#like did we really need the broken android to look like ash?

[cacklingskeleton]

Alien: Romulus really feels like the Alien equivalent of Rogue One to me

By that I mean both have great set design that fit in perfectly with the original, some great cinematography, and manage to make an iconic sci-fi villain scary again

But also that both have way too many references to the older movies, use CGI to bring back a dead actor in a way that feels unnecessary, and that the best character ends up being the robot

[fandom-necromancer]

Another option

This was prompted by an amazing anon! I hope you enjoy! As always with these topics, I hope I didn’t offend anyone. Connor pulls at least one phrase I know you shouldn’t say in that context. If I said anything wrong, please message me so I can change/delete that part!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 | Add. Characters: Connor (Warnings: gender disphoria, coming out as nonbinary, nonbinary character written by only slightly nonbinary author)

Nines sat at his table, watching his brother chat with another officer in the breakroom. He had something eating at him for a few weeks already, but there wasn’t much he could do about it himself. It was a discomforting feeling he had trouble to even find words for, much less voice in front of others. Connor really was the only one he trusted enough to consider speaking to. Sure, he had more friends than just his brother and was very close with Gavin, but Gavin was human. Most of his friends were. And he didn’t want to creep them out further than he already did by now.

He had learned very quickly that he wasn’t like other androids. Being an unfinished prototype last-minute patched by Elijah Kamski himself after being activated in the Cyberlife Tower wasn’t easy when everyone around him was integrating perfectly, some blending in so perfectly they were only distinguishable from humans when they had to refill their Thirium levels. Nines stood out. His military coding wasn’t that advanced when it came to something like social interaction, making friends and… do human things. He didn’t like being idle, something most humans desired from time to time, he was longing for clear orders instead of complex inuendo of politeness. Maybe that’s why he had taken to Gavin that easily. But none of that was what was bothering Nines at the moment. All these shortcomings he had accepted as his character. Sure, he sometimes longed for the ease others displayed in those situations, but mostly he was content with it. No, his problem was something entirely different. And if he didn’t ask someone for help or an explanation soon, he was sure it would eat him alive. Connor probably was his safest bet.

And so, as soon as the officer left Connor alone, gesturing for their desk, Nines took his chance. He walked over, trying not to alarm anyone with his hurry and likely failing. ‘Connor? Can we talk for a moment?’, he asked and looked around. ‘In private?’ The RK800 frowned but nodded. ‘Of course. What is it?’ ‘I feel something I can’t quite put into words’, Nines muttered. ‘I… It has bothered me for a while now. And- Well, I don’t know how to explain it.’ ‘Just try, I will tell you if I don’t understand something’, Connor told him with a smile. ‘Well, I… Did you ever think about how it’s weird androids have genders?’ ‘Not really…’, Connor shrugged. ‘Why?’ ‘I mean, humans, they have genders because they are biological creatures, right? We don’t need that. We can’t reproduce.’

Connor looked at him. ‘Well, I guess. But we were built in their image. So we too are male or female.’ ‘But I don’t feel like that’, Nines stated. ‘I mean, I am supposed to be male from my build, but I don’t feel like that.’ ‘So you feel… female?’ ‘No, neither actually’, RK900 sighed. ‘I’m myself. RK900. An unfinished prototype, a detective, your sibling, Gavin and I love each other, … Saying I am male just feels… wrong? Weird? Am I making sense?’ ‘So you don’t feel like you have a gender?’, Connor asked, and his face told Nines everything he needed to know.

‘This is because I’m not finished once again, isn’t it?’, he sighed disappointedly. ‘Another part I’m missing.’ ‘Hey, Nines’, Connor quickly interrupted him, taking his hand in his and waiting until he looked back into his face again. ‘Nines, if you don’t feel like that it’s fine. I don’t think anything less of you and neither will anyone else. If you don’t identify as male or female, then I will respect that. Just because I don’t understand what you are feeling it doesn’t mean I can’t respect your decision, wishes and sense of identity. Do you understand? You are my bro- You are family. I love you no matter what will happen. Okay?’ Nines nodded, forcing himself to smile, but took back his hand to push it into his pocket. ‘Yes, I understand. Thank you, Connor.’

Dropping his appearance as soon as he was out of sight, he walked back to his desk, sitting down and trying to concentrate on his work. He had thought he had learned of everything he was missing. discovering new faults made him wonder what else was still out there waiting for him. Would he one day become better instead of worse? He sighed deeply, reaching for the interface device to get back to his cases. But before he could reach it, out of nowhere Gavin spoke up: ‘Hey, something is up, what is it?’ ‘Nothing.’ ‘Nothing causes your LED to show a lot of red then’, Gavin refused to drop it. ‘Do you want to speak about it or need some distraction?’ Nines looked up at the human that looked completely honest with his offering. As if to confirm, he continued: ‘I didn’t take my break yet. We can go outside and talk while I have a cigarette or something. If that would help you.’

Nines sighed. ‘Okay. I still need some time to process it, so I doubt I could have worked like this anyways.’ Gavin nodded and took his pack from the drawer before heading out the back entrance. He walked towards the railing, leaning against it while igniting his cigarette and taking the first drag. Nines watched the cloud of smoke rise in the air, standing a bit lost to his side. ‘Alright, tin-can, spill the beans’, Gavin chuckled but got serious fairly quickly. ‘What’s up in that metal brain of yours?’ ‘I told Connor something that has been bothering me for a while, but he didn’t understand me. So I guess it’s just another part of me being the unfinished prototype of a war machine.’ ‘What did you tell him?’, Gavin asked, continuing to look over the parking lot int front of him. ‘I… I don’t know if I should tell you.’ ‘Come on, man, it’s eating you up and I hope by now you do realise you can tell me anything. I can keep a secret.’

Nines rolled his shoulders indecisive. But then he let his tension fall in defeat and muttered: ‘I don’t feel like a man.’ He waited for a while, but Gavin didn’t answer. Only as silence stretched, he half turned his head towards him to signalise he was still listening. ‘I don’t feel female either. I don’t feel like I have a gender at all. But Connor couldn’t give me any explanation as he feels comfortable being male. I guess it’s really just something wrong with me yet again and I have to accept that.’ He let his head fall and felt his skin crawl with discomfort at having to admit it once again to the human.

Nines frowned, when Gavin let out a huge cloud of smoke having held his breath until just now. Without turning around and fixing a distant point, he commented: ‘Nah, buddy, there’s a word for it, it’s called being nonbinary. Or transgender, genderfluid, …’ He stopped talking another pull from his cigarette. ‘There are actually a lot of different designations to choose from for someone not conforming to gender binary. I can’t say I understand them all, I just researched until I came to the conclusion I am quite comfortable with being male.’ Nines looked at him, his face not really readable for Gavin, so he continued: ‘Of course, you don’t have to use any label, but it might help you not feeling alone or weird or broken. Knowing there are others feeling similarly if not the same.’

‘So you say, humans experience this too?’, Nines asked, voice not more than a whisper. ‘This is not just me being… incomplete? Gavin sighed, turning around and leaning his back against the railing. He looked the android into the eyes and showed him a gentle smile. ‘Listen, tin-can, humans are complex. There is no black and white, never was and never will be. So why should your kind be any different? If anything, it is just as logical with you as it is with us, if not more. We are born - you are built - with a gender we couldn’t chose. If you feel like it doesn’t fit with you, then you can pick something else.’

He turned back around to flick the ash that had accumulated at the end of his cigarette in the ashtray before he continued with a shrug: ‘There are people born as female that become male, or the other way around. And there are people identifying with neither or only a little bit of it. None of them are “missing” something or broken or whatever kinda shit word others may tell you. And I see no reason to think the same doesn’t apply to androids. Hell, maybe they truly forgot to install something, who am I to know, but you are not alone and not in any case less of a person for it.’

Nines stayed silent for quite a while, processing what he just heard. ‘And people will… accept that?’, he asked tentatively. Gavin laughed. ‘Buddy, if they don’t, I’ll give them hell and you’ll file a complaint with HR. Easy as that.’ That made Nines smile. Research on that topic was already well underway, both on what Gavin had mentioned and what else there was to look into. Content with what Nines had found, he updated his status in every databank that was readily available for him for now. Noticing then that there were still a few minutes left of the break, they walked up to Gavin and joined him leaning against the railing.

‘Thank you. I think I found what I was looking for.’

[starlightfaltershere]

Geraskier - android Jaskier

@sirencipher and I came up with something wonderful today and thought we gotta share. (they're wonderful ya’ll please give them all your love)

- a post-apocalypse AU, in which jasiker dies. Geralt, heartbroken, and unable to tell their family and friends that Jaskier had passed; builds a droid Jaskier out of desperation (and desolation.)  ‘no one can take the anguish of losing anyone else’ he thinks. ‘but, they can assume this is the real Jaskier.’ Geralt, employing magic, pulls Jaskiers memories from his physical form, and stores them into the droid Jaskier. and for all the droid Jaskier knows, they’re real, alive. 

- it’s a profoundly morbid creation, a hollow thing, ‘but it keeps Jaskiers memory alive’. and for now, that’s enough for Geralt. 

- Geralt covers up that the droid is not real, just until everyone is ready to lose Jaskier he reflects, just a ‘little while’. 

- and droid Jaskier cannot die on Geralt, which offers some consolation. 

- but looking at them makes him feel as if he has betrayed original Jaskier, but somehow he can’t let it go.

- in some moments, it’s easy to forget they aren’t the real Jaskier. he always fails in the times the droid is with other people, they look so real. but droid Jaskier isn’t the same when they are alone; it’s like having Jaskier there, but any time Geralt moves to touch, he dissolves into dandelion fuzz. Geralt could program how Jaskier felt about anybody else. but, Jaskier had never confided how he truly felt about Geralt. “Jaskier had tried as he laid dying, but the bullet had gone straight into his throat. the sole thing that graced his lips was blood and ocean waves.” the part of Jaskier he needs desperately is missing. was rinsed away in the sea’s salt.

-  Geralt had used as many of the memories he could pluck from Jaskier. but himself and the droid could not work out how the memories had threaded together to make up Jaskier. Jasker had always confounded the Witcher, now Geralt desperately wished he had made more of an effort to understand the man.  he’ll never wholly know now, with Jaskier - his Jaskier, his lark - changing into the larkspur flowers he adored so much in a small unmarked grave Geralt had dug him. 

- but Geralt fears that if he dies before he can admit to everybody about Jaskiers death, Jaskier grave will be lost to everyone. he’ll be forgotten. but he cannot risk putting a name to the unmarked grave, he can’t risk everyone finding out.

- ‘but when is their ever a right time to reveal to everyone of the crime he committed out of his own desperation?’

- he doesn’t know, so he vows to himself he will confess to them when he’s moved on. but it’s inconceivable, because everyday he wakes to almost Jaskiers face; it’s almost like the oil paintings in the museum’s Jaskier used to drag him too before the war. all the portraits of beautiful individuals, those individuals who were created perfect by other people. Jaskier was born perfect, and Geralt replication of him has far too many imperfections. it was all wrong.

- the droid stays for a long time. too long. 

