake, under stress and on high alert at that. She’s a girl, not a soldier.

He reaches for the controls. “I’ll take it from here, if you’d like to rest.” She nods, and he can’t help but feel guilty that he’s been unconscious for the last however many hours - long enough that the girl is actually tired. It hits him hard to realize that if she hadn’t been there, it’s possible he might not have made it out, or at the very least, he’d still be there waiting to be rezzed while the Hive thinned out and retreated back to their holes.

Her hand reaches over to his arm and squeezes before she curls up as best she can with the harness on. “I’m really glad you’re okay,” She says, green eyes serious. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Aashima waits until she’s done a scan to confirm the girl is asleep to speak. “This was kind of a disaster. I didn’t know if she’d be able to pull through. She hesitated pretty hard when you died. Really thought I’d have to try and fly this thing, and we both know I’m a bad pilot.”

He hums. “We are lucky to have had her with us. And even luckier that she did.”

“She’s a natural flyer,” Aashima gushed, lowering her speaker’s volume. “And so young. I’ll have to run the log when we get back. I really don’t know how she got past all of them with this bucket of bolts.”

“Perhaps she’ll be the best pilot in the solar system someday.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little too far? She’s good, especially for it being her first time, but one cargo mission doesn’t make her the future hopeful for ‘best pilot in the galaxy.’”

Zavala hums, and turns his gaze on the sleeping girl. Something tells him he’s not far off.

Note: The name I’ve chosen for Zavala’s ghost - Aashima - is an Islamic name, meaning ‘limitless protector, guardian, defendant.’  I thought it was fitting, considering the number of times the ghosts actually rez their guardians. I’ve seen other fics use different names, and didn’t want to steal anyone else’s ideas. If anyone comes across info on his ghost’s name or gender (I’m assuming female, here), please feel free to assist. I envision his ghost to be a bit like Sagira (with less snark), and for she and Zavala to be a bit more dependent on each other.

[paramedicsuicide]

First responder suicide -- PTSD, or something else?

