#link one of the few times he speaks out loud: Bird to bird communication

[dark-elf-writes]

Takeshi was always drawn towards rivers and lakes. Always drawn towards freshwater and the depths below. Sure the ocean is also appealing, but he prefers the lakes and rivers because their depths, whilst deep, are still knowable. There's an end and a beginning after all. (Zora have returned to the sea and live in the depths, but at heart they and their descendants will always yearn for the fresh waters of the land.)

Ryohei and Kyoko always dealt with the heat far better than most. They could stay in hot springs or saunas for hours without becoming exhausted and barely able to move, and they never experienced heat stroke in their life. (Gorons might reside within volcanos and in caves now, but those they see as brothers tend to pick up on their heat resistance after a couple of generations. A heat resistance that will always follow them, for they are Gorons in all but blood.)

Hibari always felt more at home the higher up he is. The cold barely bothers him, and as much as he stays in Namimori, he will always take a week to himself to climb the highest of mountains, all to see how small the world looks. (The Rito now reside on the Sky Islands, but their land locked descendants still yearn to fly.)

Haru, Nagi and Mukuro always feel more at home in forests and deep woods than anything else. It's a shame that Nagi and Mukuro barely have the chance to go to said locations though. Meanwhile, Haru has a dear friend in the woods. One guarding a particular sword. (Those taken in by Kokiri will always retain the effects. They will always favor nature, and this will affect their descendants. And Skull Kid is grateful to have a friend.)

Hana's maternal family was always female predominant. Her mother even makes jokes about their basically being zero males in her bloodline and her mother's mother's bloodlines. (The Gerudo genes are, very strong.)

Hayato, despite disliking it, was always offered help and assistance by people with white hair. They also offered him shelter, but understood when he was too wary to take up the offer. For the Sheikah know how deep paranoia can affect their descendants.

I am foaming at the mouth like yes yes this is perfect yes

Also this throws a hilarious light on Hibari bonding with Hibird. One that Link (who has never been afraid of Hibari and is the only one who can stand against him in a fight before flames were even known) once he starts to Remember things he’s never seen never lets Hibari forget.

[proceduralpassion]

Get To You

Day 18 of Narcoctober- Create a fanwork about characters experiencing, participating in, or witnessing a real life historical event (could have been depicted in canon or not) e.g. moon landing.

Character(s): Javier Pena x Sandra Castellano (OC); kinda platonic kinda not

CW: language, terrorism/bombing, mentions of OKC bombing

WC: ~1.2K

A/N: Hiii enjoy this cameo of Sandra from IWBSS. The setting in history is the OKC bombing, but the fic mostly focuses on the dynamic between these two.

They kept in touch once they moved onto separate assignments. Javi was transferred back to El Paso, working several cases including crime bosses who specialized in designer drugs and laced fentanyl. Sandra was working on a paper that linked cities where drug cartels had gotten a foothold in. It had taken her to Jaurez, Calexico, and even Miami, where she had spent her formative years. Now, she was in Oklahoma City, exploring the rival gangs that were purported to be enemies of the Sinaloa cartel. 

Her and Javi still talked on the phone, often under the guise of seeking professional opinions from one another but often delving into other topics such as Javi beating the latest level of his Zombies Ate My Neighbors video game or the latest addition to Sandra’s growing records collection. 

Over the past few months, their calls had upped to once a week on average, and sometimes more, depending on their schedules. It had been so seamless that neither had really noticed that the other had become part of their regular routine. It wasn’t long before they found no excuses to call, just simply opting to dial the other over anything they wanted to talk about in the moment.

This morning, Sandra was calling him, coffee thermos in the other hand, to thank him for getting her in touch with a fellow DEA agent that’d be able to help her with her current assignment. The federal building wasn’t far from the hotel she was living out of and they spoke on the phone as she walked the way there.

“Just know that if this guy gives me the runaround or some bogus info, you’ll have me to answer to.”

She can hear the smirk in Javi’s voice as he replies, “I think we both know I’ve been on your bad side enough times to know better by now.”

“And don’t you forget it,” she shoots back.

“How much longer you gonna be in OKC anyway? I’m tired of you complaining about the mosquitos over there.”

“Yeah, well, they’re the size of fucking birds. Don’t even get me started on the amount of armadillo roadkill I’ve passed by on the freeway.”

Javi cuts in, “There’s armadillos in Texas, too.”

“Anyway, I’m gonna be here until I feel like I’ve got enough for my assignment.” 

Javi hums, “Hmmm.”

“Hmmm? What does “hmmm” mean?”

There’s a pause on the phone before he speaks, “It’s just been a minute since we’ve seen each other. Was wondering if you’d be able to make the drive down my way.”

Javi’s been attempting to find a way to casually make the suggestion since about three phone calls ago, but wasn’t sure the best way to go about it. His own investigation, right now, prevented him from leaving his post, but Sandra seemed to have a more flexible, albeit spontaneous, schedule. It’d been about a year since they last saw each other in person and with the recent ramp up of their communication, he figured he’d throw the bone out there.

“Awww, somebody misses me?” Sandra teases. “Or are you just looking for your next booty call?”

Javi chuckles, “C’mon, I’m a classy guy! I’d at least fly you down instead of making you drive if that was the case.”

He revels in her loud giggles that crosses over his phone line. 

“You’re not gonna be too happy when the first thing I do when I see you is punch the shit out of you,” she declares.

“Ouch, yeah, I think Carrillo still feels it in his nose from that time you decked hi-”

Javi’s words are cut off by a loud explosion that echoes from the speaker. He’s up out of the rolling desk chair in his office instantaneously.

“Sandra!” he shouts, “Sandra!”

There’s screaming, car alarms, and sounds of large objects falling and colliding against one another. It’s utter chaos and for a few moments, Javi’s worried that he’s heard Sandra’s last words. It takes several more seconds before he hears heavy breathing directly into the line.

“Shit,” she mutters. He can hear movement as if she’s changing positions.

“Sandra,” Javi calls for her again.

“I- I think there was a fucking bomb.” He can hear her heels clack against the sidewalk and the way in which they speed up as if she’s running.

“What?”

“A bomb, Javi. I was about to cross the street to the federal building and half of it’s just fucking gone.” 

He exclaims, “Fuck! Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“I’ve been worse for wear before,” she says, which isn’t a straight answer in his head and he surmises that she’s got either not a scratch on her or one of her bones sticking out about now. He also knows she’s batshit crazy enough to run towards danger instead of away from it.

“Sandra, turn the fuck back around and get to safety. You can’t be the one to break the story if you’re in the ground.”

She scoffs, “There are people that could be hurt-”

“You hear those sirens in the background? They’re first responders who know what they’re fucking doing,” Javi cuts in, “Besides, you’re gonna act like you won’t be sniffing for questions while you’re ‘helping’?”

He knows she can hear the air quotes even when they’re not face to face. The same way he could just see the eye roll she gives him just now at his words. 

“Well, yeah, but everything is history, and firsthand accounts could even help with identifying the monsters that did this.”

“Also not your job, Sandra!” It’s a Wednesday morning and he’s supposed to be focusing on his current case, but the inner voice in his head tells him “fuck it.” He’s grabbing his jacket and keys, solely intent on walking past his bosses’ office, getting into his car, and driving to Oklahoma. “At the very least, stick with an actual first responder, they’re probably gonna set up a triage and command post for all the agencies.”

She’s too stubborn to answer but he knows her resolute sigh well enough to know that she’ll heed his advice. 

The line gets fuzzy for a moment, and Javi considers that they probably might lose connection with all of the 911 calls probably pouring in at her location. 

“Look, just-” he pauses again, unsure of what to say without it being too small or too big. There was a right time for everything after all. “Just be careful. I’ll see you soon.”

He hangs up his cell without waiting for a response and starts up his car. 

It’s night time when he finally gets there and he knows well enough that she’s still at the scene even after all this time. 

It takes several minutes to find her, but a petite woman with a gray tarp covering her, dried blood stains on the side of her head, who’s also currently badgering a police officer for information, comes into his view. The officer must give some morsel of solid information because she’s furiously writing in her little notepad and then giving him a genuine thank you with a curt nod.