- Geralt realises this was a terrible, terrible mistake. a lapse in his judgement - Jaskier caused a lot of those for him -but Geralt knew better. 

- one day he will shut the android down; Jaskier will die a second time. kill the ghost of his love, and that will weigh on his conscience until he’s back again with Jaskier. maybe even after that. 

- he questions why he really did this, did he honestly do this to save Ciri from losing another parent? no. it was a pitiful excuse for being selfish, this is the time Geralt had chosen to be selfish? he just could’nt handle remaining in a world where all his love could do is die. love is now a spear of larkspur, will someone rob him of that too? 

Geralt is pissed at himself for the situation he got himself into. how will he explain the droids death? its disappearance without hurting everyone? without hurting Ciri?

-he’s on a bed of knives, and any move will hurt himself and everyone else. he’s fucked himself. and he knows real Jaskier would be equally pissed as we as find the whole predicament hilarious.

- he can hear Jaskiers response just thinking of it.  “come on Geralt, what we’re thinking? that’s right, you weren’t thinking at all.”

- and perhaps the worse of all, he’s hurt the last remnants of the bard. he’s done a great evil against the android. lying to him about who he is and telling him will burst their mechanical heart. if they have one

- Geralt has gotten himself into a house of mirrors, not matter where he swings it’s going to hurt. he will not escape with no guilt. but it must end, maybe even soon. 'but not today’ he thinks.

- at some point, he finds himself sitting in Jaskiers room, surrounded by the parts of the real Jaskier that were left behind. Geralt had taken up caring for Jaskiers things. the droid couldn’t manage such a task. and they need to keep up appearances. 

- you see, real Jaskier is a fiddler, a tinker. he always had something in his hands. it’s one thing Geralt missed most. he always found broken lute strings tied in shapes and pulled apart pens and things around the house. he was constantly doing something. but all the android can do is hold them. blink at them slowly. they have no recollection of what to do with them.

- so Geralt decides that the droid will never see or touch another thing made by Jaskier hands. 

- the droid can’t even create any new songs, none that sound right. the soul just isn’t there. Geralt wonders why no one has noticed how pale the world is now. there are so many things amiss with android Jaskier. his eyes are the wrong shade of blue. his hair is wrong. passable. but wrong, and no matter how hard Geralt tried he couldn’t replicate Jaskiers smile. and worse, Jaskier sing-song voice. it seemed as if Geralt had hacked the soul from Jaskier. 

- a big part of him is furious that no one has realised the ruse, but they think Jaskier is just under the weather, maybe even heartbroken for the loss of the old world.

-but how could they imagine Geralt doing such a thing like building a fake Jaskier? great isn’t a liar. never. he was renowned for being ruthlessly honest. no one would think him capable of such a thing. but they forget he’s good at pretending. he did it around Jaskier for a long time. everyone. 

- Geralt eventually has a break down over android Jaskier not being enough, about what a piss poor copy he made of the man. Geralt questions if he even really knew the bard.

- he didn’t. and it will torment him until he dies. so he looks through Jaskiers notebooks, in hopes to touch some unexplored part of him. he finds songs, notes of Jaskiers thoughts

- he finally cries. 

- he cries when he sees Jaskiers drawings. he didn’t know the bard could draw. Geralt finds lots of doodles and pictures of him mingled amongst love songs and stories of Geralts heroism. 

- there are unsent love letters, years worths of them. unsent letters addressed to Geralt are tucked amongst the pages. some are sealed, ready to send. others not even finished. Geralt wants to read them, truly. but is it right for him to read them? Jaskier isn’t here to say no and none of this really matters. it doesn’t matter, he’s already surpassed considering morality. so he reads them. 

- It’s all too painful, and the realisation has been a creeping thing, and it hits him like a freight train. And here he is, sitting in the ashes of a man’s life, responsible for a fraudulent version of him.

 And Geralt decides then and there to get rid of the android. But it won’t be easy now, is it? it’s been weeks, months? And there’s so much he must explain. Even to the android. He may not be Jaskier. But he still wears his face.

- but he has to. so like every other night, he helps the droid to bed. but this one will be different. Geralt can’t help but take the droids to face in his hands - cradle Jaskiers face in his hands for the first and last time. and tell them the truth.

- the droid cannot cry, but if they could he know it would be. Geralt tells them he’s so fucking sorry. love - love makes you do stupid things. horrible things. but it won’t hurt, he swears, it’s just like going to sleep, you’ve gone to sleep so many times

-  Geralt slowly raises the droids shirt. pries its chest open - where Jaskiers heart should be. ha, Geralt thinks, this is not the first time he’s ripped Jaskiers heart open, he’s read the bards poems, songs, about how the Witchers hands had dug into jaskiers soul and tore it into two. but this isn’t Jaskier. with tears, Geralt pulls out wires and wheels that made up the droids heart. 

- the droid leaves him with the image of Jaskiers face permanently frozen half afraid, half sad look. not too much different from how the real Jaskier looked. just lacked the sea water and blood.

- Geralt catches the droid as it fell. something he wished he could have done for Jaskier. he sets them on the bed. makes it look as if Jaskier had passed peacefully. for his own sake and for their families sake. it’s what he deserved. 

I no one really asked what happened. a great many of the things could have happened. Jaskier finally gets a funeral. one he deserves. but Geralt asks to bury him alone. he dismantles the droid. and marks Jaskiers grave; it lays facing the ocean. 

[rwby-redux]

Deconstruction

Worldbuilding: Dust II

If Part 1 was the nuclear response, then Part 2 is death by a thousand paper cuts. Rather than focusing on just one massive problem with Dust, this time we’ll be discussing the smaller, albeit more numerous problems. Tempting as it is to keep our crosshairs on the obvious target, it’s important to remember that all of the subtle discrepancies—a throwaway line here, a contradiction there—eventually add up.

Today is all about what happens when those small problems get out of control.

Second verse, same as the first. Before we get started, I want to briefly revisit that list of traits so we’re all on the same page.

There are four basic types of Dust. They can be combined either naturally or artificially to produce new types that have their own specific characteristics.

Dust can be triggered by the Aura of humans and Faunus.

The default state of Dust is crystalline. The powdered form sold in shops is the result of processing and refinement.

The color of the Dust denotes what type it is.

Dust becomes functionally inert outside of Remnant’s atmosphere and no longer exhibits its inherent elemental properties.

Dust can be injected into the body in order for the wielder to use its effects more directly. Doing so requires a certain amount of discipline, and can be extremely painful without taking the necessary precautions.

Dust can be imbued into weapons like swords, or woven into clothes.

Dust can be used as a fuel source, to the end that Remnant’s technology is almost exclusively powered by it.

Semblances can interact with Dust in such a way that their skills are augmented, resulting in the temporary acquisition of new subskills or secondary characteristics.

Dust is volatile and prone to explode when subjected to certain stimuli.

Seeing as we’ve got a lot of ground to cover, I’m gonna keep my main talking points under neat little headings, so everything stays nice and organized.

Treating Dust as a Fossil Fuel Analog, and How It Relates to Technology

To say that Dust is a parallel for coal, natural gas, or petroleum is to miss the point entirely. Dust isn’t like these things—Dust is these things. For everyone who’s been watching the show since it first aired, this isn’t anything new. RWBY hasn’t exactly been subtle about establishing those comparisons. Dust is a natural resource that’s scarce, finite in quantity, found in underground deposits, reliant on minority labor in order to be mined, monopolized by a single supplier, and environmentally hazardous due to the extraction process.

A Dust drilling rig and refinement factory owned by the SDC. Excavating Dust resulted in anthropogenic pollution that destroyed Vacuo’s ecosystems, and depleted its natural resources. | Source: World of Remnant, Volume 4, Episode 4: “Vacuo.”

Like I said, it’s not exactly subtle.

The reason why I bring this up is because, to the best of my knowledge, the show has never concisely explained how Dust works as a fuel. When coal is burned, for example, it produces heat, and releases nitrogen oxide and sulfur dioxide into the air. Like, the coal doesn’t just stay coal when it’s being used up—as it’s being burned the coal is physically being reduced into the form of byproducts, like fly ash and slag. Similarly, when you operate a vehicle with gasoline, the fuel gets converted into exhaust gas by the 4-stroke engine. The compressed air-and-fuel mixture partakes in a combustion reaction when the spark plug ignites it. The byproducts of this process are carbon dioxide, nitrogen, and water.

See where I’m going with this?

If Dust is a fuel source, then we need to understand what physical changes are taking place when it’s reacting/being consumed by various technology.

And the series…really, really doesn’t show us that.

Does the Dust get broken down when used? Is the elemental energy inside only released when the Dust is subjected to mechanical stress? Is that why Dust is sensitive to small amounts of energy and explodes when someone so much as sneezes at it? [1] Are all Dust types equally as volatile? Is there a threshold for the amount of energy Dust can be exposed to before it explodes?

Let’s assume, for the moment, that all of the aforementioned are true. Physically breaking a Dust crystal is analogous to burning a chunk of coal, in that mechanical stress is the catalyst for releasing its elemental energy. If we follow that thread of logic, then it means that Dust powder is the result of breaking down Dust crystals into finer particulate matter.

Keeping the analogy in mind, this means that Dust crystals are to coal what Dust powder is to fly ash. A byproduct. Leftovers from the initial fuel consumption process.

So why is powder Dust considered a “refined” form of fuel? How is a byproduct energetically more efficient than the initial source that it’s derived from?

If I had to hazard a guess, I’d argue that Dust as a fuel source is more like a combination between burning coal and splitting an atom. Maybe when Dust companies “refine” Dust, what they’re doing is preemptively grinding the Dust down into a powder, and then—what, flash-freezing it somehow in the middle of it releasing its energy during the breakdown process? And then the flash-frozen powder Dust is stored in some sort of canister, or cartridge, or battery that can indefinitely suspend Dust in its energy-release state until it’s ready to be used? That way the refined version (the powder) cuts out the step that requires a person to physically destroy the crystal in order to release its energy.

It’s not an unsound proposition, and with enough well-presented pseudoscience, I’m sure viewers would be willing to give it a pass. The problem is that the canon ostensibly refuses to tell us any of this. Having your fandom do your homework for you so you don’t have to explain your magical fuel isn’t good storytelling. And the more RWBY continues to withhold its lore—or worse, refuse to develop it entirely—the less credible the setting feels. There’s only so much an audience is willing to suspend its disbelief before pedants like me come along and start poking holes in it.

While we’re still on the topic, I want to quickly touch upon the second issue I have with Dust being Remnant’s de facto fuel source.

Although the show did its best to visually emphasize Remnant’s reliance on Dust, it wasn’t until World of Remnant, Volume 2, Episode 1: “Dust” that we got our first concrete evidence of just how extensively it was integrated into everyday life:

“Since its discovery, man has concocted a multitude of ways in which to harness these mysterious crystals. From airships to androids, Dust has made its way into practically every facet of technology. […] Dust ammunition serves as a more practical application in today's modern society. With the technological advancements in weapon design, warriors need merely choose the right cartridge for the job and pull the trigger.”

We don’t have to question the validity of this under the assumption that Salem is an unreliable narrator, because Qrow says more or less the same thing in later episodes.