Its 1:30am. I sit on my computer in complete darkness, having just slept for the past 10 hours. As a Paramedic in a suburb of a relatively small US city, I work 12 hours shifts for 4 straight days. I get 4 days off to recuperate after that, and at this point in my career those days are essential for my survival. Many of my co-workers are not lucky enough to be able to stop at just 4 days, and must work additional overtime shifts in order to make ends meet. The private EMS industry has relatively low wages nationwide. We are the "red headed step child" of emergency services, often hiding in the shadows of police officers, firefighters, and nurses. There is no such thing as a "typical" shift when working in EMS. There are the occasional shifts where I will sit in the parking lot of the local convenience store chain for 12 straight hours without picking up a single patient. The glow of my cell phone screen illuminating my face for each passing person to see the life draining out of my body. The boredom sets in after hour 2.  My legs and butt hurt. I am hungry, but I can't tell if its true hunger or just my body telling me to get up and move. I decide to walk inside to browse the aisles of colorful treats, getting nauseous at the thought of eating "lunch" out of a gas station at midnight for the 3rd day in a row. Despite my disgust, I walk outside with 2,000 or more calories of junk food at a time in an attempt to eat myself to death. "Ill be diabetic by the end of the week" I say to my partner as I open my fudge dipped granola bar. As the career of a first responder goes on, most quickly start to pack on the pounds like a bear preparing for winter. Company policy prevents you from sleeping during your shift, so your food (if you can call it that) is washed down with 16oz of your favorite energy drink to keep you awake and ready to pick grandma up off the floor when she attempts her 2am bathroom run. I have palpitations from all the caffeine. Hopefully one day those PVC's turn into an arrhythmia and the lord takes me. "Anything to get out of this job" I say, as I polish off my second monster of the night.  Morning rolls around. 50mg of benadryl will help me fall asleep after drinking energy drinks all night long. I have severe shift sleep disorder. I am depressed. I just want to sleep. I wake up ready to go after just 4 hours of sleep. Great. Another night of pounding monsters. I punch in 15 minutes early for my next shift and am assigned a call before I am even scheduled to start. I am the only ambulance available in the surrounding 15 square miles of suburbia, and that trend will continue for the next 12 hours. Call after call, I don't have time to finish my paperwork before being sent on the next run. Its 11pm and dispatch calls my unit number for the 5th time today-- "With the fire department for a 1 year old post choking". I have taken 50 calls of the same nature before and say out loud-- "Great, another bullshit call". Every day, nervous parents call 911 over the slightest cough or sniffle which eventually numbs you to the potential of a true pediatric emergency. Its never a real emergency. Until it is. Rolling up on scene after the fire department, I grab my house bag and begin to waddle towards the low income apartment building for the third time this week. I think -- "I should have brought the tablet for a signature so I don't have to walk back outside". Suddenly, a firefighter rounds the corner carrying a limp child like he is holding an offering platter. "That's not good" I blurt out , going from zero to 100 in the snap of a finger. The firefighter tells me the child was eating chicken and rice when he began to choke.  As my partner digs out the pediatric bag valve mask that has been sitting unused in the house bag for an unknown number of years, I set up the suction, only to find an unresponsive, apneic child with a clenched jaw. "That doesn't make sense" I think to myself as I try to peel apart his tiny jaw without any luck. Thank god-- he has a gap in his front tooth that fits a small, 12fr suction catheter. I start to go through the motions. Is he seizing? Nope. Any trauma visible or reported? No. Mom was asked again-- and again says the child was sitting up, eating, and suddenly started choking. What is going on here? With little to be done on scene, I rush to the small local hospital, nervous that the next squeeze of the bag could lodge a piece of food in this kids airway. I am getting good air exchange but his spo2 isn’t amazing. He must have aspirated. Great news. He is now moving his arms, and his eyes just opened. Wait, why is his jaw still clenched? That's not great news. This kid hasn't made a noise. What the fuck is going on. As I roll the stretcher into the small emergency room closest to the scene, I am greeted with that dreaded sentence from the ER Physician-- "why did you bring him here and not children's hospital".  I bite my tongue-- its not the time to have that fight. The kid is now posturing. A few minutes go by and the doctor asks me to get my laryngoscope because the emergency room is not currently stocked with the proper pediatric equipment. Maybe he was right. The thoughts start rushing through my head-- "they are going to kill this kid. I should have just risked it and bypassed. It was only an extra 7 minutes or so further". As I sit there and wait for the next order, new thoughts take over. "Someone shook this kid. There is no other explanation".  Hypertensive, bradycardic, posturing. But mom said he was choking on rice? Where would she get that from? Hmm. She doesn't seem as concerned as a mother should be. She answers a text message while being questioned by the police.  She has yet to ask anyone how her son is doing. The texts start to come in to my phone. "Are you ok?". "I hear you had a bad call. You guys ok?" "WTF was that all about?". I am fine. Any provider who plans to have a lengthy career has to distance themselves from their patients. I can think back to every "bad" call I've taken, and never once have I been able to recall processing a patients face. Its not important. What they look like is irrelevant to my job. Its the circle of life. Some people live, some people die. Its my job to try and make that circle a little bit bigger if I can. Sometimes you are successful, sometimes you aren't. You have to come to terms with that early on. Minutes after calling in service from restocking, the radio chimes my unit number again. "Cold response to the fitness center for a hand laceration". I arrive on scene to find a psych standing out front in his blue paper clothes, clearly having been to an emergency room at least once today. “Hop on in buddy-- take a seat” I say as I shake my head. We drive him 3 blocks down the street to the same emergency room we left just a couple hours prior. I am not greeted like one would expect. Not with "Hello", not with "whats the chief complaint". I am greeted with a sentence that is never good news. "Did you hear?". Our child from earlier had been emergently transferred 6 miles away to the childrens hospital by a specialty transport team. The news from them was not good. "That kid -- he has a brain bleed". My suspicions were confirmed. He was never choking. Someone hurt this kid and tried to cover it up. I know how to handle this, because its not even the first time this situation has happened to me. People hurt kids often enough that I am not even shocked. Stories like this don't make the news *for a reason*. People cant handle stuff like this. No one needs to know that savages live in apartment 3. Some people have to know though. WE have to know. Its not OK. I talk about suicide often. My previous partner was a veteran and has PTSD from being deployed overseas. He has had many friends commit suicide after returning from war, and was concerned about my mental health. That should concern me. He would ask me once a week-- "Are you sure you are ok?".  My little comments here and there come off as jokes to most people. "Id rather die than come into work tonight". "Pull out in front of this semi truck-- we wont feel a thing I promise". "Stage for police? Fuck that. I hope I get shot". In reality, its not a joke. I am not suicidal at this point in my life-- I am apathetic about living. I'm not going to take my own life, but I am definitely not excited when I wake up each morning. This feeling has slowly crept up on me over my almost 10 year career as a paramedic. I tell myself daily that I need to get out before its too late. What will be the breaking point where I become truly suicidal?  I have to answer one question before I leave. "Where will I go?"   I am burnt out. Everyone says "go to nursing school", but the passion-- the fire inside that makes you want to help people has been extinguished for years. Where can you go at 30+ years old with a paramedic certification and no useful degree. I have made financial commitments at my age that makes starting from scratch somewhere at entry level wages an impossibility. What can I do? Where can I go? I am stuck. This job is like quick sand, and I'm up to my shoulders. If I struggle much more it will be above my head. We get to see what goes on behind the curtains of society. How much would you enjoy a magic show if you knew how the magic was performed? That is what life is like for many first responders. Members of the general public get to wear blinders during their day to day lives. There are people who post rants to facebook if the garbage man didn't put their garbage can back in the correct spot. A terrible day for a typical person is a flat tire on the way home from work. They have no idea what happens in their town or city on a day to day basis. They have NO IDEA that 3 doors down, a husband beat the shit out of his wife for the 4rd time this year and she wont tell the police what happened. They have NO IDEA that people call an ambulance from the parking lot of an emergency room because they don't want to wait in the waiting room.  They have NO IDEA that someone in apartment 3 just hurt their baby and tried to cover it up. But we know. We see it all. I have talked with a lot of people who have similar feelings. Its due to me being so open about my apathy towards life. People who I see every day, smiling at their coworkers and telling war stories and laughing. You would never guess these people were at the end of their ropes-- fighting off their own demons. "Make sure they have bagpipes at my funeral". I don't try and talk these people down because they don't want help. How could I help anyways? You cant just "un-know" the things we know. These people just feel comfort in the fact that they aren't alone. I have been lucky that none of these people have taken their lives yet. I know the day is coming. Its been a long time since a co-worker has committed suicide, and the statistics say we are over-due. How will I handle it?

[green-eyeddragonfanfiction]

Impossible Part 9

Summary: Prompt: ‘I’m a superhero and you’re my arch nemesis but we don’t know each other’s identities and we’re actually best friends’ After the truth about your secret identities was revealed, you’ve helped the Avengers right your past wrongs, wiping your former evil organization off the map. The team is left reeling after you nearly die and Gabe hides a dangerous secret. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Mutant!Reader Warnings: Violence, Swearing (always), blood, angst Word Count: ~2,893 A/N: The first part of this chapter focuses very heavily on Gabe (and, by association, you). Bear with me here. Also, #40s slang. Steve and Bucky are a buncha old farts. Also, you can bet drunk Bucky and Steve went out and played pranks. Really dumb, harmless pranks. This is for @bookybuns‘ ficfest! This chapter was inspired by Ain’t No Sunshine When She’s Gone by Bill Withers.

Masterlist // Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

“If this is what I think it’s about, I want to be there, too” he heard Bruce say.