She’s not searching for him when their eyes meet but she immediately smirks when he comes into her view.

They both take rushed steps towards each other, lightly pushing between other responders and families reuniting with their loved ones.

They finally meet in the middle and she chuckles, “You are so fucking dramatic.”

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[works-of-fanfiction]

“He’s the Best.” - 90s!Graham Coxon x Reader

Summary: Graham struggles with his self-esteem within the band and the reader tries to cheer him up.

Requested by: Anon. I hope you like this <3

Warnings: Swearing (literally once).

Word Count: 3.3k - a bit of a longer oneshot from me! I didn’t mean for it to be this long.

A/N: I’ve been writing this and putting it off for days because I just don’t know if I like it, but I don’t want to restart it. Argh… I hope someone enjoys this cheese fest.

* Gif credits to the linked creator

_______________

No one in this life is born ‘better’ than anybody else. It’s not a competition or a game of comparison. Every single human on this planet has their own unique qualities that make them interesting and most importantly, worthy. However, humans sadly aren’t wired to see those qualities in themselves. They spend the majority of their lives obsessing over others; wondering if they’re as talented as the next man, or if they’ll ever look as good as whatshername. Sometimes, it gets to a point where even the deepest of friendships can become strained due to one or more parties comparing themselves to another’s achievements.

And seeing Graham go through exactly that, has been killing me. There was a time when everything Graham and Damon did together, was truly that - together. Every single melody, riff, lyric - it was theirs. Neither one did more work than the other, neither was more musically talented. They were both kids crammed inside a Portakabin with their very first instruments, strumming and plucking and making probably rather bothersome noise. They had no idea what was to become of their lunchtime jam sessions and after school practices. Both were just excited to have a friend that liked the same things as them, and enjoyed the noise the other was making.

But Graham has since become a shadow of who he once was around Damon - he’s become Damon’s shadow. Or so he thinks.

Being in a band with a boisterous frontman like Damon was bound to become hard work for the other members at one point or another, but I never thought it would affect Graham like this. It’s getting harder to communicate with him, and I know it’s not his fault but I’m running out of things to say to fill the silences. There’s only so many times I can ask if he wants a cup of tea, or tell him about the encounter I had at the bus stop earlier that day. I’m sick of hearing my own voice, so I can’t imagine how he must feel. The silence seems to be the only thing he wants; he doesn’t write anymore, he hardly plays guitar outside of work commitments, and he hasn’t picked up his sketchbook in weeks. He just seems to stare at the TV or sit on the sofa with his head buried in a book that’s stuck on the first chapter. I watched him the other day and in forty-five minutes, he turned the page once. I bet if I asked him about the story he wouldn’t be able to recall a single character’s name, never mind the plot.

Watching him struggle with his self-esteem is crushing, and I don’t want him to live another second feeling the way he does. I know it may take a while for him to find himself again, but if I can do anything to help move things along, it’s worth a try. I’d drop everything for Graham in a heartbeat.

“I dropped those music stands off today. Did you get them?” Dave asks, his voice a little crackly on the other end of the phone.

“I did, thank you!” I chime, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear as I assemble the very same stands.

“Oh, good. I was a little worried about leaving them outside. I thought somebody would take them… What do you need them for anyway?”

“That’s something for me to know and you to find out, Dave.” I laugh, tightening one last knob on the second stand and straightening it out. I stand back and admire my handy work, smiling at the prospect of what they are to become.

“Alright, alright. Well, I hope they come in handy! I’ll see you later.”

“Thanks again. See you next week!”

We both hang up and I grab the stands, climbing up the stairs and into the spare room, placing them in their desired places. Grabbing two pieces of sheet music, I slot them onto the stands neatly and adjust them until they’re perfect. With one last thing to check, I turn on the projector I borrowed from an old university friend and let the film play out on the blank wall opposite. I mess with the sound a little, making sure it’s loud enough before rewinding the footage to the beginning and turning it off until later.

Standing in the middle of the room, I turn around and admire everything on the walls. Everything from lyrics to old album art concepts, to still life paintings from Graham’s time at Goldsmith’s. Beside the music stands, there’s crates filled with records, decorated with lyrics scribbled onto scraps of paper, some in Graham’s handwriting and others in mine. I of course, couldn’t resist writing them out in various colours and covering them in star-shaped stickers. The finishing touch is a large beanbag against the wall for us to sit and watch the projector from. I fluff up the beanbag for the thousandth time before heading downstairs to wait for Graham to get back.

It takes around two hours for Graham to arrive home. As soon as I hear his taxi pull up outside, I jump up from the sofa and head into the kitchen to flick the kettle on. Nerves bubble through me as I anticipate his entry. It’s impossible to predict how Graham’s going to be feeling on any given day. He could come through the door and speak to me as normal, or he could disappear into his studio until he’s tired enough to head to bed. Through the rumbling of the kettle I listen out for the door, fingers impatiently tapping on the counter as my gaze fixates on a magpie outside, shakily balancing on the washing line. A second joins it and I smile, muscle memory taking over as I pour the boiled water into two cups, not taking my eyes off of the birds.

“Hi.” Graham’s voice peeps behind me. Putting the kettle down, I turn around with a warm smile on my face. Despite everything Graham has been going through, seeing him come through that door every day is still my favourite sight. Having him come home to me will simply never get old. I don’t know what I’ll do when he has to go out on tour again in a few months.

“Hey.” I breathe, the sides of my face already beginning to feel sore from the ridiculous grin stuck on it. He smiles back, the expression not quite reaching his eyes but I know he means well. He’s trying. “You go and sit down. I’ll bring these in.” I gesture to the brewing teas on the counter and he nods, hanging his bag on the nearest kitchen chair and leaving the room without another word. I finish the drinks as quickly as possible, grabbing the stack of takeaway menus from the junk drawer and bringing them with me, the pieces of paper clamped between my teeth as I concentrate on carrying the two steaming hot cups in my hands.

Setting the cups down on the coffee table, I toss the menus onto the sofa next to where Graham is very aggressively, trying to pull his Docs off. “Need a little help?” I ask, laughing as I kneel down and bat his hands out of the way. “It would help if you untied them.”

“It’s easier to leave them tied.”

“Oh, really?” I scoff, gesturing to his feet still stuck in the cherry red boots. The laces are a complete mess with three bulky knots in them. I sit down cross-legged on the carpet, carefully plucking and unravelling each knot whilst Graham buries his head in the takeaway menus. “How do you even - “ I struggle, pulling at the frayed shoelace whilst trying not to damage it further, “- get these things on?” With one last tug, the first lace loosens and I’m able to slide the boot off with ease. Graham’s face pops out from behind the menu, a side-smile plastered onto his lips and a cheeky glint in his eyes. I know he wants to laugh.

“Shall we get Indian tonight?” He changes the subject, flipping over the tatty piece of bright orange paper as he squints at the options. He always orders the same thing, yet still insists on reading the whole menu front to back. He does it for every restaurant.

“Indian sounds good.” I nod, pulling the second boot off and shoving them to the side. “I’ll call them now.” Jumping up to grab the phone, I type the number in from memory and hold it up to my ear.

“What’s the rush?” Graham mouths and I hush him when somebody answers. I order the usual along with some extras and give them our address, despite them not even really needing it anymore. The phone call is no longer than a minute and Graham sits staring at me, nose scrunched in confusion. “Are you going to tell me what’s going - “

“Follow me.” I blurt out, stretching my arm towards him and rising onto my tiptoes out of excitement. He stands slowly, shrugging off his jacket and leaving it on the sofa. “I was going to wait until we’d had our food, but I have to show you now.”

“Show me what?” He asks as I grab his wrist and drag him up the stairs. We squeeze up the narrow staircase, almost tripping each other over a couple times until we stop on the landing, feet overlapping one another’s on the small square of carpet.

“I know you haven’t really been yourself lately.” I start, my fingers slipping from Graham’s wrist to entwine with his. He looks down, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. His eyes watch our hands as I lightly stroke the back of his thumb in an attempt to relax him. He has a habit of tensing up whenever I broach the subject. “So I wanted to remind you just how great you are.”