“The cold climate of Solitas forced its settlers to adapt. It developed a more advanced technology—and they did it faster than the rest of the world—because they had to, to survive. But it was the Great War that really kicked things off. New forms of Dust application and weaponry allowed Mantle to expand. More and more territory was set aside for Dust mining and research. The territory beside the Kingdom's combat school, Alsius, was the most opportune area to construct a new R&D facility.” | Source: World of Remnant, Volume 4, Episode 3: “Atlas.”

While this conclusively established Dust as the predominant fuel source, there was still some lingering ambiguity of whether or not other sources of energy—petroleum, natural gas, coal, solar, wind, geothermal, hydro—were as developed, or whether they existed at all.

Our first tentative answer to this question came up during Rooster Teeth’s 2015 Extra Life livestream: [2]

Gray Haddock: Is all technology, including scrolls, everything in the world of Remnant powered by Dust? Is all technology Dust-based?

Kerry Shawcross: You’re making me commit to this right now?

Gray Haddock: No, no, no.

Kerry Shawcross: Okay.

Gray Haddock: Most? Some? A lot?

Kerry Shawcross: I would say that a lot is.

Gray Haddock: But there might be some alternate stuff out there. Maybe. Ish.

Kerry Shawcross: Yes. Unless I change my mind later.

Take a moment to let that sink in. At the time this aired, Volume 3 had already been written and animated, and the third episode had just been released on the website. This is one of RWBY’s lead writers admitting that they didn’t have a definitive answer, and the answer that he gave could be subjected to change later down the road. 

Words cannot begin to describe how insane that sounds. That’s like J. K. Rowling deciding after Prisoner of Azkaban, you know what, I’m tired of wizards using wands to cast spells. From now on, everyone’s going to use human femurs!

You can’t just change the show’s rules on a whim. A lack of consistency and adherence to worldbuilding kills any believability your story might’ve had. And more importantly, why didn’t you figure this shit out before the series first began?

Sorry. I’m getting sidetracked.

Instead, let’s look at how well the answer he gave held up. Did RWBY give us any evidence of other fuel sources existing apart from Dust?

Short answer: No.

Long answer: Yes, but I have to qualify that statement, so bear with me for a moment.

The next time we’re given another direct answer, it comes to us from The World of RWBY: The Official Companion.

From Part 1: Origins of Remnant - Types of Dust:

“This technology doesn’t use our fuel,” explains Patrick Rodriguez. “Dust makes everything work. We take tech, put Dust into it, and go with that aesthetic. When I was creating cars for Volume 1, Monty told me to design the motor for how they’d work. I diagrammed a whole engine that ran on Dust, and we never even showed it!” [3]

And then again in Part 2: The Characters - Yang Xiao Long:

“There’s no gas [in Remnant], just Dust,” says art director Patrick Rodriguez, “and Yang’s motorcycle works using combustion Dust.” [4]

It looks like we have our answer at last. An answer that’s infuriating and rife with contradiction, but there it is, plain as day: not only is Dust Remnant’s sole fuel, but alternatives don’t exist. Period.

If that’s the case, then why did I say earlier that they did?

Because throughout the entire course of the series, from Volume 1 onward, the artists have included one very important thing: Plastic. Polyamides used in toothbrushes, polycarbonates used in eyeglasses, polystyrenes used in plastic cups—every one of these things exists in the show. And do you know what plastic is made from?

NATURAL GAS AND FUCKING CRUDE OIL.

So unless RWBY wants to introduce yet another fictional substance to the show, then it needs to reconcile with the fact that yes, oil and petroleum exist, and yes, they’re potential alternatives to Dust.

Look, if the show insists on having plastic products, but not have oil or gas be fuel sources, then there’s a very easy way to get around that. The show has already gone to lengths to establish the SDC as Remnant’s version of BP, right down to both companies using acronyms instead of their full names. Just like real-life oil tycoons, you could have the SDC use resources like lobbyists, lien, and government influence to stymie the alternative fuel industry. Like any morally-bankrupt monopoly, the SDC would be threatened by competitors in the energy sector, especially if those competitors were developing technology based on renewable resources, like solar or wind. In a world where a limited resource like Dust has a stranglehold on the kingdoms, Jacques Schnee would do his damndest to ensure those alternatives never saw the light of day.

See? Problem solved.

Treating Dust as a Gemstone Analog (and Some Other Minor Nitpicks)

Okay, this complaint isn’t as important in the grand scheme of things, but I have to ask: why are Dust crystals treated like gemstones? No, seriously. Look at how the gems on display in this shop

A display case full of various crystal Dust types in From Dust Till Dawn. | Source: Volume 1, Episode 1: “Ruby Rose.”

differ from the ones seen in unharvested deposits.

Large, jagged deposits of unmined Fire Dust embedded in the ceiling of a cave. | Source: Volume 7, Episode 3: “Ace Operatives.”

The Dust for sale was likely cut, as evidenced by the additional facets not present on the unmined deposits. Then again, if you look at the Gravity Dust found at Lake Matsu, Dust might actually belong to the hexagonal crystal system (with and without pyramidal terminations), so a few of those facets could be natural. Regardless, the implication seems to be that on some level, the Dust was treated post-production.

An unmined Gravity Dust deposit found on one of Lake Matsu’s floating islands. | Source: Volume 5, Episode 2: “Dread in the Air.”

Why I bring this up at all is because if Dust crystals are only going to get broken down while being used as a consumable fuel source, then why waste time cutting and polishing them? It doesn’t really make any sense.

While we’re on that subject, how the hell does a person cut a Dust crystal without blowing their fingers off? Seriously. This shit’s like azidoazide azide. You could fart at it from halfway across a room and it would still somehow find a way to explode.

Which also begs the question of how Hazel isn’t dead from repeatedly jabbing what is basically a stick of dynamite into his arms every time he goes berserk. At the very least, shouldn’t he be suffering from severe health complications? His Semblance nullifies pain, but there’s no way it can skirt around the ramifications of what would basically be acute chronic Dust poisoning.

Dust, and How It Relates to Aura

Like any hardcore fantasy enthusiast, I’m a sucker for floating islands. I don’t care if they’re overused and cliché. That is peak aesthetic, and nothing you say will ever convince me otherwise.

That being said…

Remember how the show repeatedly tells us that Dust can only be triggered by humans and Faunus? Meaning that its effects can only be activated in the presence of Aura?

If that’s the case, then how are any of Matsu’s islands floating? If Aura (or mechanical stress, I suppose) is a prerequisite for activating the elemental properties of Dust, then shouldn’t the islands all have fallen into the lake? It’s not like there are people hanging around out there to keep them passively airborne.

I have a sneaking suspicion that Remnant is some sort of genius loci à la Gaia hypothesis, and the planet generates its own Aura (which would explain why Dust becomes inert when leaving the atmosphere—it’s no longer within range of an Aura). But without more information to go on, we’re left scratching our heads at how this contradiction of nature can exist.

At the very least, consider this: If this ambiguity managed to generate a discussion in the fandom on what the hell is up with Lake Matsu, then shouldn’t that have also generated an in-world discussion between the characters? Fantasy setting or not, people are people, and we are an inherently curious bunch that love to ask questions about the unknown. Given that we had three volumes dedicated to the cast going to school, it always struck me as a weirdly wasted opportunity. An academic setting is the perfect place to script conversations like that, simply because it organically allows the story to teach the audience alongside its characters without everything feeling contrived.

But I digress. At the end of the day, this is far from my biggest grievance with Dust, but I felt it was still important enough to warrant being mentioned.

Cultural Aspects of Dust

There were a lot of ideas I wanted to talk about concerning Dust and its impact on culture—like if there was specific terminology for people who worked with Dust (like a Dust-cutter being called a “lapidary,” or “collier” being used as a slur for Faunus). Or if there were Dust-specific idioms or sayings. Or if there were superstitions and folk stories about Dust that still get passed along.

But we’re almost 3,000 words in and I want to try and keep things concise. For now, I’m choosing to focus on just one of those ideas instead, one which has always weirdly fascinated me: weaving Dust into clothing.

Fun fact: Did you know that in the 1700s, people used to wear clothing made with a green pigment that was derived from arsenic? Contact with the skin would give the wearer extreme chemical burns. Similarly, in the 1850s, aniline (a poisonous compound from the indigo plant) was used to create a dye that, when it was absorbed through the skin, would cause skin irritation, nausea, and dizziness. And well before we figured out that asbestos was carcinogenic, fibers made from it were often used for uniforms in professions that dealt with fire. Apparently, it’s really heat-resistant. And let’s not forget lead face paint, the skin-melting makeup that was all the rage in sixteenth-century Europe. [5]

The reason why I bring up all of these comically awful fashion trends is because, to reiterate, Dust is really explosive.

And people on Remnant used to just casually sew it into their clothes. Like, no big deal, I’m just going to wear my jacket with the custom Fire Dust sequins on the lapels and pray to god that no one bumps into me while I’m at the market. Maybe tomorrow night I’ll wear my hat with the Ice Dust embroidery to the banquet. I just hope I can avoid physical contact with another human being so my head doesn’t get encased in a block of ice.

Believe it or not, none of this is meant as a criticism, strictly speaking. On the contrary, I wish the show had taken the time to explore this neat little bit of lore, rather than consign it to a throwaway line. Because I think it would be fucking hilarious if Dust-woven clothing was the equivalent of radioactive and carcinogenic fashion trends. Not only would it enrich the history of Remnant and expand upon its worldbuilding (which it sorely needs), but it would be an organic way to explain to the audience one of the inherent dangers of unmanufactured Dust.

And just like that, we’ve finished covering Dust. Mostly, anyway. I have a few minor gripes, but nothing that can’t wait. Next time we’ll be discussing the topic near and dear to my heart, the thing I’ve been waiting for weeks to talk about: the Grimm.

-

[1] Volume 1, Episode 2: “The Shining Beacon - Part 1.”

[2] “Rooster Teeth's Extra Life Stream 2015 Hour 3-RWBY Crew & Matt/Jeremy Kiss.” YouTube video, uploaded by John Green. November 09, 2015. 51:44 - 52:09. [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SFCK-OwGoLA&t=51m44s]

[3] Wallace, Daniel. The World of RWBY: The Official Companion. VIZ Media LLC, 2019, page 36.

[4] Wallace, Daniel. The World of RWBY: The Official Companion. VIZ Media LLC, 2019, page 71.

[5] SciShow. “10 Dangerous Fashion Trends.” YouTube video. March 20, 2016. [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hhXeUQOuRaw]

[thievesguildbest]

Panic: A Connor x Reader Fic

Summary: The Reader is a detective at the DPD, and suffers a panic attack at work. Connor helps... and overcomes demons of his own. 

You felt like you were going insane, like someone had decided to scramble your mind. Your eyes--wide, wide, wide--flickered from the ground, to your reflection in the dirty, cracked mirror, and then back to the ground again. You looked like a mess. And you were, all things considered. The only good thing, the one small mercy whatever deity had decided to grant you that day, was that you were alone. Nobody really used the precinct's break room. Everyone preferred to work straight through their shifts, finish as soon as possible, and get the hell home.