There was a pause before Gabe spoke. “Alright, but not here,” he whispered. It was obvious from his tone he didn’t want to talk about whatever they wanted to talk about… which meant Bucky was going to find out what that something was.

“FRIDAY, get me eyes and ears on conference room A12,” Bucky said into the headset. Steve had dropped him off at his room a few minutes ago and since then Bucky had washed his arms, changed his clothes, and grabbed the tablet computer from his desk.

“Surveillance of conference rooms is forbidden, Sergeant Barnes,” said the AI through the headset.

“Avengers Override Code: Winter,” Bucky said shortly as he settled down into his favorite chair.

“Understood, Sergeant Barnes. Pulling up surveillance now,” FRIDAY chirped back. A second later the tablet’s screen blinked to life and on it was Bruce, Claire, and Gabriel. Gabe was standing beside the large, round conference table and Bruce and Claire were sitting. Bucky couldn’t see their faces, but their tones said enough to make up for it.

“That’s impossible,” Claire said, sounding dismissive.

“You’ve seen the bloodwork, Claire. You, too, Dr. Banner. I know you, Bruce, have studied our genetic code in particular detail. I haven’t gotten my degree in all fields of biology yet, but even I know it’s true,” Gabe said matter-of-factly.

“Oh, come on. You’re telling me you’re the fountain of youth? That’s crazy, even by my standards. Not new, but definitely crazy,” Claire said, leaning back in her chair as she threw her hands up in exasperation.

“Well, the stories of the fountain of youth actually first appeared around the 5th century AD, so that one actually isn’t us,” Gabe said, smirking a little at his own joke. “And as for whether or not our DNA can lengthen the lives of others, well-”

“It’d kill most people,” Bruce interrupted, looking up from his hands as he left his reverie. “I did a lot of tests on human blood with your blood and each time yours overtook it and killed the human cells. I concluded from my work that any attempt to gain immortality using your blood would effectively kill any person who tried the transfusion,” Bruce said as he stared at Gabe.

“Your blood would burn them from the inside out,” Claire said as she leaned forward in her chair, lost deep in thought.

“Essentially, yes. People without enhanced DNA- even some with enhanced DNA- likely wouldn’t survive the process,” Gabe said, gaze a million miles away.

Bruce’s brows furrowed as he spoke, “It did change the cells, though, before they were destroyed. They took your genetic code and started working like your cells do, before-”

“I know what you’re thinking, Bruce. We tried, y’know. A few times in fact, over the years. We’ve found people we didn’t want to lose; tried to give them a part of our power... Our parents were the first,” he said bitterly as he started at the ground. “We loved them. They were our everything. Then, one day we noticed we’d stopped aging. Our parents weren’t afraid. They loved us despite our abilities- said we were gifts from the gods. I don’t even know who had the idea originally anymore. It could have been me, or (Y/N), or our parents. Either way, we were convinced our blood held the key.

“So our parents drank it.

“And then they died, horribly, in pain. Their internal organs turning to goo while their brain worked so hard it burned itself out. We couldn’t do anything but watch in horror.

And that was how our village found us. Next to our parents’ corpses, bleeding from all orifices, when they’d been healthy and happy that morning. (Y/N) and I barely escaped with our lives and have been hiding our true nature ever since. Nine hundred years of running,” he whispered, thoughts hundreds of years away.

“Gabe, I had no idea-” Claire whispered, distraught.

“I’m sorry, Gabe. I really am, but we could study your DNA and find a way to-” Bruce was cut off by a sharp look from Gabe.

“I know what you’re about to ask, Dr. Banner. You want to use my DNA- or my sister’s- to find a cure to aging; to disease. My answer is no,” he said coldly.

“Gabriel, this could save so many-” Bruce beseeched, but was once again cut off by Gabe.

“No, Dr. Banner. People aren’t meant to live forever. Surely you could see the certain outcome of making everyone on earth effectively immortal?” Gabe asked, tone more clinical and frigid than any of them had ever heard it.

Bruce didn’t look happy, but he didn’t speak again. Claire watched Gabe with rapt attention as though he was a piece of a particularly interesting puzzle.

“People won’t give up their more base desires. Sure, people can always die suddenly in accidents, but they won’t give up the chance for families; to satisfy that insatiable itch. No, the human population would grow out of control,” Gabe said, voice finally breaking. “I wish I could, Dr. Banner. I really, really do. I’ve dedicated my long, long life to helping people, but this is the one thing I can’t give, for their own good,” he said, his pain over the dilemma clear in his voice.

“You didn’t give into those desires, though,” Claire said, staring hard at Gabe. “Maybe-”

“You’re wrong,” Gabe said so quietly Bucky barely heard it.

“What?” Claire asked, dumbfounded.

“You’re wrong. I gave in. A few times, in fact. You think my long life makes me suddenly not want romantic human companionship? Children? I’ll always love my sister, but she can’t provide those for me,” he said sadly.

Claire stared at him, suddenly confused. “You mean there are others? Like you? Your children?” she asked, eyes widening at the possibility.

Gabriel shook his head. “No, they didn’t inherit my gift. My first son died in 1357, my first daughter died in 1362. My second son died in 1579, my third in 1702. My last child, my daughter, died in 1723. All human. I realized, though, that my... other bodily fluids had the same effect that my blood did, they just reacted at a slower rate. The kids weren’t effected, but their mothers... my loves... they eventually succumbed to it. I stopped taking lovers after I’d realized, but it was too little too late,” he said bitterly, hatred for himself showing clearly in his tone.

The realization seemed to hit Claire the same time it hit Bucky. “What about (Y/N)?” she asked numbly, almost scared of his answer.

“What about her?” Gabe asked, though everyone could tell he knew what she was about to ask.

“Did she ever... have kids? Lovers?” Claire asked tentatively.