I watch his face intently, the corners of his mouth twitching and trying to smile. With my free hand, I open the door and flick the light on, pulling Graham into the room with me. His hand slips from my grasp and I back up to stand against the wall, watching as he takes in the room around him and everything in it.

He walks to the music stands first, fingers tracing the notes on the pages, flipping them over then back again. He walks towards the canvas on the back wall - a woodland painting he’d won a prize for back in college - running his hand over the textured patch of paint that forms the trees. I nervously bite the back of my thumb as he kneels down to sift through the records in the large black case below, flicking through every Blur album and single released to this day. My favourite lyrics are scattered on sheets of paper all over the ground, and he picks up the second verse from Coffee & TV. “You’ve always loved this one.” He says, turning to me and smiling.

“I happen to really like the guy who sings it.”

“He must be pretty good then.”

“Oh, he’s the best.” Resting my foot against the wall, I kick my body forward and stand straight, joining Graham beside the projector.

“What’s this for?” He asks, hands hovering near the buttons but not daring to touch anything. I take his hands in mine and give them a loving squeeze.

“Sit down and I’ll show you.” I chirp and he sinks down onto the beanbag. I mess with the projector until the sound starts to creep in, stretching over to switch off the light. Graham shuffles to the side to make some room for me on the beanbag and I flop down beside him, nestling into his side.

The image from the projector is surprisingly clear against the wall, although could’ve been improved had I borrowed a screen from somewhere. A variety of different clips play out in front of us, ranging from Graham performing onstage to snippets of his band members talking and praising their guitarist. I try my hardest to focus on the film in front of me, but I can’t help glancing over at Graham to see his reactions. His brows are furrowed, but not necessarily in a bad way - he’s focused, fully concentrating on everything he’s seeing and hearing.

I fidget with my hands, twiddling my thumbs and quietly cracking my knuckles. Graham notices this and grabs my left hand, squeezing it tightly and bringing it over to rest in his lap. Laying my head on his shoulder, I press a kiss onto his sleeve, rubbing my head against him and breathing in his familiar scent. He lays his head on top of mine, but never looks away from the video playing on the wall. Absentmindedly, his fingertips dance on the back of my hand, the drumming following the beat of Song 2 as it plays from the projector. I too can’t help bopping along to the beat, my foot tapping softly on the carpet.

The video closes with one final clip, a message I recorded for Graham. Too embarrassed to watch myself, my focus stays on him as I squeeze his hand a little tighter and snuggle up as close as possible. The picture begins to fade and the sound plays out until there’s no footage left, and the whirring of the projector becomes background noise in the room. Graham doesn’t say anything at first, but as I try to stand to turn the projector off, he pulls me back down onto the beanbag and rotates his body to face mine.

“Hey.” I whisper, my right hand supporting his cheek as he leans into me, his eyes closed and lips pressed into a line. Our bodies slot into one another’s on the beanbag, the very little space between us growing warmer by the second.

Graham releases a deep breath, his eyes slowly opening again with a small smile spreading across his face. It’s hard to see him properly in the dimly lit room, but I could never mistake those big brown eyes staring at me. “I can’t believe you did all of this for me.” He says, his voice low as he leans in close to speak like we’re the only two people who matter inside a crowded room.

“I wanted to show you how incredible you are. You’ve been so hard on yourself and I just - “ As I speak, tears start to well up in my eyes and I look up to the ceiling to try and stop them from falling. I’d already told myself earlier that I wouldn’t cry, because I don’t want Graham to think he’s upset me. I press at my eyes lightly with my fingertips in an attempt to push the tears away. “I can’t stand seeing you this way because you don’t deserve to feel like this. If it wasn’t for you, Blur wouldn’t exist! Everything you’ve all achieved wouldn’t have happened.” My voice begins to shake and I feel Graham’s hand on my arm, rubbing it gently to try and calm me down.

“Y/N.” He starts, before reaching up to turn on the light. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, before my gaze falls to the ground to avoid his. If I look at him properly, I know I’ll start bawling. “Look at me. Please.”

“I can’t. I can’t because I’ll cry, and then you’ll get upset and I don’t want to make you feel any worse than wha - “

“You won’t upset me. Y/N, I’m sorry I’ve - “

“No, Graham. Don’t apologise.” I grip onto his shirt tightly, my fingers tangling in the fabric. Graham bows his head and nudges it against mine, edging closer until he pushes my head up with his and our noses are almost touching. We both open our eyes, our faces too close that my vision is distorted and I’m seeing double. I pull back, sniffling once and dabbing at my eyes again, still not allowing any tears to actually emerge.

“I’m sorry,“ he starts and I sigh at his words, but he hushes me by holding his finger up to my face, “for putting you through this. I was so caught up in my own head that I didn’t realise how it was making you feel.”

“Graham, this isn’t about me.”

“But it affects you. Bloody hell, if I had to live with this miserable twat - “ he points to himself and I scoff, slapping the back of his hand playfully. “ - I’d have given up by now.”

“I would never give up on you.” My voice is barely above a whisper, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. Graham goes silent again, staring down at our joined hands and moving his thumbs around. I nudge his head with mine in the same way he did previously and he sniffles, his chest rising and immediately falling again. “Graham?” I bring my hand to his chin and push his face up to find his eyes watery, and cheeks significantly more red compared to a moment ago.

“God, look at me. What the hell are you still doing with me, ay? I’m a bleeding mess.” He sniffs, roughly wiping tears off of his cheeks with the backs of his hands.

“Because I wouldn’t want to be with anybody else.”

“Not even - “

“Ah! Stop right there. There’ll be no more of that.” I take his hands away from his face, holding onto them loosely. “Graham Coxon, you are the best thing to ever happen to me. And I’ll give you a free pass to slap me silly for being so cheesy.” I laugh, his grip on my hands tightening as he awkwardly slides closer on the beanbag, his body sinking into it at a strange angle and pulling me with him. “I love you.”

Within a second, Graham’s hands are on both sides of my face, pulling me in for a kiss; the kind of kiss that feels like the person is pouring their entire heart out to you. Like the kiss between the main characters of a movie, when they’ve just ran across a field or a busy road to collide with another at the centre. His lips messily press against mine and I can feel the stray tears running down his face as they dampen my cheeks. My hands rest on his legs, holding on firmly as his thumbs dig into my face a little. It doesn’t hurt, but he soon pulls away and swipes at my face softly as if to apologise for it. He uses his sleeve to dry my face and I do the same for him, small gasps of laughter exchanging between us.

“Thank you for doing this. If you can’t tell, I really love it.” He says sincerely with a genuine smile, the biggest smile I’ve seen from him in weeks. The expression is infectious and I can’t help mimicking him as I grin back like the Cheshire Cat. The faint sound of knocking from downstairs pulls us out of our romance film-esque daydream and we both clamber to our feet.

As we approach the stairs, Graham stops and spins me around, pulling me into him. I land against his chest with a huff, before adjusting my hair and looking up at him. “After we eat, can you show me the film again?” He asks, his hand meeting mine to help me fix the loose hairs falling in my eyes.

“We can watch it as many times as you like.”

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “Abort?”

Happy Tuesday guys, I hope you are all enjoying your week. Forgive me any mistakes I make here as I only have a few hours to write before work, and I am usually in a rush.

“Both of you get your suits back on.”

“What the hell is going on!” Richards demanded 

Adam took a deep breath, “Captain Richards that was not an opening for a discussion, that was an order. Now put the damn suit on, or I swear I will knock you out and do it myself. The three of them were floating in the module staring at each other, hands resting against what must have been no more than a few millimeters of aluminum. 

He stared at them, and they stared back.

Adam did not break eye contact willing the two willing them to do as they were told. Chavez was the first to move, hurrying over to her space suit and struggling to pull it on in a near panic as bright lights flashed from outside. Inside his heart was pounding but he tried to remain calm for the two standing before him.

He hurried over to help Chavez pull on her gear, finally sealing the helmet in place as Richards finally moved to do the same.