Home... you wished you were there. You wished you could crawl into bed, feel the comfort of your warm blankets--a stark contrast to the frigid air in the station. But you knew you couldn't. Captain Fowler had given you a case, and stars be damned, you were going to crack it. As a recent transfer to the Detroit Police Department, you needed to prove yourself. And having a panic attack in the middle of your shift was not the way to do it. No. You had to pull yourself together. And you would... just after a few more minutes.

As much as you wanted to breathe, as much as you wanted to do anything, really, you couldn't. And so you leaned heavily against the counter top, staring at the cracks in the linoleum floor. Counting them might be a good idea, but your brain felt so foggy, so tired, that you wound up doing nothing. Nothing. That was what you'd been doing for as long as you could remember. In high school, while countless students--friends--were bullied, you'd done nothing. College, the time you were supposed to come into your own, and you'd done nothing. Even now, as androids started to win their rights, but still faced violence, what were you doing? You were standing in the break room, having a goddamn panic attack. You were doing nothing.

Dimly, you heard footsteps approaching: lithe, quiet footsteps that did nothing to ease your anxiety. If anything, they made it worse. No. No, you couldn't get caught in this state. What would everyone think? Hell, Captain Fowler would probably fire you on the spot. That thought alone brought tears to your already red eyes. You struggled to compose yourself, to plaster on a smile that would tell whoever was coming that you were alright. You just needed a minute.

"Are you using the coffee pot, Detective Y/L/N?"

At the sound of Connor's voice, you tried your best to sound normal. "N-no. Go ahead."

You internally winced, knowing the ragged tremor in your voice gave you away. Keeping your back to the android, you shifted until you were no longer blocking the coffee pot. Your knees threatened to buckle, but you managed to keep your balance. More footsteps echoed as Connor came closer. The sound of a ceramic mug being gently set against the counter reached your ears, and with a jolt, you realized he was standing next to you. Shit. He couldn't see you like this. Connor was still so new to being a deviant, new to emotions. You didn't want to give him anything else to think about.

"Detective Y/L/N..." There was a type of odd... gentleness to his voice, something that sounded foreign coming from an android. Even a deviant. "Are you alright? Your stress levels are..." He seemed to struggle for the right word, finally settling on: "high."

You barely bit back a "no shit, Sherlock," knowing the expression would be lost on him. Instead, you focused on calming yourself down. "F-Fine," you stammered, wincing again at your shaking voice. "I'm fine."

Something told you he was skeptical. You could practically see his brow furrowing. Finally, you risked a glance at him, only to find those brown eyes watching you with what seemed like concern. Quickly looking away, you felt tears leak out of your eyes. You tried to stop them, but they wouldn't quit, and just like that, the damn broke. You turned to face Connor completely, barely resisting the urge to run out of the room. For a moment, he simply stared at you, clearly confused.

"I," you began, but the words suddenly turned to ashes in your mouth, and you covered your face with your hands. Choked, broken sobs escaped your lips, not quite loud enough for anyone else to hear, but enough that you felt yourself spiraling out of control.

Connor stayed quiet for a moment, then gently asked: "Is there anything I can do?"

Raising your head, you blinked away more tears and, after sucking in a deep, shuddering breath, managed: "I... I don't know."

"Do you like dogs?" The android's tone shifted from concerned to lightly conversational.

Caught off-guard by the question, you frowned as you considered it, wondering where in the hell that came from. Still, Connor was expecting an answer, and you knew you needed to give him one.

"Y-yeah?" You couldn't help but frame it as a question while you swallowed a sob.

Connor's lips twitched, and he leaned against the counter. "I do too. Hank--Lieutenant Anderson--has one. His name is Sumo."

Despite everything, you couldn't help but smile. Sumo, you thought, feeling the panic beginning to ebb away, piece by piece. That's adorable. You slowly straightened out of your defensive, borderline-hysterical slouch and leaned heavily against the counter.

"He's a Saint Bernard," Connor continued. You didn't miss the way his hands hovered slightly by your arms, as if he ready to catch you, should you start to fall. "I try not to feed him too much, but he's always hungry. I think you would like him."

You found yourself smiling wider. The fog in your head was clearing, allowing you to think without spiraling down into a dark place. Mercifully, the tight sensation in your chest and throat eased up a bit, and you breathed easier. Deeper. Slower. After a moment of hesitation, you discovered you could speak in a relatively normal voice.

"I think so, too," you managed, briefly shutting your drying eyes. No more tears, you were pleased to find. "I've always wanted a dog. And a cat. Just... animals in general."

When you opened your eyes, you saw Connor nodding. You smiled again--genuinely. Although exhaustion made its way through your body (all-too-familiar, given your history with panic attacks), you knew you were pretty much ready to go back to work. You imagined you must look terrible. Still, you couldn't bring yourself to care. In all honesty, the relief, the knowledge that everything would be okay, was too strong for you to give a damn about your appearance.

Wordlessly, Connor grabbed a paper towel, soaked it with water from the sink, and handed it to you. You took it with a grateful nod and began dabbing at your eyes. It felt cool against your inflamed, irritated skin. When you were done (and when you looked more put-together and less like a freak-show), you tossed the paper towel in the trash and turned to the android.

"Thank you," you said, voice still slightly thick. "Seriously. I..." Unsure of how to continue, you simply repeated: "Thanks."

Connor offered a small smile and tipped his chin in what resembled a nod. "Your stress levels look... better."

Barely holding back a laugh, you pushed away from the counter. "What were you doing in here, anyways? This room's usually empty."

"I was..." Connor suddenly looked troubled, his LED flashing yellow. "Making coffee."

You frowned at his shift in demeanor and crossed your arms over your chest. "You like coffee?" Something wasn't adding up in his story. "But I thought--"

"It's not for me," the android interrupted as he glanced aside. "Detective Reed wanted some, and expressed... anger when I initially refused. I didn't want the situation to get worse, so--"

"So you agreed." You didn't phrase it as a question, your fingers curling in anger. It's always got something to do with Reed. You sighed, uncrossed your arms, and murmured: "You okay?"

Connor's brow furrowed as he clearly tried to analyze what you said. "I... my systems are functional, if that's what you meant."

"No, Connor, I meant are you okay. Y'know... emotionally."

There was a brief moment where you thought you would have to explain yourself further, but then Connor caught on. "I don't know," he admitted, sounding more confused than ever. "I... I think so."

You smiled softly and took a step toward him, careful not to crowd his space. "Good. Just try to ignore Gavin. He's an ass."

"That's... accurate." Connor returned your smile. "Thank you, Detective Y/L/N."

"After everything, I think we're on a first name basis," you said, wanting to roll your eyes in exasperation. "You can call me Y/N." You didn't wait for him to agree, instead opting to start walking toward the door. "And let Gavin make his own damn coffee. We need to get back before Fowler kills us."

Later that day, after you'd both returned to your desks, you felt your anxiety levels sink to an all time low. And when Gavin started giving Connor a hard time, well... no one could prove it was you who loosened the bolts on the prick's chair.

(Though the knowing smile Connor gave you after Gavin fell flat on his ass was enough to make your heart sing.)

A/N: Okay, so this is my very first [Character] x Reader type of fic. I honestly had no idea what I was doing, but if you liked it, a review/reblog/like would be great! Let me know if you want to see more of these in the future. 

-Thievesguildbest

[negaifreak]

Avengers: Omni Force Special Look

There was a certain dread filling the air around the heart of Wakanda and the forests surrounding it. Erza looked over at Vision's lifeless shell of a body. The android that held onto the Mind Stone was in any sense of the word... dead.

"Where could he have gone?" Erza asked, breathing heavily as blood dripped from her cuts and wounds. The Outriders were one thing to deal with. Thanos was another.

"Erza?" Shuri's voice rang out, catching her attention. But as she turned her head, her eyes widened. The princess of Wakanda was fading into dust, with flakes coming off of her left arm before she fell over and completely disintegrated, Panther Habit and all. Erza's eyes shook in realization.

"No..." she uttered, hurriedly running out towards the forest in the distance. Left and right, Wakanda's citizens were fading into dust as well. Erza grimaced. Did Thanos actually do it? Did he actually get the last stone and complete the gauntlet? The answer seemed obvious, but...

"Toothless!" Hiccup cried out as he ran through the forest in search of his dragon companion, holding onto his broken left arm. He breathed heavily as he looked around, panicked. That blast they took earlier caught them both off guard. He then heard a familiar moan. "Toothless!" he yelped, hurriedly rushing over to the source. Lying on his stomach was the Nightfury next to the rock wall. He pushed himself up, shaking his head. "Oh thank god..." Hiccup uttered out, catching his attention as he saw him jog over, "You all right, bud?" he asked out of concern. Toothless looked over to see his broken arm. "Hey, hey... it's okay..." Hiccup reassured, "I can get myself fixed up in no time..." he promised, putting his hand onto Toothless' head, "I'm not leaving you behind, bud..." he added reassuringly. Toothless happily tapped his head against Hiccup's, closing his eyes. He felt at home with him there. He felt safe. He felt... nothing...

Toothless' eyes jerked open the moment he could no longer feel Hiccup's touch. And to his shock, he wasn't there anymore. Only flecks of dust that wafted in the wind.

"Rose?! ROSE?!" Pearl screamed as she trudged around the forest. She was the most panicked by all of this. She had seen Rose's shield get shattered in an instant. Like it was nothing but glass to Thanos' power.

"Ugh..." a familiar voice groaned, causing her to gasp in realization. She looked over and saw Amethyst crawling out from the underbrush, covered in scrapes.

"Amethyst!" she cried out, hurrying over to her, "Are you all right?! Where's Rose?!" she frantically asked. Amethyst inwardly groaned. Of course Pearl was more concerned with Rose... She herself was lucky that she hadn't been poofed. "Ergh...!" Pearl grunted as she helped pick her fellow Crystal Gem from the ground, "Okay..." she uttered out, "We'll find Rose and then get Garnet..." she declared in between breaths.

"Agh..." Amethyst groaned in pain again, "Yeah, yeah..." she repeated in understanding, already exasperated enough with Pearl's obsession over being with Rose. But suddenly, Amethyst fell to the ground. "OW!" she yelped, "Pearl, what the-?!" Amethyst's eyes widened. Pearl wasn't next to her anymore. In fact, only specks of dust remained. "P-Pearl?" she stuttered, glancing around. She looked down to see if her gem had been poofed. Did she suddenly shatter without warning?

"She's gone..." another voice said, catching her attention as she looked over to see Rose standing there with tears streaking down her cheeks. Elsewhere in the forest, Steve, Hank, Luffy, Law, Zoro, Genos, and Hancock all witness several Wakandan soldiers all fade into dust, disappearing left and right.

"They... failed?" Hank uttered in disbelief. The two stones that were being protected on two fronts, protected by both the Avengers and the Omni Force alike... fell into Thanos' hands?

"We need to radio Tony right now," Steve stated. This was unprecedented. Despite all odds, despite the numbers the heroes boasted against this threat... they lost? As Hank was ready to pull out his membership card and contact Tony, he gasped. Everyone looked over and widened their eyes. His body was flaking away into dust, with his lower half completely disintegrated.