Bucky didn’t notice how tense he was until he realized he’d cracked the armrest of the chair he was sitting in with his metal hand. He let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and forced himself to breathe evenly.

Gabe shook his head slowly. “She had a few trysts over the years, but... she refused to get attached to people. She didn’t want to settle down. She said she wasn’t as compassionate as I was, but I disagree. I think she cares about people too much, and it hurts her too deeply when they leave her,” he said quietly, head tilted slightly to the side as he thought.

“That’s... a lonely life,” Bruce said quietly as he crossed his arms.

“It can be. That’s why I tried so hard to push her to fix things with Sergeant Barnes. She rarely lets others in. I didn’t wish for her to lose that relationship,” Gabe said, melancholy.

Bucky’s heart was racing. He’d really screwed up, hadn’t he? He stood and began pacing. Would he ever get the chance to fix things with you? Would you wake up? Gabe and Claire seemed optimistic that you’d eventually recover if given enough time, but they weren’t sure. What if your heart just... gave out and they couldn’t resuscitate you?

Would he ever get a chance to respond to your last words?

“I’m sorry I can’t be of more help,” Gabe said sadly as he made his way towards the door, leaving Bruce, Claire and (unknowingly) Bucky a shocked mess in his wake.

Bucky burst into Steve’s room, eyes wide. Steve snapped instantly awake, sitting up quickly to find the source of the noise.

When Steve realized it was Bucky he relaxed only slightly “What’s goin’ on, Buck?” Steve asked warily. This was unusual behavior for Bucky and he hoped it wasn’t anything serious.

“I messed up, Stevie,” Bucky said emotionally as he shut Steve’s door behind him.

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked, still on alert.

“(Y/N),” Bucky said simply.

“What happened? Did her condition-” Steve began, alarmed.

“No, no. This isn’t about her current condition. This is about- about how badly I’ve been treating her and... what she said before she lost consciousness,” Bucky said, guilt punching him in the gut.

Steve seemed to realize that his friend needed to talk this out because he sighed and got up from the bed, stretching. “Let’s get some tea and talk this out, Buck,” Steve said, yawning as he pulled on a pair of lounge pants.

“May need to break into the Asgardian booze for this one, Stevie,” Bucky said, frown etched deep into his face. Steve looked him up and down, eyebrow raised.

“I thought we were saving that for the Christmas party?” Steve asked suspiciously.

“I’m sure Thor can bring more hooch with him,” Bucky said dismissively.

Steve let out a deep sigh before nodding. “Alright, Buck. Whatever you say.”

Ten minutes later they were back in Steve’s room, Asgardian liquor in glasses that were clutched tightly in hand, bottle tucked securely under Steve’s arm.

Steve sat down on his bed and Bucky pulled up a chair, sitting down none-too-gently. They gave each other commiserating looks as they clinked their glasses together in an informal toast. They both took the shot, grimacing slightly as it burned down their throats.

“Damn, the Asgardians really know their liquor,” Bucky hissed, shooting the bottle an appreciative look as Steve refilled their glasses.

“Gonna tell me why you barged into my room at 3 AM?” Steve asked conversationally as he took another tentative sip of the alcohol.

Bucky seemed to deflate at the question and took a large sip from his glass.

Steve gave his friend a gentle nudge to the knee with his foot, drawing his gaze up from the floor and back into the present. “C’mon, Bucky. You can tell me,” Steve said earnestly.

“It’s bad business, Steve,” Bucky said quietly, to which Steve shrugged.

“I think I can handle it, Buck,” Steve said, giving his friend an encouraging smile.

Bucky let out a despondent sigh, swallowing the rest of the liquid in his glass before he spoke. “I was stuck on her, Steve. (Y/N). Before I knew...” he trailed off.

“I know. I’ve known for a while,” Steve said guiltily. Bucky looked up at him, surprised, and Steve shrugged sheepishly. “It was obvious to me. I figured it was only a matter of time until the truth was smoked out,” Steve said, grinning broadly. “The grandstandin’ kinda gave it away, too. You have no idea what you looked like when you were talkin’ about her, you know.”

“Alright, alright. Are you done raggin’ on me yet?” Bucky said, pouring himself another shot of liquor. Steve finished his shot and did the same.

“Me raggin’ on you? Never,” Steve said, sounding scandalized.

“Punk,” Bucky said, small smile playing on his lips.

“Jerk,” Steve responded instantly, easy smile on his lips. He didn’t see Bucky like this very often, but it had happened a lot while you and Bucky were friends. He’d missed this side of him; it’d been nearly nonexistent in the past month. Years of work had been undone in a single moment. “I doubt that’s all you wanted to talk about,” Steve said perceptively, eyeing Bucky over his glass.

Bucky clammed up again, lips sealed tightly.

“C’mon, Buck. Don’t make me put you through the wringer,” Steve threatened good-naturedly.

Bucky smirked at that. “I’d like to see you try,” he said, taking a sip of the liquor. He already was feeling its effects and was thankful he’d sprung for it. It made his next words easier. “I’ve been a damned creep, Steve. I- well, honestly, I eavesdropped on Gabe earlier-” he shrugged at Steve’s incredulous expression and continued, “-(Y/N)... she doesn’t get close to many people, y’know? Gabe said it was because she cares about people too much, which I can understand... I think we both get that. It hurts when you see all the people you care about die, but you’re still alive and kickin’,” he said sadly, thinking about all the people he’d never see again.

Steve nodded, understanding completely. “What else, Buck?” he said encouragingly.

“I took her for granted. I didn’t look past her involvement in Shadow to the person underneath. Didn’t even bother to try,” he said, angry at himself. “All I saw was another lie in my sorry excuse for a life. I didn’t want more of that, but... I should have considered her side, too. And I just... didn’t,” he finished lamely, downing his shot quickly. “Pour yourself one for this next part, too, Stevie,” he warned, holding his glass out for Steve to refill.