Adam helped pull the hard torso over the man’s head and link it to the waist before helping him pull on his gloves and, eventually the helmet. Before he let go, he kept hold of Richards by either side of the helmet staring at him through the glass, “I promise, if you listen to me, I will keep you safe.”

He kept eye contact with the other man until Richards finally nodded, and Adam let him go to float over and put on his own suit. His hands were steady, for now, but he knew as soon as the crisis was over he'd be shaking like a leaf.

If he survived.

He gritted his teeth, cursing himself for thinking like that. He was Admiral VIr for crying out loud. He had survived far too much to go and die now. He returned to the helm of the command module as he looked out the thick window at the lights flashing on either side of them. Despite the war that was raging around them, everything seemed so strangely quiet. There was no sound no rumbling, not even a vibration as one of the jets flew past.

Despite being at the controls of the vehicle, there was nothing he could do. They only had a certain amount of fuel to get them to the lunar surface, and if he wasted any of it at all, they would be either caught in orbit, or miss the moon entirely.

He had to keep his cool.

Another bright burst of light lit the window to his right. This one was closer this time.

His heart leaped up into his throat.

Richards and Chaves joined him buckling into their seats.

“What is going on.” Richards demanded again, his mike distant and tinny with the sound of very old technology.

“I believe anti alliance forces are attempting to assassinate me. They have been trying for months now, and I think they are being encouraged by very powerful members of  the government.”

They watched as another set of ships zoomed past.

He saw a flash of a silhouette, just enough to know that one of them was a thunderhawk and the other was a silver Rundi drone.

It confirmed his worst fears. The Chairwoman had been behind this the whole time.

***

Red nearly collided with the rocket. The Thunderhawk had pulled up the last minute, but he had almost been too late. He jerked the stick to the side, throwing up his wing ust in time to avoid hitting the rocket as it made it’s slow way through space. He dove down on the other side forced to break off pursuit and cut in front of another thunderhawk coming in from above. He made to look like he was going to ram them, playing a dangerous game of chicken which he won at the last second as the other pilot panicked and cut to the left.

There were too many of them. Only five out of the original twenty had been destroyed, and he and the rest of their pilots were busy just keeping  the thunderhawks away from the rocket, much less to have any time of firing at them.He had sent one of his people down to earth and one of them off towards the moon for backup. The moon was still hours away yet, so the hope that some help would be sent from them was unlikely, and even the man he had sent down to earth’s surface was cutting it close.

He didn’t have much hopes that they would be able to hold out that long.

Inside the cockpit his  warning lights began to blink and blair as one of the other jets got a lock on hi. He rolled right to avoid them and dove down, cutting off the lock but still being pursued by those behind him. Up ahead he saw one of the silver balls erupt into flames as it was targeted by an expert hit from one of the thunderhawk pilots.

He rolled right.

Someone else rolled left. He cut up just in time to avoid being hit and raced forward to cut off another bird that was heading directly towards the rocket.

***

Eris hurried down the hallway, her knees screaming as she did her very best to sprint, but despite her human anatomy, she was a little too much like a starborn.  With a cry of frustration she reached up and tore off her hoodie, throwing it to the ground and engaging her anti gravity belt. The ribbons on her back billowed out behind her.

Light spilled in from the windows on either side of the catwalk she was now on, filling her with a buzzing energy that she could feel radiating through the ribbons like electricity. She knew from her study of starborn that they could travel at thousands of miles an hour in the vacuum of  space, especially when under the power of a star. She didn’t think she needed to go THAT fast, but anything would be better  than what she was doing now.

As if in response to her will, she suddenly began to glide forward, picking up speed as she swooped towards the end of the hall, wind catching her in the face and roaring along her cheeks. WIth her starborn skin, she barely felt a thing as she raced around the corner and out of the waiting door. Two men dressed in military ACUs dived to the side as she blew past them crying out in alarm and confusion as the “Alien” floated by.

Somewhere distantly, she could sense Conn racing in the opposite direction towards the  base.

Sunny and captain kelly had Admiral Massie in their custody and were dragging him out into the hallway.

She blew across the open ground her ribbons snapping and billowing behind her as she did. She didn’t even have time to imagine what she looked like as she roared over the open field and towards  the waiting news vans which were just beginning to pack up their things. They were close to leaving, but she set out a sharp hard telepathic pulse ordering them to stop.

Compelling them to stop.

They froze in their tracks and looked up to see her coming.

Someone scrambled to turn on their camera, not sure what was going on but sure it had to be something good.

She tried not to think about what they would see as the camera flared to life following her approach.

“Make us live.” She ordered 

The news people glanced between each other in confusion, “But no, we aren;t”

“What are-”

She came to a sudden jolting stop before them, her billowing black hair fanning out behind her like a curling halo.

“I said, put us on air.”

This time the telepathic pulse was too strong to resist. Mostly that pair with the fact that none of them were sure they wanted to resist. She was too interesting to pass up. They hurried to do what they were doing, and Eris was given just enough time to feel nervous before the camera was turned to her.

They were live.

She read it in the minds of those behind camera who she cut off as she began to speak, “Citizens of Earth, there has been a horrible conspiracy against you. The UN president has ordered the assasination of Admiral Adam Vir  and has continually attempted to sabotage the mission. Just now General massie was taken into custody after ordering the deployment of twenty thunderhawks to harass the rocket and make its destruction look like some sort of collision with space debris.”

The group gawked at her as she raised her hand with the small silver device and began playing the recording. She knew something like this would never be admissible in court. She was pretty sure it would be considered entrapment of some kind, which is why it must be heard now, before everyone, so that the actions of the president could be judged by a jury of the world where it could not be hidden by political machinations.

“Communications have been lost with Apollo 11. And it is….. Well…. It is likely that he is already dead…..” Her voice broke, “No matter what happens, I need you, and this nation to understand what is happening before it gets swept under the rug. I saw it with my own eyes, heard it with my own ears and experienced their meeting in the thoughts of a man who is both xenophobic and hateful to his own humankind.”

She kept talking trying to give them all the information she could, spilling thoughts she had heard in the head of the UN president. Every meeting, every liaison, every name until her voice was beginning to crack.

***

The UN president was just standing to enter her vehicle when a slow muttering began in the crowd behind her. SHe turned as the ground before her went silent. She watched as a wave ran through the people. A wave of nudging and whispering and showing off news feeds they had pulled up on their wrist implants. It wasn’t long before the entire crowd was either staring down at their arms or clustered around someone else for viewing.

“What is going on.” She wondered turning to one of her men who was staring down at her own wrist.

“Madame president?” He said with a look of confusion.

She could hear it now.

“Her and general massie have ordered members of the UNSC to adjust funds in order to hide the twenty thunderhawks they were squirting away for just such an event.” She hurried forward grabbing the secret serviceman by the arm staring at it as she watched the streaming newsfeed and the freaky white alien with the large dark eyes and flowing black hair.

“She is afraid of aliens, she wishes to isolate and eventually use humanity’s superior forces to overtake trade in the galaxy-”

The muttering behind her had turned into an angry grumbling, and she turned to see the eyes of hundreds hat turned towards her. 

“Get me out of here.” She hissed 

The Secret Serviceman took a step back with a look of confusion and indecision on his face.

“It’s your job.” he snarled 

He just stared at her. 

She hurriedly ran over to her car as the crowd began to filter in around them pressing close. A few of the secret service men pulled guns but a large majority of them were frozen with indecision and were taken over by the crowd. She scrambled into the back seat of her vehicle and slammed the door shut screaming at the driver to get moving.

The crowd was surrounding them now pounding at the glass.

She could hear their angry voices raised for her to be heard behind bullet proof glass.

Outside, she watched a lone figure step onto the platform where the lectern was and stare at her with it’s beady black eyes. The Chairwoman of the GA stood over the crowd like it’s filthy alien lord.

And even though Rundi could not smile, she could swear it was smiling.

***

Baby K hit a rough patch of turbulence coming down from the atmosphere. She struggled with the controls as she was thrown left and right inside the cockpit of her rickety shuttle. Donovan red had ordered her down here to grab the UNSC, but she was so scared and full of adrenaline that she had dropped it at too steep an angle. The ride was much bumpier than it was supposed to be, and her teeth were rattling inside her head.