"Cap..." he uttered out before the process reached his head, preventing him from saying another word.

"Oh god..." Steve uttered in disbelief. Genos then glanced over and spotted something, widening his eyes again.

"Law!" he shouted, catching his squadron leader's attention. He looked down and gasped to see that his body was evaporating into dust as well.

"Traffie!" Luffy screamed, stretching his arms out to try and grab the specks of dust to try and keep Law together. It was fruitless. The disintegration had already reached his neck.

"Shit..." he cursed before fading away completely into the wind. Everyone looked on with widened eyes of disbelief. This was bad. Really bad. Hancock then noticed a few more specks of dust rising off of someone. She wished she hadn't looked to see who. Her gasp was audible, even as she covered her mouth with her hands.

"What's wrong...?" Zoro asked as everyone looked towards her. They then glanced in the general direction of where she was looking. Their eyes all widened. It was Luffy. His right arm had already fallen to pieces of dust, and the rest of his body would be soon to follow. He looked over at his friends, who all were in disbelief. And as the disintegration process reached his head, he resigned himself to his fate, shutting his eyes. His body soon faded completely, along with the straw hat he held so dear.

"L...Lu...Lu..." Hancock stuttered out as tears streaked down her cheeks, "LUUUUFFFFYYYYY!" she screamed in dismay, bawling as she fell onto her knees. More people were disappearing throughout the landscape. T'Challa, Natasha, Clint, and Janet were all victims as they crumbled into specks of dust that danced away with the wind.

"Hang in there, Tai..." Agumon pleaded as he helped his friend trudge along out from the forest. He wasn't faring much better. Despite Digivolving twice to fight against Thanos, he was still overpowered.

"Tai!" a voice cried out, catching their attentions as they saw Zyro running towards them with Ichigo in tow.

"Zyro..." Tai uttered, trying to walk on his own before falling over onto the ground face first, dropping his Digivice.

"Tai!" Agumon yelped, going over to make sure he was all right. Tai clenched his teeth. He was feeling such great pain and then... nothing. That's because he faded into the wind just as his comrades finally came to him.

"What the hell...?" Ichigo uttered in disbelief. Zyro squatted down and picked up the Digivice. Tears formed in Agumon's eyes as his lips quivered.

"T-Tai..." he stuttered out. Elsewhere in the forest, Korra dragged a bleeding Gray over her shoulders while injured herself. A trail of blood was behind the two as they trudged along slowly, barely conscious at all. Korra then tripped and fell over with him, hitting the ground hard. At least, that's how it felt.

"Kor...ra..." Gray managed to blurt out before coughing up more blood. The Avatar lifted her head and turned it to see that the ice wizard was barely breathing, starting to feel faint. She could feel it, too. It was as if there was nothing left but to embrace the feeling of death. It made her wonder what would happen. Would Raava be able to find someone else to become the next Avatar? She of course cared about that, but...

"You... should've stayed home... dumbass..." she told Gray, who perked up. He managed to curl his lips into a grin.

"Yeah..." he agreed softly. Without realizing it, both of them soon faded into ashes, as no one saw them disappear. Erza ran across the battlefield at a breakneck pace, praying that no one else was falling victim to whatever plagued Shuri and the Wakandan people.

"Erza, over here!" a voice cried out, catching her attention as she looked over to see Elsa with Samus and Kirby, appearing to surround something. She rushed over. To her surprise, all she saw was Leonardo, who appeared despondent. For a moment, nothing seemed wrong... but...

"We lost Raph..." Leonardo uttered out. Erza's eyes widened in shock. The ashen plague had spread to her teammates?

"KAKAROT!" Vegeta's voice boomed, causing them to all perk up to see him screaming at the sky, "COME OUT!" he bellowed, "STOP PLAYING GAMES WITH ME AND SHOW YOURSELF! KAKAROT!" he yelled angrily. Goku was gone, too? Erza was shaking. This was the nightmare scenario Tony had been talking about?

"Erza, what should we-?"

"Call Ben," the requip user interrupted, running off, "I'm going to find the others!" she declared. The ninth squadron members all shared worried looks with each other. How could this all be happening?

"Ergh..." Wendy grunted as she trudged out from the forest, holding onto her hurting hip.

"Wendy!" a voice cried out, catching her attention as she was suddenly tackled into a bear hug by Carla, who shook as she held onto her.

"Carla...?" she uttered in surprise, grimacing a little. She was more focused on trying to figure out why Jake and Danny's scents suddenly disappeared...

"Come along, child," Carla beckoned after letting go, taking Wendy's hand, "We should regroup with the others and help heal them if we can..." she advised, about to go off with her. But then she felt nothing in her hand. "Wen-?" Carla stopped talking as she turned and saw that the Sky Dragon Slayer was gone. Her eyes began to widen in realization. "Wendy? WENDY?!" she screamed, hoping that it wasn't true. Wendy couldn't have been taken! ...Right?

Naruto was gone. Rook was gone. Kyoya was gone. Jack was gone. Meliodas was gone. Omni Force members were disappearing like the Avengers and the Wakandan soldiers. At random, they were fading into dust. Erza kept running. She ran through the river, getting closer to the edge of the forest. Inside, Weiss was sobbing over Lance's lifeless body, putting her face into her hands. Watching from afar was Ruby, who leaned up against a tree and wiped the blood off of her lips.

"Ruby... I'm so sorry!" Weiss apologized while continuing to cry. The huntress was about to say something in response until she saw the flecks of dust coming off of her hand, followed by the rest of her body as it was fading. There seemed to be no way stop it...

"No Weiss..." she said, catching her friend's attention as she looked over and widened her eyes to see her fading away into ashes, "I'm sorry..." she apologized before disappearing completely. Just as the disintegration was completed, Erza had arrived at the forest's edge. And she had seen everything. She could feel her heart shatter the moment she saw Ruby evaporate. The girl she cared for, the girl she promised to train and keep safe... was gone.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!" she screamed into the sky as she dropped to her knees. Despite all odds, despite everything... the Omni Force had lost.

END

[geekymoviemom]

His Name is Peter

Tony tries to deal with the immediate aftermath of Thanos' snap.

Rated: T for language

Disclaimer: While I've seen every MCU movie, some dozens of times, I've only managed to see Infinity War twice, and I'm not that familiar with the canon comic-book material. Also, SPOILER ALERT! If you haven't yet seen Infinity War, please read at your own risk!

Tony wasn't aware—not that he really cared anyway—how much time had passed since… since it happened. He could've been sitting there on that desolate rock for minutes, days, or even centuries for all he knew, cradling all that remained of the kid against his heart. His haunted eyes stared blankly at the endless toxic wasteland that was Titan, as Peter's terrified voice reverberated through his head.

"I don't wanna go. I don't wanna go, sir, please! I don't wanna go!"

Peter was a brilliant kid, as bright as they come, and so strong he could stop a speeding runaway bus with his bare hands. But yet at the end, after witnessing four other people fade into oblivion, he was just as terrified to die as any other teenage boy.

Even so, his last words were meant for Tony, to help comfort him. Because that's the kind of person that Peter was. Always looking out for everyone else.

"I'm sorry."

Around Tony, everything else was still. Even the slight breeze had faded away as soon as the ashes of the dead were sufficiently scattered. It's as if the rest of the universe was as stunned as he.

And why shouldn't it be, really?

They had lost.

They had lost, and now Peter was gone. Turned to ash, along with Strange, Quill, the bug lady, Mr. Clean, and whoever else had faded away. Was Pepper still alive? Rhodey? Happy? Bruce? Aunt May?

Tony had no way of knowing. He was still stuck out here, in goddamn space.

He drew in a shaky breath, his lungs burning from the dry, stale air and the intense throbbing of the stab wound in his abdomen. Clenching his left hand into a fist around Peter's ashes, he brought it to his lips, squeezing his eyes closed. His fingers turned numb they were so tightly clenched, and his breathing grew more and more erratic as his body rocked back and forth, his shoulders shaking with the effort of trying to hold himself together.

He was having a panic attack.

No, no, please, not here! he thought. He clenched his teeth, trying to remember what his doctor had told him about managing these symptoms when they arose. Back at home when this sort of thing would happen he'd usually find something to tinker with to help occupy his mind. Program a new upgrade to the kid's suit. Work on that new computer for Pepper. Rebuild Rhodey's new spinal support. Try and come up with a dampening field for the Avengers Complex so Vision would have to quit walking through the damn walls all the time and scaring everyone.

Why didn't he go home, like I told him? Damn kid, never listened to me when it was important.

"The boy. Was he your son?"

Tony jumped at the sound of the low, soft, mechanical-sounding voice. He'd completely forgotten that he wasn't alone out here. The bluish-green robot girl, what was her name again? She was still here.

Slowly, he turned his head, his breaths still coming in stilted gasps as he studied the girl's androidish face. She wasn't crying—perhaps she was unable to cry—but her shoulders sagged and her eyes were half-lidded. Tony could vaguely remember someone mentioning that Gamora was her sister, so perhaps she was grieving for her loss too.

"No, not exactly," Tony said, forcing the words past the lump in his throat the size of his mini arc reactor. "He was my—, my—"

He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. Peter was his son, really. Even if not by blood, Peter was as good as Tony's son. Tony sure thought of him as such.

"He fought bravely," she said, in that same soft voice. "You should be proud."

I was already proud of him, Tony thought. I didn't need him to fight off a monstrous, mad, space demon obsessed with balancing the universe to be proud of him.

"I know he did," he said instead, pressing his ashes-stained hand to his chest. "He always did."

The girl took a step back, eyeing Tony up and down.

"You're injured," she stated. "I can fix Quill's ship, get us out of here. Back to your home planet."

"Sure, yeah," Tony replied with a half-hearted shrug, wincing as the slight movement sent another jagged jolt of pain through his body. Guess he won't be offering to help. Any other time he would've jumped at the chance to tinker around with alien technology, but this was hardly any other time.

The girl worked quickly, and as she practically dragged Tony into the co-pilot's seat, she handed him a small bottle of some yellowish liquid and fired up the engines. Tony laid his head back against the headrest, trying to ignore the fact that the entire ship smelled like a basket full of sweaty gym socks. He swallowed hard at the rising bile in his throat, willing his heart rate to slow down and his breathing to even out. The last thing he needed was to vomit here, all over this rust bucket spaceship. That surely wouldn't help the awful stench at all, and would also likely tear open his abdominal wound. As it was, he barely had enough nanoparticles left to keep it closed until they could get to Earth.

Stabbed with his own damn weapon. How poetic.

"Drink," the girl said, gesturing to the bottle she'd placed in Tony's right hand. "You've lost a lot of blood and are dehydrated."

"I'm all right," said Tony dismissively. The thick, yellow liquid looked revolting, and Tony suspected it would taste even worse, and then he really would have to puke.

"You're in pain," she insisted. "It will help."

Rolling his eyes, Tony huffed out a sharp breath and twisted the cap off the bottle, taking two large gulps as quickly as he could, trying not to let the liquid touch his tongue. Thankfully it wasn't as bad as he'd feared, and he did notice a slight decrease in the throbbing pain of his wound.