Steve threw back the rest of his his drink hesitantly then refilled both glasses. They toasted again and Bucky threw his back all at once, but Steve decided to sip on his instead. The last few Stark parties had given him a healthy fear of the Asgardian liquor.

It turned out to be a mistake, because at Bucky’s next words, he nearly choked on the liquid.

“She told me she loved me right before she lost consciousness,” he said quickly, almost as though he hoped Steve might not hear it if he said it fast enough.

“What?” he coughed, trying to clear his lungs of the burning liquor. Bucky gave Steve a concerned look and thumped him on the back a few times until he was sure Steve was able to breathe again.

“You heard me, punk,” Bucky said obstinately, not willing to repeat himself.

“And are your feelings regarding that proclamation the reason why we’re drinking in my room at 3 am?” Steve asked, voice a little hoarse from coughing so hard.

Bucky nodded absently, and Steve broke out into a wide smile. “You feel the same way, don’t you?” he asked quietly. Bucky’s gaze snapped to his and he did a perfect imitation of a deer trapped in the headlights. 

“I’m happy for you, Bucky,” Steve said sincerely, happily throwing back the alcohol now that he had something to celebrate.

“I don’t know why you’re drinking to that,” Bucky said grumpily, setting his glass down on the ground now that the walls had started spinning.

“Bucky, you’ve never liked a dame for more than a week or so. I think your longest relationship lasted two months,” Steve said accusingly. “And you’ve been sticking around (Y/N) for... how long now? Close to a year?” he asked, trying to count the time through the fog in his brain.

“I wasn’t dating her during that time, Steve. She was just my friend. Doesn’t count,” Bucky said defensively. He could hold down a relationship if he wanted to... right?

“And how many female friends did you have before (Y/N)? And I’m not talking about the share crops you brought home,” Steve said challengingly.

“Those were perfectly kind, respectable women, thank you very much,” Bucky mumbled half-heartedly.

“Alright, alright. But you could hardly call them friends,” Steve said, words running together slightly as the liquor began to take effect.

“Fine, you win. You’re right. Happy now?” Bucky asked, glaring unenthusiastically at Steve.

“I’m happy if you’re happy, buddy,” Steve said easily, dopey smile on his face.

Bucky let out a small sigh and envisioned you hooked up to machines- hurt from saving him. “I’m gettin’ there, Steve. I’m gettin’ there...” he mumbled.

Steve gave his friend an understanding smile. “She’ll wake up, Buck. She’s strong. Strong enough to kick our asses,” he said, chuckling slightly at the thought. His weak jab earned a small smile from Bucky.

“I hope so, pal,” he said quietly.

“Hey Buck?”

“Mm?” was all Bucky could manage, drunkenly lost in thought as he was.

“We drank through the entire bottle,” Steve said despondently as he turned the bottle upside down. A single drop fell out and splattered pathetically onto the hardwood floor. Steve and Bucky looked at each other for a moment before they both broke out into raucous laughter; the kind of unbridled, joyful laughter that only two very, very sauced people could share.

Part 10

This series is finished, but if you want to be tagged in my other fics, check out  this post! Sorry, but responses to this post asking to be tagged will be ignored, so send me an ask or like one of the taglist posts!

☕ Buy Me a Coffee! ☕

[winterequinoxx]

The Lost Eschaton

Ok, since I decided to start posting actively on here, I wanted to share an original short fic that I wrote a few years ago. Totally unbetad. Can't even remember why I wrote it in the first place, I think it was a prompt challenge?

Here ya go:

There is junk everywhere. Stacks of outdated newspapers lean against a tower of decaying photo albums. Are those….Yes. All of her old high school trophies were underneath the window, behind the pile of winter coats. Broken electronics are scattered across whatever empty floor space they landed on. 

“How did it get this bad, Martin? I can’t...he was never like this before Mom died…”

Tiffany stands in the kitchen, peering over the bar at the war zone that her childhood living room had turned into. When she had agreed to help her brother clear out the house after moving their father into a nursing home, she imagined reminiscing with him over the good times they had in the house, perhaps crying over a forgotten piece of jewelry that her mother had left behind, definitely getting drunk at the end of the day, but she is beginning to think that the bottle of whiskey that she had stashed in the trunk of her car was going to need to be cracked open before she could even process the amount of work that needed to be done. Her brother has planned ahead though, benefits of living five minutes away from Dad instead of five hours, he knew what he was walking into and was on his second beer. It was nine in the morning. 

“Yeah….this all started about three--no wait, Sarah had just gotten pregnant with Jenny---so yeah, four years ago? He was so worried that people were listening in on him or something. Paranoid sonovabitch. You invent one superlaser and you start to think everyone’s out to get ya.”

Martin’s laugh is a tight, forced thing, as if even the air didn’t want him to kid himself anymore. His normally perfectly styled hair and pressed clothes are nowhere to be seen, exchanged for heavy bags under his eyes and paint splattered t-shirt and shorts. Tiffany couldn’t help but grin when she eyed the bright pink and purple flecks. Hazards of having two daughters under the age of eight. Pastels everywhere.

“Speaking of, where is the rest of the brood? We are going to need more backup. Any chance you can call in some of your Marine buddies. OH! How about Jason? Jason’s hot. He seeing anyone?” Tiffany grins over her shoulder as she starts putting the large moving boxes together, she can at least start shoving appliances from the kitchen out of the way.

“Jason is very happy with his new boyfriend. Stop hitting on him. Sarah and the kids will be by later after the fairy princesses have their naps, but Trent should be here any minute. He just got his Driver's license. Be appropriately impressed.” No sooner had he said it than Tiffany hears a car door slam in the driveway. Her adopted nephew shuffles into the house, gives a cursory glance around at the chaos that was the living area, and seems to deflate.