“Unidentified vessel, you have crossed into UNSC airspace, identify yourself or be destroyed.”

She scrambled for her communications, but her fingers felt as stiff as wood as she scrambled for the button.

“I repeat, unidentified vessel, you have entered UNSC airspace, you are ordered to identify yourself or be destroyed.”

She slammed her first into the comms button nearly panicking, “UNSC.” Her voice was rattling, “This is B-baby K, and I….. The Apollo 11 is under attack!” she was breathless as she forced the words out.

There was silence over the coombs, “Say again.”

“Apollo 11 is under attack!”

More silence, “Roger that.”

Two jets pulled up to the side of her, those she recognized as two F-90 Darkfires.

One of them adjusted its angle and cut engines before switching to the fusion engine that rocketed it up and out of site.

The other stayed for a moment, “Unidentified vessel, please land on UNSC base airstrip one.” Before turning and following it’s comrade.

***

Conn raced towards the airstrip feeling the wind in the ribbons at his back. He couldn’t go nearly as fast as he wanted too with air resistance . Wythe hell did Adam always have to get into so much trouble, why did he always have to be the center of attention.

Everyone either hated him or loved him, but the problem was people who hated him also wanted to kill him.

Why did he have to be so controversial?

Why did he have to be hated for something that was such a big deal. Why couldn't he be hated for having controversial political opinions . Conn paused.

On second thought, controversial political opinions were kind of what had gotten them here in the first place, so he guessed that was kind of a useless comparison. How about being the kind of guy who liked to talk too much about fishing. That was a great way to make people hate you for being boring, but it didn’t usually mean that people wanted to kill you.

Maybe they could get the man a hobby doing something that wasn’t  so controversial. 

Like 

Kicking small Animals or.

Cannibalism.

He came roaring to the stop at the edge of the airfield ust in time to watch an entire platoon of pilots racing towards jets. He could hear their minds and looked up to see a rather dinky shuttle descending from the sky. He floated forward towards one of the jets as a pilot leaped inside.

He was going to need a ride.

The pilot turned to look at him but Conn just shook his head.

The pilot decided to ignore him in the confusion and Conn Grabbed on tight.

Starborn he had come to learn were a very interesting species in comparison to others. Vertically as from the top down he was very fragile and likely to break his neck or collapse his spine if there was any undue pressure, but with horizontal forces, he was practically indestructible. Below him the ship roared to life and soon they were gathering speed along the runway.

His grip was tight, and he used the extra energy from his ribbons to sped himself up along with the jet to reduce the pull on his arms.

His brip wasn’t that strong.

They went vertical almost immediately, and he made sure to orient his body in the correct direction as they went hurtling into the sky.

***

Red’s right wing had been hit. If there had been atmosphere around him he would have been a goner, but there was no air resistance here, so once he regained control of his roll, he pulled back into position  and fired one last shot as the opportunity arose. The sixth thunderhawk was destroyed in an eruption of debris, which he dodged only with difficulty limping without the aid of the maneuvering jet on the end of his one wing. Things were only speeding up now, the Runid were almost gone and the pressure was being laid thick on his people. They were hard to hit but the pursuit made it almost impossible for them to do any real maneuvering of their own. He was almost hit again as another darkfire sped underneath him. They rolled this way and that rocking from one side to the other. Flying through debris and over strips of silver metal.

Below them the earth hung as a clowning orb.

Red cut in a wide circle coming in with the sun at his back using it to blind one of the enemy darkfires as he came in. he watched the group of them form up suddenly as a ring around the slow moving rocket intending quite certainly to rush it all at once. He screamed into the comm trying to order his men around, but it was going to be too late, he could already see it coming.

The jets rushed forward, and he did too screaming inside his helmet as they went to broadside Apollo 11.

And then with all the silence of space, sixteen F-90 Dark Fires came spitting overhead all at once raining down a line of ordinance that cut through the group of unsuspecting thunderhawks. Space around them was filled with a silent explosion as each and every one of them was ripped to shreds.

All except one.

He saw it at the last moment.

It had been hit in the tail and had gone wildly off course.

It turned sideways, but had just enough force….. For its wing to tear straight through the aluminum siding of the rocket.

Chavez and Richards had been ordered to strap into their seats. Adam had taken it upon himself to lock down the rest of the main cabin. Outside the flashing lights were like a fireworks display without sound. He grabbed onto one of the rails, forcing equipment back into the palace so that if anything happened it wouldn’t fly out.

His legs were kicked up behind him as he floated forward reaching for some of the controls as a sudden bright wash of light filtered in through the windows. He heard a scream over his com, and then the air around him was rent with a horrific tearing noise, which suddenly went silent. There was a rush, and he jerked forward as he was sucked back….. And out of the ship entirely.

His hands and legs kicked and flailed  as he tried to right himself, hearing his own breathing as the only sound as he watched the rocket begin to spin debris erupting around him as air, and whatever wasn’t strapped down was sucked through the small opening.

The rocket was spinning wildly, he was spinning wildly in a silent abyss. Grunting against the force of his spin, he reached down for the controls to the CO2 canister built into the pack of his spacesuit.

He groaned not sure which way was up or down or back. He tried to right himself against the spin by firing in the opposite direction to slow his spin.he could see the rocket now spinning in the opposite direction with the sudden loss of oxygen. He hoped the other astronauts were ok. He saw the silhouette of a jet fly past in the distance making its way towards the spinning rocket.

At least there was someone here to help.

Maybe the others would survive-

And then he stopped, coming to a confusing halt in the middle of space.

That shouldn’t have been right. He should have kept going forever. He tried turning his head, but he felt like the pillsbury doughboy in this two thousand year old suit. 

What was happening 

“Did you miss me.”

Well shit, now he sort of wished he could keep spinning.

There was a tugging on the outside of his suit, and Conn floated into view in front of his helmet.

“Hey sweetheart.”

“You are probably the last person I wanted to see.” he said though he didn’t entirely mean it, and unfortunately Conn knew that too the mindreading asshole that he was.

I could hardly let the father of my child go spinning off into space without taking accountability for his family.”

“Shove it up your ass Conn.”

“No really, not even the vacuum of space is going to save you from your responsibilities. Now, about custody, I was thinking you could have every other weekend  and a couple of major holidays”

He gave a ruful sort of smile as Conn grabbed him by the life support pack and started floating them towards the rocket, which the F-90s had somehow managed to slow the spin of the rocket, and pull it back on course with grappling magnets.

All around them space was filled with debris. No more darkfires were present and those that were were quickly being grappled. One sleek racing jet slowly cruises past them. One of its wings was damaged, but whoever was inside waved with one hand  as he rolled past.

Adam lifted a hand as Conn brought him the last few hundred feet to the torn opening in the side of the ship, allowing him to step through.

Conn patted him on the side of the helmet, “make sure to be home by dinnertime sweetie.” Before blowing him a kiss and vanishing back out the hole.

Adam floated there a bit nonplussed for a moment before turning back to the front of the ship where Chaves and Richards were still strapped into their seats. He floated over to strap himself in.

“Admiral! You’re ok.”

“Yes, it seems that I am, thanks to a….. Friend of mine.”

Just then Conn appeared again just before their right side window, and like the classy gentlemen that he was began rubbing his butt up against the glass.

He sighed, “Friend is kind of stretching it.”

“Apollo 11 this is Houston, do you copy!”

The man on the other end of the line sounded close to tears, and Adam hurried to respond, “Houston this is Apollo 11.”

On the other side he thought he heard the sound of voices cheering in relief.

“What is your status, over.”

“We are a bit beat up Houston, we have a tear in our hull, but our suits are ok, and we have help.”

“Prepare to abort mission.”

Adam frowned, “Now wait a second there Houston, I didn’t get sucked out the side of my own rocket to just quit now. Tell the boys to come up here and patch us up and we can finish the mission. All systems are still functioning, and we are back on course.” he glanced over at the others, “That is, if the crew wants to continue.”

There was a pause and then Chavez timidly piped in, “I’d be ok with that.”

Richards sighed, “Roger Houston, patch us up.”