Unfortunately, it only made the ache in his heart that much more prominent.

"Where should we land on your planet?" the girl asked as they took off.

Letting out a sigh, Tony shook his head. His first thought was New York, at the upstate Avengers Complex. Surely there'd be people there who would help them.

Wouldn't there? Or were they all dead now?

"Wakanda," he said a few seconds later. He's not quite sure what made him think of the remote African country, home to most of the world's vibranium, except that when Bruce first explained to him about the immense threat posed by Thanos, right before all hell broke loose in New York City, he was more frightened than Tony had ever seen him. That T'Challa guy was one kick-ass dude, or at least he was at the airport fight in Leipzig. If Bruce did in fact call Steve Rogers on that damn Nokia flip phone, Tony could see Steve directing him to Wakanda.

Bruce also saw—or at least Tony hoped that he saw—Tony fly up to Squidward's donut ship, after the kid, so he'd know they'd be coming from space.

"Wakanda," Tony repeated. "It's located on the second-largest continent on Earth."

The girl nodded, adjusted a couple controls, and settled back into her chair, closing her eyes. Tony did the same, trying to breathe through his mouth, relieved that she didn't seem to want to talk any more than was necessary.

The next thing he knew the android was poking him awake. "They're asking for identification," she said gruffly. "Apparently they don't like mine."

She pointed to a button the console, presumably the communications channel. Tony groaned as he leaned forward, clearing his dry, scratchy throat.

"This is Tony Stark," he said in the most authoritative tone he could muster. "I need to speak with Bruce Banner."

Please Bruce, be there.

There was a loud burst of static, followed by Bruce's relieved voice. "Good God, Tony," he said over the crackly radio. "It really is you. Hold on, we gotta open some force shield or something, then we'll send landing coordinates."

"Might wanna have a hospital bay ready," Tony said, grimacing as he pressed his arm into his bloody abdomen. "I took a pretty bad one up there."

"Don't worry, we'll take care of ya," Bruce assured him. "We're just all relieved to find you."

Tony didn't dare ask who "we" were. He knew he'd find out soon enough.

Bruce was there, waiting with a teenage girl with elaborately braided dark hair and some sort of floating stretcher as soon as the ship jolted to a stop. Tony hesitated only for a second before climbing onto the stretcher and curling onto his side. As embarrassed as he was to be seen so wounded and defeated, he didn't trust himself to be able to walk right now.

They took him into a brightly lit room filled with technology the likes of which Tony had never seen before. If he hadn't been so delirious with grief and pain he would've been quite impressed with the machinery and gadgetry that he was able to glimpse. As it was, he could barely keep his eyes open as the girl—Shuri, Bruce said her name was—started to work on him, mumbling constantly under her breath about having to fix yet another broken white boy.

Once Shuri announced she was done for the time being, she gave Tony some water and pulled a blanket over him, telling him to try and get some rest. Tony opened one eye, intending to utter a thanks, but was stopped short by the immense sadness he saw in her deep brown eyes. She must've lost someone in the purge too.

Against his will, Tony fell almost immediately into a dream, likely hastened by whatever painkiller Shuri had slipped into his water. He saw Peter, his innocent brown eyes wide as he took in the sight of Tony just casually sitting in the living room of his Queens apartment. The look of pure hero-worship that lit up his boyish face, as if meeting Tony Stark—in his own home, no less—was the best thing that had ever happened to him in all his fifteen years of life.

"I can't go to Germany," he'd said a few minutes later, after Tony revealed what he knew about Peter and his abilities, and Peter stopped trying to pretend that Tony was somehow mistaken. Tony was never mistaken about this sort of thing.

"Why not?" asked Tony.

"Ah," Peter stammered. "Cause I got… homework."

It had taken all of Tony's self-control to not laugh out loud at that statement. Tony's own schooling was so convoluted as a child, with skipping grades and special tutors. And it was a very rare occasion at MIT where Tony actually completed an assignment as assigned by his professors, instead of simply submitting one of his own inventions for credit. But here was this kid, who appeared to be almost as smart as Tony himself was at his age, saying he couldn't leave because he needed to do homework.

Peter Parker was about as pure as they came. It was one of the things that drew Tony to him the most. The almost overwhelming urge to protect him from all the bad things in the world, all the things that Tony had to deal with growing up as Howard Stark's son. The anger he felt at the airport when Steve dropped that terminal on his head was so intense it frightened him, as was the deep sense of horror and dread he felt when he spotted Peter lying motionless on the tarmac only minutes later.

Tony shuddered as he jerked awake, groaning as he shifted on the firm but strangely comfortable platform. Through the large windows he could see that darkness had fallen, and the room where he resided was still and quiet. Drawing in a deep breath, Tony clutched his ashes-stained hand to his chest, squeezing his eyes closed.

"Are you in pain?" a voice asked through the darkness, startling him. He hadn't realized anyone else was here.

"No," Tony replied, even though it was a lie. The throbbing in his abdomen was gone, the deep wound closed by whatever fancy healing technology Shuri had used on him. Bruce told him when she was nearly finished that he'd been lucky; a couple centimeters closer to the midline and Tony would've completely bled out only minutes after being stabbed, nanotechnology or not.

"Liar," said Shuri as she stepped closer, so Tony could see her face. "You cannot hide it; I can see it in your eyes. You are in a great deal of pain."

Tony looked away, uneasy under her piercing gaze. "This isn't healable pain," he muttered.

"You lost someone," she said. It was a statement, not a question. Everyone left alive had lost someone. "Who was it?"

The scratchiness in the back of his throat intensified, and Tony shook his head, his jaw clenched and his lips pursed. "His name was Peter," he whispered.

"And he was your friend?" asked Shuri. "This Peter?"

"No," said Tony as burning hot tears pricked his eyes. He tightened his left hand into a shaky fist. "He wasn't my friend. He was… he was… like a son to me."

Shuri nodded, her lower lip trembling slightly. "I understand this pain, Tony Stark." She held out her arms, sweeping them around the room filled with every type of gadget imaginable, and some that weren't. "Unfortunately, with all of my knowledge and technology, I have no way to heal it."

"You lost someone too," Tony said.

"Yes," replied Shuri. "My brother, our king."

Our king.

She meant T'Challa, the Black Panther. Shuri was his younger sister.

"Try and sleep now, Tony Stark," she said. "There is nothing else we can do at this moment."

Tony nodded in reply, even as he knew that further sleep would be elusive. Shuri placed her hand lightly on his shoulder before retreating silently back to whatever corner she'd come from.

After the fight in Germany, as Tony got to know Peter better, the protectiveness he felt for the kid only intensified. Tony could tell Peter was impressed by him. After all, most people were, although Tony suspected it was due more to his Iron Man persona than because he was Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. But what Peter didn't realize, and likely never did, was that Tony was just as impressed by him. If not even more so.

Tony had never wanted for anything, at least materialistically. His father's immense wealth gave him access to the best materials and technology that money could buy. Peter, on the other hand, had to work with whatever he could scrounge up from the Dumpsters around his school and apartment. That old Macintosh computer sitting on the second hand desk in his bedroom? Peter had found that ancient thing sitting outside the back door of a computer repair shop, and after asking the shop owner's permission to take it home, proceeded to turn it into something that was actually useable, instead of just a twenty pound paperweight.

Of course in the months following the fight with Cap, Tony slowly funneled enough money towards Peter—through various anonymous methods—to not only revamp his room, complete with the best new Macintosh he could justify giving a high school kid, but also update his new Spider Suit with the best artificial intelligence system that Tony could think up. The AI that Peter had so aptly named, Karen.

The suit that Tony then confiscated from Peter after the ferry incident, when Peter's lies and disobedience had forced Tony into a proverbial corner. He'd hoped the humiliation of Peter being dumped back at home with nothing except a pair of pink Hello Kitty pajama pants and a too-large New York souvenir t-shirt would be enough to knock some sense into the kid, but alas, he was wrong. All it did was bring Peter back to his friendly-neighborhood, working-class, build-everything-himself roots.

And after Peter brought down that plane, and subsequently turned down Tony's invitation to come and live at the Avengers Complex, Tony rewarded him for his newfound maturity by returning his Spider Suit, complete with brand-new Karen upgrades, not one but two tracking devices, and a new, even better parachute, designed to dematerialize if it became submerged in water.

He also put item 17-A—the Iron Spider Suit—on permanent standby with F.R.I.D.A.Y., just in case.

But in the end, not even the best and most technologically advanced suit Tony could dream up was enough to save Peter. Once again, Tony had failed.

Tony curled his left hand under his chin and closed his eyes. He'd refused to allow Shuri to clean it while she was working on him, not wanting the last remains of Peter to be simply washed away, like unwanted dirt. He wanted to cling to them just a bit longer.

He wasn't yet ready to let go.

XXXX

As the first slivers of dawn crept up over the mountains in the distance, Tony gave up the pretense of trying to sleep and sat up, wincing as various joints popped and groaned in protest. As much as he hated to admit it, he wasn't as young as he used to be.

Glancing around, he noticed he was alone in the large room. Shuri must've slipped out at some point, perhaps going off to try and catch some sleep. There was a glass of water next to his platform, along with something that looked like the Wadandan version of a granola bar. Tony reached for the water glass, his hand shaking as he brought it to his lips, nearly choking as the cool liquid slid past his parched throat.

He was still gasping for breath when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," he croaked, quickly chugging another gulp of water.

He was expecting Shuri to come walking through the door. Or maybe Bruce, or even Rhodey; Bruce had told him that Rhodey survived Thanos' snap.

He absolutely was not expecting to see Steve Rogers enter the room, looking more bedraggled and defeated than Tony had ever seen him.

Almost instantly Tony felt his jaw tighten at the sight of his former teammate-turned-fugitive. Although obviously still very fit, Steve looked rough, as though the years he'd spent running from the law had actually been tough on him. His hair was longer than he'd worn it before, he had a shaggy beard that aged him at least ten years, and although Tony could still make out the star and stripes on his dusty uniform, it was so stripped down from its usual patriotic verve that they were barely recognizable.

Was this was Steve meant about showing his dark side?

Steve paused right inside the room, a tentative expression on his bearded face. Tony's upper lip curled, and that old feeling of wanting to punch him in his perfect teeth flared up in his chest, as if it had been only moments before that Steve had left him lying on the freezing concrete floor of that Hydra facility in Siberia.

Where Steve had dropped his shield—the shield Howard Stark had made for him—next to Tony's prone body as he dragged an injured Bucky What's-his-face away.

"Tony—" Steve started, taking a couple steps towards him.

"What the hell do you want?" Tony interrupted, each word shooting from his mouth like a blast from his palm repulsors.

Steve stopped in his tracks, raising his hands up in surrender. "I'm not here to fight with you, Tony."

The eerie calmness in Steve's voice only served to make Tony angrier. "No?" he snapped, dangling his legs over the side of the platform. "Let me guess, the soldier's finally had enough fighting?"

"Tony, this isn't helping anything!" Steve retorted. His hands dropped back to his sides, and he took another step towards Tony. "I'm only here to—"

"Did you know he was only a kid?" Tony demanded. "When you dropped an entire fucking airline terminal on top of his head, did you know he was just a kid? DID YOU?"