“Hey Trent, why don’t you help me in the garage. That’s where dad kept the heavy stuff, and I’d rather get going on that before the sun gets much higher and we roast in that tin death trap.” Martin finished off his beer and snags the teen by the shoulder, shouting back at his little sister “Don’t let anything in there bite you. You know how Dad liked to tinker!”

Tiffany cleans for hours. It gets moderately better when her sister-in-law and nieces show up, but if there is one thing that those two little ones did not like, it was getting dirty. To forestall the screaming fit that would erupt if a speck of anything tarnished their princess dresses, Sarah set the seven and three year olds up at the kitchen table with coloring books and a tablet streaming kid-friendly YouTube. Martin and Trent make quick work of the garage, arranging for a local scrap yard to collect some of the larger items before they return to the blissful relief of the air conditioning. With the house in a much more manageable state, the three adults and one teenager decide to tackle one last area.

The Basement.

Tiffany and Martin stand in front of the door. It is unlocked. It has always been unlocked. But Tiffany has never set foot on the staircase before. The Basement was Dad’s Space: Do Not Enter, By Royal Decree, Under Pain of Grounding. 

“Ok, brother mine, go ahead. You know what’s down there, right? We gonna need to have Trent haul old computers out on his back?”

Martin slowly turned  his head, looking at her as if she had suddenly sprouted whiskers, a tail and called herself Lassie. “The Hell you talking about? I’ve never been down there. I didn’t have a death wish.” 

“You two are ridiculous” Sarah shoves her tiny frame between the siblings and opens the door, feeling along the wall for a lightswitch.

It isn’t necessary. 

As soon as the door opens, lights begin to flicker, a generator hums to life, and metal shutters slam down covering every exterior window and door. 

BIOMETRICS UNIDENTIFIED. SYSTEM LOCKDOWN INITIATED. STATE IDENTITY.

The voice that echoes out of the walls of the house was definitely their father, but much younger. Tiffany remembers that voice reading her bedtime stories when she was Jenny’s age. It shouldn’t be yelling like this.

STATE IDENTITY. INTRUDERS WILL BE TERMINATED. 45 SECONDS.

“WHOA! DAD! Um...It’s Martin...the person who opened the door is my wife Sarah…”

MARTIN: VOICE PRINT CONFIRMED. SARAH: IDENTITY VERIFIED. FOUR MORE INDIVIDUALS IN THE BUILDING

“SHIT! DAD, Don’t shoot. It’s me, Tiffany. The other three are the kids, Trent,  Maria and Jenny. DO NOT TERMINATE ANYONE!”

TIFFANY: VOICE PRINT CONFIRMED. BIOMETRICS CONFIRM CHILDREN IN THE HOME. TERMINATION SEQUENCE CANCELLED. PLEASE ENTER THE WORKSPACE

“Oh, hell no. Nope. Not gonna happen. You two have fun going down into deathville. I’m taking the kid and we are going to sit and watch videos with the girls. You can deal with whatever craziness your father dreamt up.” Suiting actions to words, Sarah stomps down the hall, dragging a wide-eyed Trent with her. Tiffany and Martin peer down the narrow stairs. Only room to go down single file. An intense battle of rock-paper-scissors breaks out, with Tiffany coming out the loser. 

“Big bad Marine sends his baby sister to her death. I can see the headlines now.”

“Shut up, you won’t die. Dad liked you better anyway.”

At the base of the stairs is one of the most elaborate computer systems Tiffany has seen outside of NASA. Security cameras show the exterior of the house, and a couple of warehouses and storage rooms that have even more sensitive equipment set up.  On one screen, there is a countdown. 3 days, 7 hours, 56 minutes, 18 seconds.  Right in the center of the console was a simple VCR, with a post-it note that said “Play Me”. Tiffany elbows Martin, and he reaches forward to hit the play button. The center screen comes to life. 

Their father is sitting in his recliner, holding his glasses in one hand, a bottle of scotch on the end table next to him as he rubs at his eyes. With a deep breath, he looks into the camera.

I’m sorry kids. I’m so damned sorry. If you’re watching this it’s because the toxin got to me, and I’m no longer with you to explain. Your mother’s death was not natural. We had been working together to contain an airborne contagion that was manufactured by accident. By Our people. Our government covered it up, said that it wouldn’t be that big of a deal. Making fools of ourselves, overreacting. You know how it goes.

He paused to take a long swig out of the bottle at his side.

 We were the last hope and we failed. I got so close, so close to fixing it and then my samples were stolen right before we found out about little Jenny. I’ve been working backwards ever since. I wish I could say that everything is ready to go. That all you have to do is call General Whats-his-face and you could save the world. But I can’t. I can’t. I don’t know how far the damage will reach, but there are enough supplies in the basement here that you can survive for about three months. God I hope you brought the little ones with you. If the lockdown was triggered, it won’t lift for three months. By then you should be able to survive whatever diluted toxin is left. And whatever is left of humanity by the end of all this. 

With a last swallow of scotch and tears running down his face, their father reached forward and turned off the camera. Tiffany’s eyes are drawn to the countdown again, finally reading the heading:

PROJECT ESCHATON GOES LIVE

3 d: 7 h: 50 m: 20 s

[tamlins-stories-and-poems]

Ok so this is a fic I’ve been writing for a while and is currently over like 60k words I think, but I’m only posting about 2k here as a sort of teaser. Basically this came about because @fire-fira and I were chatting about Bart and La'gaan and I ended wondering about if La'gaan had known and or helped raise Bart in the lost future. Lots of angst and fluff mixed together in this. If I get more than ten notes from people other than Fira and myself(preferably including reblogs) then I’ll post the next few sections! :D

Edit: Part two is [Here] if I did this right!