Granted it may have been cheating. Apollo 11 hadn’t had support with special tools that cold just patch a space ship within ten minutes, but then again the original Apollo 11 hadn’t been in the middle of a firefight while on their journey to the moon. So it was with some trepidation that Houston allowed it, and before long they had air back inside the cabin back up to pressure, but they also had a sixteen man rotating escort for the rest of the way.

The group of them were even shocked to see Rundi drones join the formation only to learn that it had been the UN president who had allegedly called the hit on him. It was hard to believe, but they were only getting snippets here and then from over radio and from Conn, who floated around occasionally to rub another part of his anatomy against the window and give them teasing updates

The moon was growing slowly in their vision.

“I can see my house from here.” Adam remarked as they prepared to detach the lunar module from the rest of the ship.

They landed without incident observed by mobile camera crews  and news reporters as he made his own footprint on the never changing dust of the moon’s surface. He gave them a thumbs up to let them know he was fine and hesitated only once before setting up the UN flag in the dirt. He refused to let his enthusiasm be dampened by the day’s events and hopped around dancing and leaping for joy as another one of his childhood dreams was fulfilled. That was before he plowed face first into the moon’s surface and required help from Richards to stand back up again.

They left soon after taking another three days of escort back to earth before strapping themselves in for final entry. 

Conn left them just as they were entering orbit with a middle finger for all three of them.

“Your friend is super delightful isn’t it.’

“Try having a child with him.” Adam muttered refusing to elaborate even as they stared at him in confusion.

They fell from the sky and landed somewhere in the Pacific ocean, picked up by the waiting navy vessel who was within nine miles of their landing site. They were fished from the water and returned safe and sound to the ship to cheers and cameras. Adam’s legs felt a little like jelly after days of not using them, and he was finally able to relax lying on the deck of the ship under the sun as people ran around them on either side.

His hands shook slowly building up after the stress of the last week. He took long deep breaths and closed his eyes.

The next few days were going to be a real shit show.

[votederpycausemufins]

it seems like some people were disappointed that Tubbo and Sparklez haven’t realized who each other are yet, so in this chapter.... I taunt you even more by not letting it happen! bwahahahaha!

@petrichormeraki

Dream was only half paying attention as he worked. He really only replies with yes’s and no’s and nodding along. He was glad the mask hid his surprise when he found that not all the admin powers were there and even less of the Watcher’s influence. Ranboo hasn’t been given the powers directly, but the fact that they had initially been moved by Grian in the first place was enough.

Like an infection, the powers that were linked to Dream himself and not the role of an admin spread into the fragments of energy and magic the Watcher had left behind. It was supposed to act as a label warding off those who would want to mess with those a watcher had claimed in some form or another, but it was also something Dream could use.

He froze when he recognized parts of the energy, similar to signatures he had messed with before. Ranboo said something and he tried to play it off, but he could tell the new admin suspected something. Dream started actually focusing on the conversation until Ranboo no longer seemed suspicious. 

Once again, Dream looked at the magic and realized it resembled that of Philza and his sons. That’s right, the watcher has said something about a third son that Philza lost, other than Wilbur and Tommy. It had rattled the hardcore player. And Philza was an avian just like Grian.

Dream started with something small. He might be trapped for now, but he could still do whatever he could to bring his favorite pawn back.

He paused to continue the conversation with Ranboo a bit longer before getting another idea. One wasn’t enough with him. Maybe with what little there was, he could still find a way to mess with the whole set. But before he could get far, Ranboo was starting to leave. It was fine. Two would be just enough.

Grian started feeling sick, he looked around and saw Tommy and Mumbo sleeping next to him, the bots curled up with each other in their own sleep mode. He tried moving in a way to not disturb them but his head spun. His vision went dark for a moment and the next thing he saw was the floor of his mansion getting closer. He was surprised he wasn’t dead from falling that far, everyone else was too. Everyone was trying to figure out what was going on. 

Someone pointed it out. This had all started after his family showed up. Maybe it was their fault. But someone else said that it was just the freak out of losing Tommy. It was the war, one person shouted and then more joined in. They were letting people that made war join this server, this safe place. Who would be next? Xisuma wasn’t making it safe anymore. The new server was a problem and he was a problem.

All of Grian’s eyes started looking around, some of them peering into other places on the server. He just needed to find the admin and set things right. He was still dizzy, but Grian pushed himself to his feet, talons scraping on the ground. He dragged himself towards the front door and then flew into the air. The sky started darkening and thunder rumbled before purple magic swirled around him to help bring him to his destination.

Philza stumbled, putting a hand to his head. Wilbur caught him before he could fall. “Dad, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t know.” Philza managed to get out, a wave of nausea hitting him. His wings felt heavy and they unfolded, now dragging on the ground. Wilbur cursed next to him and then started talking to someone. It sounded like it was probably Techno. Philza felt weak on his feet, but for a moment the rest of his strength returned. Something in his mind was screaming that he needed to get out of there.

Wilbur called out, trying to get Philza to stop as a raven flew away to escape dangers he couldn’t see.

Crumb jumped as thunder struck and she shifted to a more humanoid form, though her hair retailed her signature calico colors. “Dat was waaay too loud!”

“Yeah, I know. My friend Fundy gets scared by lightning a lot due to him being a hybrid. I’m not sure I could deal with sensitive ears like that.” Tubbo moved a hand towards some burn scars he had. It managed to go unnoticed by Crumb, but Sparklez.

“What happened?” He asked, making Tubbo realize what he was doing. “You don’t have to say if it’s a sore subject.”

“No, no. It’s fine.” Tubbo looked down at their feet. “I just got trapped before some people killed me with firework rockets. But that was before. Instead of president, I’m Admin Tub-”

There was another sound of thunder as a bolt of lightning struck near them. Crumb and Tubbo both covered their ears while Sparklez shielded them. He blinked the spots out of his eyes, glad that his sunglasses helped with some of the blinding light. Where the lightning had struck stood a form. The captain assumed it would be a skeleton horse that spawned due to the storm, but it was much taller. Another bolt of lightning lit up the creature and Sparklez drew his sword. “What’s a harpy doing here?!”

“Harpy?” Tubbo asked before seeing the looming form of whatever was being referred to.

“A type of bird hybrid, though normally they’re smaller.. But either way, they shouldn’t be in this dimension.”

“They shouldn’t be in this dimension. Shouldn’t be in this dimension.” Sparklez’s voice echoed clearly.

“Oh my god, that’s not a fucking harpy!” Tubbo exclaimed as he started to fumble for his communicator. He needed to warn someone now.

“God, god, god!” the ‘harpy’ parroted back. Another bolt of lightning lit him up and Tubbo froze as Grian’s bright purple watcher eyes all looked down on the trio.

“We need to run!” Tubbo grabbed Sparklez and Crumb and started pulling them away. Their communicator ended up on the ground in the scramble to run and a taloned foot stepped on it, breaking it into pieces.

Tommy was stirred by his sleep from his communicator buzzing followed by rumbling thunder. He yawned with a small shiver and looked around to see Grian was gone. “Bitch coulda woken us up too.” Tommy complained before pulling out his communicator. More messages started coming in, so he scrolled up to read the first one.

<Tubbo_> Grian’s a watcher again! We need help!

<Tubbo_> We’re in thjgrknilvsfehmdb

<Iskall85> What? Mumbo was supposed to be watching him

<Hbomb94> What’s going on?

<Docm77> Nothing good.

Tommy scrolled through the messages as he shook Mumbo awake.

<FalseSymmetry> Why isn’t Xisuma responding?

<Iskall85> I’m trying to see where his comm is. <Iskall85> shit, both his and Tubbo’s are completely down.

<BdoubleO100> What are we going to do?!

When Mumbo complained about being woken up, Tommy shoved his communicator in the redstoner’s face. Reluctantly Mumbo took it and started reading and Tommy moved to wake up the bots. After a few seconds, Mumbo jumped up. “Grian’s not here!”

“Yeah, I saw! He’s wherever Tubbo is but no one knows where that is! And apparently Xisuma is fucking dead or something!”

“Oh this is very not good!”