"He wasn't just an ordinary kid, Tony—"

"He was MY KID!" screamed Tony, slamming his fist against the platform. "He was my kid, my responsibility, and you tried to fucking kill him! You laid him out and dropped a hundred ton terminal on his head!"

"I'm sorry!" shouted Steve. He crossed the distance to Tony's platform in three strides, his chest heaving, his fists clenched at his sides. "I'm sorry, Tony, okay? But maybe you shouldn't've brought someone so young in on it in the first place!"

A fresh wave of grief bubbled up in Tony's chest, and he slumped back against the platform, his eyes trained on his ashes-stained palm. "It doesn't matter now anyway. He's gone. We lost."

Steve let out an enormous sigh. "Tony, you're not the only person who's lost someone. Everyone here has lost someone, people they loved. But if someone dies on our watch, we don't give up. Remember?"

"Don't you say that to me," warned Tony, his upper lip curling into a sneer. "Don't you dare say that to me right now. Look around you, Rogers. We've lost. Even you should be able to see that."

"Not necessarily, Tony," said Steve quietly. "Bruce and Shuri have been talking; apparently she was able to learn some things from the Mind Stone… before it was taken by Thanos. Nebula is working with her now. Thor's on his way to pick up Barton and Lang. Once they get here, we can start to work on a plan."

"Plan?" asked Tony, nearly spitting the word. "What plan? What in the hell can be done about… this?" He pointed out the large window, at the battle carnage still littering the vast plain outside.

"I don't know," Steve answered. "I'm not the brains of this organization." He paused, cocking his head as he drew in a deep breath. "They could use your help, Tony. They're working in a makeshift lab at the moment since this one was damaged, but..."

Tony pursed his lips, shaking his head as he thought. Peter was always the optimistic one, not him. Tony always planned for the worst. It's what drove him to upload the near constant updates to the suits, both his and Peter's. It's what drove him to ask Aunt May to list him as an emergency contact for Peter at his school. It's what drove him to invite Peter to come and stay at the Avengers Complex on weekends, so he could see for himself what Peter was up to, not fully trusting the boy's vague phone updates since the battle with Vulture.

What help could he possibly be to anyone right now?

"I don't—" Tony started, but then stopped. He could almost hear Peter's kind voice in his head.

"We should help them, Mr. Stark. They're counting on us."

"Bruce got ahold of Pepper, Tony," Steve said. "She's on her way."

Tony's head snapped up at the unexpected news. Pepper was alive. She was on her way.

Pepper loved Peter, and Peter adored "Ms Pepper" just as much. Tony even caught Peter sleeping on her shoulder in the media room of the Avengers Complex late one Saturday night, after a particularly tough week of school. They'd been watching The Empire Strikes Back for the umpteenth time.

Pepper would be able to mourn with him. She'd understand some of what he's going through.

Okay, kid. Let's help them.

"All right, fine," said Tony, slowly sliding off the platform. "Lead the way, Cap."

With a single nod, Steve turned around and headed for the door. Tony clutched his aching left arm in his hand as he followed, glancing up at the sky through the window, noticing the thick grey clouds gathering overhead. His arm always ached worse when it rained.

He wasn't able to save Peter from Thanos' snap. But maybe, just maybe, with their combined minds and a bit of luck, Tony would somehow be able to avenge him.

After all, Strange did say there was one possibility for victory. One possibility, even out of millions, was at least better than none.

"What was his name?" asked Steve as they turned a corner. "The kid? Spider-Man?"

"Peter," replied Tony, flexing his hand. "His name is Peter."

I love reviews more than Tony loves his suits. ;) I can't wait to hear what you think!

[falseroar]

Broken Memories Part 6: Nightmare

((Here’s a link to the last part, Part 5: Just Dessert.

Warning: While not going into detail, this part does mention a physical attack with a sharp object.))

It was dark by the time the car pulled into the driveway at the ego house. From out here it looked like every light in the house was on, and you could see shapes moving in some of the upper windows. Amy turned around in her seat while Mark put the car in park and said, “Sorry we didn’t get to spend more time together. We’ll have to make it up to you this weekend, right, Mark?”

“What?” Mark blinked blankly at Amy and even in the dark of the car you could see the look she shot him when realization dawned. “Oh, right, that—I mean, if we have time and all. Really busy, you know.”

“I’ll…try not to make any plans?” you said, wondering what they had planned but knowing Mark wouldn’t spill anything, at least not while Amy was there to keep him in check.

You were halfway out of the car when Mark added, “Call Amy or me if you need anything!”

“Will do.” You shut the door behind you, wincing a little when you remembered Chase’s dad comment earlier.

Mark and Amy waited until you reached the door and waved back at them before they started backing out of the driveway. You turned back to the door just as it shot open and a hand reached out to grab you by the shoulder and usher you into the light while a voice boomed in your ear.

“Y/N! It’s about time you showed up!”

“About time? I told you I’d be staying at Mark’s for a couple of days,” you said, like you didn’t have some version of this conversation practically every time Mark dropped you off here. “But good to see you too, Wilford.”

Wilford Warfstache grinned and spun you around to walk you down the hall, humming as he went.

You tried to keep pace with the man and asked, “How have things been going here?”

“Good! Great! Don’t go into the kitchen for a couple of hours.”

“What happened in the—”

“No time for that, we have so much to catch up on!”

“I just left yesterday,” you pointed out, but Wilford paid no mind to that as he led you into the living room and plopped you down on a couch, handing you a glass out of nowhere. You looked around and waved at Marvin, who was curled up on the other end of the couch with a book, and the Jims, who were reviewing some footage on a computer in the corner.

“And nothing happened at all?” Wilford asked, a knowing look in his brown eyes. Just before you could admit to anything, he carried on, “Well, I had a fantastic night. Drink up, drink up!”

You looked at the contents of your glass and barely had to sniff to recognize the smell. “Wilford, you do know this is pickle juice, right?”

“Well, I made a whole pitcher of margaritas last night, but someone went and drank it all!”

Marvin looked up from his book and you could see his brow furrow behind his cat mask. “You mean you.”

Wilford smiled to himself and stroked his pink mustache. “Yeah, it was a good night.”

“Debatable,” Marvin muttered.

“Aw, don’t be a grumpy pussy,” Wilford said, throwing his arms out over the back of the couch so that they were behind both you and Marvin. “Y/N, I talked this guy into being on my show! Mr. Marvin the Magnificent!”

“You’re…not going to give him an interview, are you?” you asked.

“Well, yeah, of course! Why wouldn’t I?”

You pulled Wilford closer and whispered so that Marvin wouldn’t hear, “Wil, if you do this, no guns, and absolutely no knives. You understand, right?”

“I hear the words coming out of your mouth, and they are definitely words. Hey, Marvin, show Y/N that card trick!”

Marvin tilted his head. “You and Bim keep asking me to do that. You both know I can do real magic, right?”

“But the cards! How do you know?”

As much as Marvin complained, he grinned to himself every time Wilford oohed and aahed over his simple card tricks or the bit with the rings. While this was going on, other egos walked in and out of the room, with some like Yandereplier and the King of the Squirrels stopping to watch Marvin and chat for a bit, giving him an audience even after Wilford’s attention strayed. Wilford wandered from one side of the room to the other, absentmindedly sipping at the glass he had swiped from you at some point, but you did not trust the look in his eyes at all. The last time he had that look, you both wound up with a lifetime ban from the local zoo.

Wilford hadn’t started anything yet and you were laughing as Jameson mimed a face behind the fuming magician, who had just guessed the wrong suit, when you heard the distinctive tone of Google’s voice out in the hall. It was not a happy sound.

“Uh, you know, I think I’m going to head to my room,” you said as you quickly stood up.

“What? Already?” Wilford asked. He lowered his voice and added, “If you’re thinking this party could use some livening up, I’ve got just the idea.”

“It’s been a long day for me Wilford, and I haven’t even dropped my bag off,” you said, speeding up as you heard the androids’ voices getting closer. “I should really get some sleep, night!”

You made it out of the other door just before Google entered the room, and you didn’t think he saw you. True, trying to avoid any of the egos for very long never seemed to work, but you really didn’t have the energy to deal with Google or think about the van right now.

Upstairs, you passed Bim Trimmer and Ed Edgar having some kind of argument involving a hair comb and skirted around the improvised target set up in the middle of the hall that Chase and Bing were shooting darts at, finally making it into your room and shutting the door with a sigh of relief. You really were tired now that you had said it out loud, and it was a relief just to let your backpack drop to the ground.

There was something different about your room though, and it only took a second for you to latch on to the mirror hanging on the wall opposite your bed, which had definitely not been there yesterday. As far as you knew, the egos didn’t make it a habit of going into your room (well, aside from Wilford, who still hadn’t caught on to how locked doors worked), but you had noticed during your time here that things tended to change if you weren’t paying attention. The walls might be a slightly different shade of paint in the morning than they were the night before, or the door to your room was just a little further away than you remembered. Sometimes you’d walk to a room like you always had and only later realize that it was on the wrong floor.

Kind of like Markiplier Manor.

As soon as the thought crossed your mind, you walked over to the mirror and pulled it off the wall. You weighed it in your hands before setting it down on the ground, its face against the wall. It didn’t look like the mirror from the house, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t find somewhere else for it to go in the morning.

Until then, you turned off the light and threw yourself onto the bed for some much needed sleep.

You stood and turned around slowly, taking in the ruined remains of the room around you. It was Markiplier Manor, there was no doubt about that, but fire had ravaged the place, leaving broken timbers and blackened walls to separate the once grand rooms. Ashes swirled around your feet as you walked toward the front door, which barely stood with half of its hinges ripped out of the wood.

The second you touched the door pain shot through your hand and you heard a distant, high-pitched laugh.

You backed away from the door and heard the crunch of glass beneath your feet. Looking down, you saw shattered pieces of the mirror on the floor, the frame facing up with a single hole right in the middle of it. Just the sight of it made your head swirl and you staggered as if about to collapse.

There was a back door, in the kitchen. You knew every way out of this place, one of them had to work.

Except when you reached the door frame that once marked the entrance to the kitchen, you saw the back door was gone, burned out with more than some of the wall around it. And standing in the middle of the gaping hole was the silhouette of a man.

You didn’t even remember turning and running, just the laughter and dread that followed you as you took to the burnt stairs which creaked and groaned beneath your weight, one actually snapping and almost taking you down with it, and there was no railing left to hold onto so you had to scramble and crawl up the last few steps. Anything to put as much distance between you and that thing as possible, but you could feel its presence at your back, hear the static in your ears as he grew closer.

Down the hall, ignoring the missing chunks to either side where there was a steep drop and a one-way trip back to the ground floor, heart pounding as you ran straight to the one door left standing, the one you knew should have been locked.

You heard the laughter again when you slammed into the door, saw the twitching figure at the end of the hall out of the corner of your eyes, but the handle turned, he was too far away—

Except he was suddenly there, one arm turning you around and pushing you up against the door, the other coming up with something in his hand, but it wasn’t a knife. The sharp edge of the mirror shard caught the light and the glitches coming off of him as you raised your hand to block the blow.