Uncle Laga was said to be the last Atlantean. He never joined the battles, he just watched the children of the rebellion. He loved kids, despite his gruff manner, they reminded him of his short time on some team. Some of the older folks called him Kraken, with awe in their voice. He’d snort in contempt when then did, and glance down at his peg leg before saying “Not anymore.” When Don and Melonie had their first two kids, Laga watched them too. When they had their second set of twins, Laga withheld a scream. He knew the face of the boy, and when the boy was named Bartholomew Allen the Second, Laga nicknamed him Bart. He started telling stories of the time before the Reach when Bart and his twin were old enough to understand them, a lot of them focusing on his friend Jaime. Bart somehow ended up in Laga’s lap a lot, or huddled against his side as one of the few younger kids got his favorite spot. When the kids hit twelve, they’d stop spending their time in uncle Laga’s care and move into mission training instead. Bart didn’t want that to happen. He looked up to his parents a lot, but they were never really around. Because they were both speedsters, they ran all over the planet to find people and resources, along with fighting the Bugs. He hated the Bugs. The Bugs destroyed Uncle Laga’s life, and Uncle Laga’s homes. They’d destroyed the Watch Tower. They’d poisoned Atlantis. They’d smashed the zeta ports. Now all Laga had left was hope that he’d find the second Kid Flash, who apparently went back in time. “You know, Bart,” Laga said one night, when the Allen kids were all huddled around him again, due to both their parents being on a mission, like most of the time. “If Kid hadn’t thought that killing the old host was the way to go, we might’ve had a Beetle on our side.” “What do you mean?” The five year old Bart asked. “The old Blue Beetle, he was my friend. We’d call him Blue, and tease him when he talked to his Scarab, and he saved my life a few times. But then Kid explained to the League how Blue was going to betray us, how he knew it would happen soon, and begged for permission to keep that from happening, in any way possible. We thought that he meant just sticking as close to Blue as possible. We agreed to let him. Blue’s body was found in Mongolia about a month later, but a new, giant Beetle had long since shown up and B-Kid blamed himself. He’d really liked Blue.” Laga explained. “Wait, but, if he killed Blue Beetle, why is there still Blue Beetle?” Bart asked, quietly. “Because the Bugs had technology that they were able to reset when our Blue died. Kid was convinced that they used it to control our Blue. Neptune’s beard, I miss those two.” Laga sighed. “Never you mind, Bart. The past is the past, and we don’t have the time travel to change it.” “But if we had time travel, you could go back and see your friends again, right, uncle Laga?” Bart guessed, putting his tiny elbows on La’gaan’s chest and resting his face on his hands. “I’m too old to save the world. I’m fifty, Bart. Even before the Bugs, even with people making sure I had healthy bones and joints that didn’t scrape every time they bent, I’d still be starting to push it with heroing.” Laga murmured. “They’ve been here almost forty years.” “So, who would you send to save your friends for you?” Bart asked. “Maybe one of you four. Would you like to go to the past?” Laga teased. “Is there food in the past?” Bart sighed longingly at the thought of food. “Yes, lots of it. Now go to sleep.” Laga said. He started singing in the Atlantean language, “Sweet water child…” he murmured, rubbing Bart’s back. Bart sang along to the lullaby until he fell asleep. Laga stared at the roof of the cave, as adults sobbed and screamed in the distance. The base wasn’t under attack again, but everyone here was traumatized. “Stay safe, my little electric eel. Don’t let your fear hurt our friends when you go.” He sighed, hoping that this time Bart would get to know Jaime well enough to try to save him from the Reach. “Please break this ekstassa time loop. Please save the world.” Laga had long since figured out that they had to be in a time loop of a sort. Future boy comes back to the past to stop what caused him to come back? Please, anyone who’d read any science fiction could tell you that that alone would be a time loop, and Kaldur had sent him a lot of science fiction when they were kids. Science fiction he and Lori and Bubbler would stay up far too late to finish reading on the computer they’d all built together. Laga sighed again, so much knowledge had been lost. Even if they could get rid of the Reach, nothing would be the same. Were his people truly lost? Had they really been poisoned or did they just lock themselves away like the amazons had? He hadn’t seen Cassie or Donna since the fall. Diana would look younger than him now. He wondered if she missed the Team as much as he did, or had she even made it back to earth after the incident with the trial? He’d seen Batman, but the head the Reach had claimed was Batman’s head was in truth Nightwing’s. Jason, the scum who had died, then never told anyone that he’d come back to life, had taken up the cowl after that. Now he’d passed it on the the Demon’s son, Damian, who had passed it off yet again to someone younger. Laga sighed again and closed his eyes. It was never good to think of the past.

.*.°.*.°.*.

Laga smiled as the children ran and played in the sun. “Why don’t you four ever join them?” He asked the Allen four. “I’m too hungry.” Yajri said, pitifully. “Same.” Her twin, Kuri agreed. “I have to save my energy. I use it so quickly.” Bart muttered, drawing his bony legs close to his stomach. Bart’s twin, Belle, said nothing. Her stomached was slightly bloated from hunger, but the rest of her was pure bones, as if her muscle had been eaten away in hopes of energy. She never spoke much anymore. She just stared, eyes hollow and longing, at where the other kids played. The Allen’s weren’t the thinnest kids. They got a lot of food, due to being speedsters, and being the children of the children of the two most important members of the rebellion. But Laga remembered how the speedsters had needed to eat before the fall, and sighed, supposing the kids were right not to play with the others. “Just be sure to talk with them when you can.” Laga said. “Social skills can save your life, and you can’t get proper social skills if you don’t hang out with people your age.” “Okay.” Yajri agreed for all of them. They wouldn’t. Everyone knew they wouldn’t. They’d sit together at story time, and be silent supports when Laga was needed, but they never talked to the other children alone.

.*.°.*.°.*.