“You think?!” Tommy manages to wake the bots up. “Last week he was worried about us, so maybe we can convince him again?”

“I don’t know, it’s a little different every time.”

“Well that’s just great!” Tommy shouted, snatching his communicator back. 

<TommyInnit> If anyone gets eyes on Grian or Tubbo, send a message this way. If we can’t at least calm Grian down, I at least want to keep Tubbo safe.

“What’s going on? Jrumbot asked, sounding concerned.

“Something’s wrong with Dad.” Mumbo answered, picking Grumbot up. “Tommy can you fly down with Jrumbot?”

Tommy shook his head. “You know I’m stronger than you. You carry Jrumbot down, I’ll take Grumbot.”

Mumbo nodded and handed Grumbot to Tommy before the two glided down from the nest room.

The captain stood, weapon drawn as Grian walked closer. They moved towards a shop that was well lit and finally he got a good look at the watcher. He did indeed look like a harpy, though corrupted by the watcher magic. 

As Sparklez kept his eye on Grian, he felt a pang of sadness as he recognized something. Though for the most part the form was staying consistent, he could see feathers shifting unnaturally, the forms of arms becoming clearer and then fading from where the wings were. He had seen this before back when Crumb was first learning how to shapeshift, not quite sure how it worked. It made his wonder how much of this the watcher was in control of.

He didn’t have much more time to dwell on that train of thought as a wing swept towards him. He swung his sword, the blade cutting into the feathers. There was a screech of pain from the Watcher and he pulled back. He seemed to be ready to attack again but paused, tilting his head. Sparklez watched, trying to read his opponent, but then had to cover his face as Grian flew into the air, making the wind whip around. Before he could recover, he felt what felt like claws against his chest. They were gone a moment later as his back was slammed against a wall.

“No! Tubbox is my friend!” He heard Crumb speak, making him look back up. Grian had grabbed a now struggling Tubbo. Crumb was holding onto Tubbo as wings swiped at her, but she shifted her form and moved around to keep from being hit. Finally Grian started flying, dragging Tubbo along as well as Crumb as she refused to let go.

“Crumb! No! Let go!” Sparklez held out his arms, hoping she would let go and he could catch her. But she didn’t and the two of them were taken away by the Watcher as purple magic teleported them away. The captain fell to his knees, just staring at the now empty space in the air.

A raven landed in front of a building of blackstone and obsidian. It shifted back to human form and hit the button, sending a signal to the warden. He traveled through the nether portals to meet with Sam. Answers came out of his mouth that he couldn’t even understand, but it seemed the warden was able to. He was guided to a platform and soon he was walking across to a prison cell with Dream standing within it.

[peach-the-owl]

23,38 and 46. With Jester where the M9 is going out to this mission that was was assigned to them but won't take the kid, we get in a argument with Jester about it and we run off ,then traveler finds us and it convinces us to go find them and save them. (SORRY IF THIS TO TOO MUCH! keep it up btw :3)

Conflict…… I love it, and don’t worry it’s not too much. Actually I’m not sure what to consider "too much" just yet, I guess I’ll cross that barrier when it’s reached but for now… conflict 😁

Divine Intervention

Child of the Nein (Jester & Child!Reader)

23- That's not fair! 38- I hate you, 46- You came back

Doing odd jobs for people was both a nice way to help the small communities and make some nice cash for future shopping needs. The town you’d stumbled in was paying a generous reward to anyone who could deal with the chimera that’s been terrorizing the place. The Nein were in one room discussing their course of action while you were in another, happily jotting down in the notebook Jester gave you some little doodles of you fighting the beast as if you’d already won. The door creaks open and Jester walks in, you bounce up to her not noticing the nervous look on her face.

"You’re back! That means you’re all done talking and we can go kick some chimera butt." You say pumping your fist in the air.

"Yeah, ummm, about that…" her voices trails off a little, you still none the wiser as you grab her hand.

"C'mon, c'mon, we can’t keep everyone waiting!"

"(Y/n), I know you’re excited but-"

"Just tell me about it on the way there!" You quickly cut her off before she can finish, making your way to the door.

"Your not coming!" You pause, the smile on your face instantly disappearing as you turn to look at Jester confused. "We were all talking and have decided that you should stay here." She spoke slowly as if having a hard time speaking her words aloud.

"But… but why not?" You look at her with big eyes, she rubs at her shoulders, clearly up having a hard time with this.

"It’s just that this could be really dangerous and we don’t want anything bad happening to you."

"That’s it!?" Your confusion and disappointment bubbled into anger. "We’ve been in lots of dangerous fights before, why is this so different? I know how to handle myself, I can fight!" You argue, Jester bites at her lip.

"I know you can, but you’re also still little and you don’t have a lot of experience, so you can’t come." She crosses her arms and gives you a hard look, your growing anger refuses to let you give up.

"That’s not fair! I’ll never get to learn if I don’t try! What happened to us being the unstoppable team? It’s not fair!" Tears stream down your face as you stomp your feet around and flail your arms up and down in frustration. For a moment Jester looks like she’s about to cave but she shakes her head and looks at you with a stern look.

"That’s enough (y/n). I have to learn to take responsibility for you and I say you’re not coming, that’s final!" You both stare at each other for a second try to make the other back down, when neither one of you does you scream in frustration.

"I hate you!" You yell then quickly turn and dash out the door before you can see Jester's look of pure heartbreak.

"Wait (y/n), come back!" Jester calls to your retreating form, but you were already too far to hear her. She tries to go after you but is stopped by Caleb and Beau.

"We need to leave, now." Caleb simply says.

"I-but I…" Jester shifts her gaze from them to the direction you’d run off in.

"Look," Beau sighs, "whatever it is that’s bothering you will have to wait till we get back." Jester takes one last look at where you’d been then gives a sad nod and follows after them, but not before giving a silent prayer to the Traveler to watch over you.

You were sat by a small pond in town staring at the reflections in the water seeing birds flying around freely in the bright and beautiful sky, you grab a stone and chuck it into the pond making the image shift and shake, than another. Soon you were standing and grabbing whatever seemed close enough to you, throwing them into the pond watching the reflection ripple around before settling down again every time. You reel your hand back but stop yourself this time before throwing the object and stare at it, this was the holy symbol to the Traveler Jester made for you and you almost threw it away. You grip the item tightly and hold it to your chest remembering and feeling guilty about what you shouted at her earlier, slowly sinking back down onto your knees. You hear a soft sigh, seeing a second presents approach you out of the corner of your eye.

"This sour look on your face really doesn’t suit you, I much prefer it when you’re smiling." You turn your head and stare in awe at the clocked figure that takes a seat next to you.

"It’s really you." You speak softly, still absolutely starstruck that you were talking with the very deity Jester's told you so much about and the one you'd come to serve as a paladin to. You hear a chuckle come from them.

"Tell me child, why are you here instead of with everyone else?" You tilt your head in confusion at his question, he should already have known the answer to that.

"I thought you knew everything, so you must have heard me and Jester argue earlier."

"Indeed… I just wished to hear it from you," he pauses a moment. "An unfortunate thing for me to watch really. I rather like seeing the two of you working together to cause such marvellous chaos. Now why don’t you get up and rejoin them."

"But I can’t! Jester said I had to stay here." You cross your arms and pout a little.

"Now when have rules like this stopped you from doing something fun." You look at him again and can see a devious smirk from under the large hood. "If you ask me, rules are more like highly regarded or overly glorified… suggestions others choose to follow, when nessessary." The Traveler hums, you were slowly starting to get the idea being placed before you.

"You really think it’s okay?"

"Oh absolutely, and if they ask you just tell them I was the one to send you there." Your smile brightens for a second but drops when you realize something.

"Wait but I don’t know where they are!" You look to him with concern, he raises his hand and licks at his fingers? Strange, but who were you to question his methods. He then points towards a rocky hillside area.

"If you head in this direction you’ll find where they are, and if you hurry you’ll make it just in time too."

"In time for what?" You ask, feeling him place a gentle hand on top of your head. He leans in a little closer and says.

"Why, in time for them to see just what a paladin of the Traveler can really do." You smile at this and quickly go grab your gear, you take one look behind your shoulder and see that the Traveler was now nowhere in sight but sensed he was still watching over you.