Pain pierced your hand and Anti grinned, his green eyes turning solid black as he leaned closer.

“S̸̛̛̙̠̥̮̟͊̉̂́͆̚͝ò̵̡̲̰̝ǫ̴͙̪̜̲̗͓̺̇̔̍͂̆̔͆n̴̺͎̮̽.”

You woke with a start and immediately curled in around your aching hand. In the dark you could just tell that there was nothing there, but where Jack and you had brushed hands earlier you now felt the pain of that shock again, worse now than when it first happened.

You forced yourself to get up and turn on the light, and then stood there in your room for you weren’t sure how long, trembling and rubbing your hand just to get it through to your head that you were fine.

Well, except you weren’t.

This was worse than your usual nightmares, and even the thought of curling up in the closet for the rest of the night set you on edge. You needed to get out of this room, to talk to someone.

With that in mind, you walked out into the now empty hall and before long stood outside of another door.

At the same moment that you knocked, the Host’s voice called from within, “Come in, Y/N.”

The Host was seated at a desk in his study, where books and papers covered every surface, filled the shelves to either side, and still spilled out onto the floor in stacks that made navigating the room a test in dexterity.

“Y/N enters the Host’s study and looks around, taking in the clutter. The Host apologizes for the mess, but is more concerned with why they are here at this hour.”

You hadn’t even thought about what time it was, but it didn’t surprise you that the Host was still awake. From here you could see that the bandages around his eyes were only slightly red, but judging from the state of his hair and his clothes you wondered how long it had been since he had taken care of himself at all.

“The Host has a lot on his mind at the moment,” he said, as if in response to your thoughts. “As does Y/N. What is wrong?”

“I had a nightmare,” you said, trying not to feel silly even as the words came out of your mouth. It was almost to admit it to yourself that you added, “I’ve been having a lot of them lately, but this one was really bad. And…I had two visions today.”

“The Host stands up to clear off one of the chairs for Y/N, the comfortable one.”

“Thank you,” you said as you sat down, watching as the Host went back to his seat without coming close to knocking one of his stacks of books over. He listened patiently as you explained what you saw with both Mark and Abe, his mouth becoming a tight line at the mention of seeing Darkiplier in the mirror.

“What do you think it means?” you asked once you were done.

“Y/N asks the Host, but the Host believes they have already come to their own conclusion.”

You took your time answering, touching the spot on your hand again even though the pain was now just a memory. You thought about the visions, about the constant nightmares that all led up to the same door.

“…I think I have to go back to the house.”

((End of Part 6. Thank you as always for reading! I feel like every time Anti shows up in the flesh there’s going to have to be some kind of warning. I hope that doesn’t spoil anything and I know there wasn’t a lot of detail in this case, but I’d rather be on the safe side.

Link to Part 7: Is It Worth It?

Tagging: @silver-owl413  @determinedrevolutionary @cherrybomb-jaguar @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior  @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @purpstraw @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl  @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette  @geekymushroom ))

[veliseraptor]

one of several prompts from @the-mundivagant for Tony’s POV of his deteriorating Loki feelings, and dang this one was fun. 

this is war (a warning to the prophet, the liar, the honest), 1.5k, tony stark pov, remember this cold verse

He was standing on a shattered rock in space. His right arm was broken, his armor dented so it was hard to move. Dust - ash - choked him, but what held him frozen were the bodies strewn around him, lying like broken dolls. All of them. Thor, Natasha, Clint. Steve, Bruce. Rhodey.

And one person still standing, head cocked to the side and one eyebrow quirked. Half smiling, greyish-green eyes cold.

“Always the last one standing,” Loki said. “While better men die.”

“You,” Tony snarled, and brought one arm up to fire a repulsor, but Loki flicked his wrist lazily and his armor just - shut down. Like it had in Naples.

“You broke so easily, in the end,” Loki said almost lazily. “You thought you could tame me.” His eyes flicked toward Steve, the shield shattered, his eyes staring blankly at the sky. “He did. But I never was.

“All I ever wanted was to watch the universe burn.”

Tony woke up gasping, his heart racing. He glanced to the other side of the bed, but Pepper was gone; she was gone a lot lately. He rubbed his hands down his face. The same nightmare. It kept coming back.

He rolled out of bed and went down to the lab.

It hadn’t been some kind of vision or foretelling. Tony wasn’t stupid, and he didn’t believe in fortunetelling. But. But.

Loki had always been dangerous. He’d known that from the get-go, like all of them had known it, except maybe Steve who had too big a heart for his own good. But then it’d sort of...faded away into the background, the longer Loki lived in their midst seemingly doing nothing but keeping to himself and seducing Steve Rogers. The constant vigilance had eased and they’d all started acting like it was just...normal. They’d all bought into it, that Loki’d turned over a new leaf, made a change.

What was that saying about leopards and spots?

Tony remembered looking at the first report of a HYDRA base, everyone in it dead. He’d looked through the photographs, and all right, he wasn’t going to cry about a bunch of crypto-Nazis getting what they deserved, but as the reports rolled in and the body count rose Tony was very suddenly staring at the realization that they had no idea what Loki was capable of. They’d never had any idea what he was capable of. They didn’t know a single fucking thing about what Loki could do.

In New York, Tony realized, they’d barely scratched the surface. For whatever reason, and it was a question Tony had periodically worried at over the years, Loki had barely even tried. He could’ve killed Tony on the spot using his bare hand rather than throwing him out the window. He could have torn Steve to shreds in Germany.

Very suddenly, Tony had remembered when HYDRA had gone after Steve in D.C. and he’d been trying to stop Loki from going after him, the way that for just a second Tony had thought Loki would attack him. If Bruce hadn’t been there…

The ease in Naples when Loki had shut down his armor like swatting a fly.

All the nightmare had done was remind Tony of what he should’ve thought of before. The first time around, Loki hadn’t attacked them head on, not at first. No, he’d weaseled his way into their midst and tried to rip them apart from within. It hadn’t worked, but then they’d known not to trust him. Now…

And now they knew there was some other player. Something bigger and nastier, and Loki’d been working with him before, and how did they know, how did they know that he wouldn’t do it again to save himself?

They couldn’t. They didn’t.

Tony unlocked one of the storage lockers with his fingerprint and pulled out the device inside. There hadn’t been much left of Doom’s castle when Thor was done with it, and originally Tony had just gone looking to make sure there was nothing anyone else could use, because Doom was psychotic and they didn’t need another one of those picking up where he’d left off. Some things he had gotten rid of without saying anything.

Other things...something had held him back, and Tony thought now it’d been some instinct, you might need this. He’d modified it, adapted it. The first real trial had been with the scepter, seeing whether he could keep it hidden because damned if he was letting Loki get close to it again. It wasn’t like he could test it in the other direction, the one they might really need.

He hadn’t told anyone. Maybe he could trust Natasha to keep it to herself, to understand, but even she’d been softening. It seemed better to keep it secret, keep it in reserve, a weapon he’d hopefully never need.

If Steve knew…

No. Much as he wanted to, Tony couldn’t trust Steve. Not with this.

Lately he wondered if he could trust Steve with anything. He wanted to, but between Barnes and Loki…

Too big a heart for his own good. And Loki had slithered his way into it.

Tony looked down at his work and thought again the question he always had when he woke up from that nightmare.

If it came down to it, would we be able to stop him?

**

It was amazing, really amazing, how quickly everything could go to shit.

Twenty-four hours and Steve had gone rogue, the Winter Soldier was on the loose - with Loki, to boot, Tony didn’t know anyone else who could break metal like that - and the Avengers had splintered into fucking factions. Oh, and apparently the wonder twins had beaten up Vision and bolted, too. With Clint’s help.

Yeah, this was just going great.

It didn’t get better from there, in part, thanks, Ross, to the untimely intervention of soldiers interrupting his attempt to talk Steve off a ledge. On the bright side, his anti-magic weapon worked, and Vision knocked Loki flat. On the less bright side, Steve and Barnes slipped away in the confusion. Oh, yeah, and Natasha had Tasered the King of Wakanda so they could.

Three-quarters of the (former) Avengers in custody. Ross called to congratulate him, and Tony just felt vaguely ill.

“What’re you going to do with them,” he asked, rubbing the massive bruise on his chest where Loki had punched him. “You’re just holding them, right?”

Ominous silence.

“Let me rephrase that,” Tony said. “You’re just holding them. For trial. They’re US citizens, Ross, you can’t just-”

“Barton, Wilson, and Lang are,” Ross interrupted. “The Maximoffs aren’t.”

“They’ve got visas. They’re here legally.” Sort of. “And they’re Avengers, too.”

“Not anymore.”

Asshole. “They’re not threats now. You can keep them contained without hurting them.” He paused. “Sokovia loves them. Word gets out that anything’s happened to them…”

Ross grunted. Good enough, Tony thought. Maybe optimistically.

Oh, yeah. And then there was the other thing.

“And what about Loki?” Silence, again. “Jesus. You haven’t already killed him, have you?” Fuck. That would be - really bad. Wherever Thor was, if he got back and found out Loki’d been executed…

Tony wouldn’t bet on Ross living for long.

He didn’t think Thor would stop there, either. He’d go looking for whoever’d sent Loki to his death, and yeah, Tony was pretty sure he knew who that’d be.

“No,” Ross said.

“So what are you planning to do?”

Quiet for a moment. “I understand,” Ross said, “that the research potential-”

“Oh, fuck no,” Tony said. Loki was dangerous, Loki was bad news, but Ross said research potential and Tony was back in Latveria with Loki looking like he’d gone three rounds with a freshman anatomy course.

“You don’t give me orders, Mr. Stark.”

“No,” Tony said, talking fast, “but I can give you suggestions, and let me tell you before you start sharpening your knives that the last person who tried that? Name rhymed with ‘boom’ which was about the noise it made when Thor demolished his castle and smashed his head in. And yeah, say whatever you want about Thor being bound to the Accords, but he hasn’t signed yet and he’s not exactly the most restrained person, so unless you really want to get up close and personal with that hammer of his, I’m going to recommend you stop thinking about ‘research potential.’”

“I don’t appreciate being blackmailed,” Ross said after a long moment.

“It’s not blackmail. Just honesty.” Tony tapped his fingers on his leg. “Do whatever the hell you want with him otherwise, I don’t care. But don’t kill him. I’m thinking of me as much as you, here.”

Ross hung up without agreeing. Tony stared out the window.

Goddammit, Steve.

“Tony Stark,” said Vision’s voice, and he turned around hard.

“What,” he said, maybe a little bitterly. “Are you leaving too?”

“No,” Vision said after a moment. It was hard to tell, but he seemed miserable. Guess even androids can feel like rotten traitors.

This isn’t your fault.

“Then what,” Tony snapped.

“There is...something I need to tell you,” he said. “I should have told you before, but...Steve Rogers asked me not to.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Did he now.”

“It has to do with Loki.”

Oh, Tony thought, listening. Oh, fuck.

Anger boiled up. Steve, you selfish fucking idiot.

At least he didn’t feel guilty anymore.