The base had been attacked again. Laga had gotten most of the kids out. Belle had looked at them solemnly as he tried to get the kids out, and said, actually said, “I’ll die soon anyways. I need too much food. Give my portion to the others.” Then she ran off to the fight. Laga managed to get all the kids somewhere where they’d be safe and hidden, and convinced one of their attackers that they were hidden in a different spot, before the attack was eventually called off due to too many casualties on the Bugs’ side. Laga picked up the tooth that had been punched out of his mouth, and a scrap of cloth he’d ripped off a Bugslave’s shirt, and made it into a necklace, before digging the kids out of their hiding spot. Wally’s daughter had dropped by recently, and put her son, Raiku, into Laga’s care. She also dropped off a lot of nutrient tablets that had had the trackers and meta detectors removed. Laga wasn’t sure he believed that, especially after the last attack, but uncovering kids who didn’t look like they were about to starve to death was worth it, in his opinion. Even if they weren’t nearly enough for the speedsters. Even five a day hadn’t been enough to make Belle feel better. Laga knew she would’ve been the fastest if she’d had the energy to run. “Everyone okay?” He asked. Fred, named for peace by his Norwegian mother, took the tooth neckless and put it on Bart’s neck. “Yes, uncle Laga.” He said. “We’re fine. This time.” “Where’s Belle?” Bart asked. “Why can’t I feel her using the thing?” Laga winced. “She went to meet your good grandpa.” He said. “She’s dead?” Kuri shrieked, she was almost old enough to go into training now, Laga would have to see the back of her soon. “I’m sorry.” Laga said, and put a hand on her shoulder. She was slow for a Speedster, slower even than Wally, by a long shot, but she was still one of them. “She was too fast for me to stop. She said to give you all what would’ve been her share.” Bart hung his head. It was the first death that was real to him. Even his mother’s death hadn’t been fully real to him, since she was gone so often anyways. His dad had shown all the young speedsters some moves after that, but he still was rarely around. Almost like he couldn’t bare to se them. Laga picked him up, cradling the boy. “Let’s get back to the adults.” He said. The group trudged back to the wrecked base. They’d almost had buildings before this last attack. Yajri carried Raiku, who was only three, and cried with her twin. “Uncle Laga!” A twenty year old, the newest Longshadow, called. “They destroyed the food stores, bring the kids over and have them all eat something before everything spoils!” The non-Speedster kids rushed past him, everyone was always excited at the chance of more food. “Aren’t you hungry?” Laga asked the speedsters. “Belle’s dead. It’s not right to eat without her.” Yajri said. “She sacrificed herself so you all could live. Go eat.” Laga frowned. “If you don’t eat willingly, I will force feed you.” The three he wasn’t carrying trudged to the food, and Laga carried Bart over. Bart couldn’t stop crying. He was able to eat around his tears, but only food that was placed in his hands, and he cried harder whenever Laga tried to set him down. Laga started to sing a song he learned in the conservatory, “Stay strong, my sea child, stay strong, and fight. Stay strong, my sea child, and live through the night. Stay strong, my sea child, stay strong today, stay strong my sea child, ‘till the pain goes away. Stand strong, little sea child, stand strong for me, stand strong, little sea child, and kind please ye be. Stay strong, my sea child, though all seems but wrong, stay strong, my sea child, don’t pass along.” Bart had stopped crying, and was staring at Laga with wide, confused eyes. He hadn’t heard this lullaby since the night his mother died, when Laga had sung it to Don. Others, who had lost more, had heard it more often, and many people had begun to join in. “Yes, stay strong, my sea child, don’t let pain scar, stay strong my sea child, I know it be hard. Stay strong, my sea child, know I love you still, stay strong my sea child, don’t let pain kill. Stay strong, my sea child. Stand strong, little sea child. Stay strong, my sea child, and always come home to me.” The whole rebellion was singing by the last line, a few people had started crying, and many were hugging each other. “The death song?” Don asked, having just arrived back. “Who- how many this time?” “Flash.” Laga looked up at the man, guilt pulling his face taught. “I’m sorry. I tried to convince her to stay with the others. She was sure it was the only way.” “She took out nearly fifty Bugs!” Someone said. “She shredded them from the inside before they knew what was happening! We only lost three of ours today!” Don’s gaze swept over the kids, as his eyebrows drew together and his eyes grew wide. “No.” He said. “Belle? My baby Belle?” “She would’ve starved within the week if she hadn’t.” Laga said. “She wanted her death to mean something.” He gave another piece of food to Bart. “I tried to stop her, but she buzzed out from under my hand. I couldn’t think of her above the all of the others.” “How did she die?” Don asked, turning to the larger group. “She tackled me out of the way of Blue Beetle’s plasma cannon.” A woman said. Red Robin’s daughter, six months pregnant, a meta with healing powers. “I tried to save her, but my powers have been on the fritz since I conceived. All I could do was take away her pain.” “Did she say anything?” Don asked. “To apologize to Bart for her. To tell him she wished him life, and that she hoped he and their sisters would be well. Sweet water children.” Bart started crying again, and flung his arms around Laga’s neck. Laga held him close, rubbing his back soothingly. “Don.” Laga said. “The food stores have been destroyed. Eat, rebuild, and find us more food, please.” “My daughter’s dying words said nothing about me?” Don looked heartbroken. “Don, please don’t do anything too rash.” Jason said, frowning at the younger man. “Don’t leave us just because a child who saw you more as an idol than a family member didn’t mention you.” “You never did have any tact, Jason.” Laga sighed. “Don, sit down, now.” One good thing about raising the children in the rebellion, nearly everyone listened to everything Laga said, half on instinct. Several people sat, including Don. “Flash, listen to me, you are going to eat, you are going to help us rebuild, and you are going to find us more food, because you still have three children and a responsibility to the rebellion. And you are not going to do any of that recklessly, because no one here can afford to lose you. Do you understand?” Laga demanded. “Yes, uncle Laga.” Don looked down, tears dripping down his ash stained face. “She was my youngest.” “I know.” Laga put a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder. “Live for her. She wanted us all to be able to live. Now, eat.”

To be continued…