With everything ready you run off in the direction the Traveler had shown you and it’s not long until you find a rather large cave entrance amongst the rocks. There was something about this cave that, when you entered, made you feel icky. As you walk deeper you tap into your Divine Sense in hopes that it’ll help you find the source and to your surprise you were able to detect something fiendish just within your senses radius and decide to follow the awful scent. As you follow your senses you can’t help but wonder what sort of fiend would be here, and more importantly weren’t you supposed to be fighting a chimera. You find your answer when you reach a pitted out area, the source your senses lead you to was in fact a chimera but it was far different then what books have described. It still had the heads of a goat, lion and dragon but it’s wings were more bat-like, it’s tail was that of a scorpions and it had quills on its body like a porcupines, not to mention its abnormally large size and the odd chains that wrapped around its body. The Mighty Nein were down there fighting the beast, they all looked badly roughed up though the chimera itself also looked pretty beaten but not as badly it seemed. It lets out a variety of snarls as it closes in on everyone, you had to think fast, looking at the chimera you notice that the chains on it all linked to one spot on its back where a mysterious stone was wedged into it, that stone had to be the source of the fiendish energy you detected. The only way to get to it was to get onto the chimeras back, fortunately it was in this pit but you were gonna need to make some good distance if you wanted this to work. The chimera swats at the everyone scattering the group to get out of the way its sights then set to the nearest target and as luck would have it that target was Jester. You had a plan, would it actually work you weren’t sure, but you prayed to the Traveler for help and take a few steps back then sprint forward using a combination of the Grease spell you knew and your shield to slide gaining an extra boost of speed. You rocket off the edge and kick off your shield for even more distance, by some divine miracle you managed enough distance to arc yourself right on target with the chained stone. With a loud battle cry, using all your strength and help of gravity you bash your mace into the stone using up a Divine Smite for extra power, so when you hit the stone a large and bright burst of green light pulses from the chimeras back and you hear a loud crack as the stone shatters into pieces the energy within shooting up into the air before dispersing into nothing. Chains clatter to the ground and the chimera collapses, shrinking in size and its extra features revert back into their intended form, you tumble to the ground in a not so graceful way but you didn’t care. The party stares at you in silence and you look over at Jester who slowly picks herself up and you can see tears in her eyes. You run to her ignoring everyone else and practically jump into her waiting arms.

"You came back." Her voice teeters close to a sob while you both share in a much needed hug.

"I’m sorry about what I said, I didn’t mean it, I don’t hate you." You on the other hand couldn’t stop your sobbing, and feel her press a soft kiss to the top of your head. You stay like this for a little while, no one bothering to interject with your sweet little moment.

"How were you able to find us?" Jester asks when you finally break the hug.

"The Traveler came to me, he showed me." You say with a smile, Jester stares shocked for a second then a large smile of her own spreads across her face.

"Isn’t he the best." She says more as a statement, one you nod eagerly to.

"I don’t mean to interrupt, but we should be gettin' out of here." Fjord steps in, pointing to everyone else who were waiting somewhat impatiently. You both give him a nod and make your way back out of the cave.

"I told you all we should’ve brought (y/n) with us." Jester huffs a little.

"It seems you were right," Caleb says then looks to you. "We never should’ve underestimated your abilities." You just give them all a nice smile.

A little ways away a clocked figure watches the party leave the cave, casual banter and laughs now being shared with everyone, the cloaked figure gives a sigh of relief before disappearing from plain sight.

[hitsuackerman]

Unpredictable (Overhaul x Reader) pt.4

a/n: I love Gei here xD do ya’ll love Gei? I hope you guys love his extra ass <3

warnings: this cannot be read solo, cursing(?), subtle flirting

Links: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 5

Masterlist to my other fics: here :)

Overhaul’s waiting list: @jjk-biased​ @infinite-universe-love​

Taking your planner from your bag, you jotted down a reminder to dig up some old case files regarding the 3 villains Tsukauchi had just mentioned. Everything seemed clearer now as to why Overhaul managed to snag an invite. He was one of them no matter what his ideals were.

Forking the last bit of cheesecake, you stuffed your planner back into your bag and exited the shop. Scanning the area for any black cars, you were relieved that no one had been tailing you. There was a rising suspicion that Overhaul stalked you but perhaps it was simply chance. You couldn’t blame him though, you were usually buried under stacks of documents at this time of day.

Walking towards your first stop, you had to interview a witness by the convenience store. One of the cases you were working on involved arson. At first glance, you ruled it out to be some villain’s nasty prank. The more you dived into the case, you realized this was organized.

“So you recall seeing a person with black hair across the street?” You questioned the cashier while eyeing some chocolate bars. “Do you remember what he wore or an estimate of his height?”

“I can’t really picture his height but I do remember him wearing  a dark blue jacket with a high collar.” Peering at the glass doors, the witness tried to think back on the events that had happened. It had been a week since the incident but the fear was still there. “He just stared at the store for a couple of minutes, I remember. After that, he turned to that corner over there. Moments later, the explosion happened.”

“Hmm…” You mentally took down notes. Nothing much to take from that statement. “Well, thank you for your time and if you see something please don’t hesitate to call.”

Handing him your business card, you exited the store and crossed the street. Heading towards the corner mentioned, you scanned for any possible belongings left behind or a tell tale sign the initial investigators failed to see. Nope. Empty-handed.

Making your way back to the precinct, you felt a vibration in your pocket. Taking your phone out, you stopped walking and you blinked yourself back to reality.

You: Thanks for the cheesecake. Not gonna work.

Overhaul(?): Bold of you to assume I was after something.

Would it be logical to reply to his message? Moving aside to let people walk, your thumb tapped the locked screen. Generally speaking, there would be nothing wrong if you answered back. Communication was key, afterall. And, to top it off, he was basically your partner for this mission. Maybe some playful banter here and there wouldn’t hurt. That’s all you’ve been doing, anyway.

Chewing on your lower lip, you scowled and put your phone back into your pocket. Tsukauchi was right. His charm was strong. Either that or you're just paranoid of being kidnapped by one of the strongest men in the yakuza. Yet, a part of you wanted to know if he was waiting for your response. Probably not. Facing your gray cubicle once again, you rummaged through the metal file bin and pulled out a rather thick manila envelope. Closing the drawer with your foot, you tossed the envelope to your desk and began to search for what you needed.

The first document you found was of Nokusu. Looking at his quirk information, you took into account his ability to bend and manipulate shadows. The small footnote indicated that light played no weakness to his quirk. He wasn’t that up there in terms of ranking but he knew his cards well enough.

Setting it aside, the next file you picked up was of Tamisura. Ahh. You remember her all too well. Still an intern at the time, it was still clear as day the way the chief of police came with a rather huge gash on his chest. Healing him took 4 days and the only thing he mentioned was a name. Tamisura.

There was no detail about her quirk. Flipping a few more pages, the chief’s statement was all you had.

‘It seems as if her quirk gives her momentum. Stopping her movements was impossible.’ That’s what it stated. With the number of quirks present, it was a little too vague for your liking. Oh well. You had an idea and you could pull some straws with that. Stacking it on top of Nokosu’s file, you found the last of the three.

Akuji. Holder of one the most annoying quirks to deal with. Telepathy. Everyone is an open book when it comes to his mind.

Ransacking the files, you let out a loud and long groan. To your amazing luck, their profiles all had masks covering their faces. No stranger to this turn of events, you thought about contacting your confidants about possible information regarding these people but even you didn’t want to risk their safety. Villain or not. It became a habit of yours to make sure the favors you ask for are worth it.

Resting your chin on your palm, you reached for your phone and unlocked it. The first thing you see was the exchange you and birdman had. Checking at Tsukauchi’s desk, you found him hunched and busy encoding his cases. Eyes back on the screen, you decided to send a little message.

You: Busy?

Overhaul(?): Are you after something now?

You: I hate you. But, yes.

Overhaul(?): No.

What were you even expecting? Amused with the little exchange, you stretched your joints and packed your stuff. The profiles of the three villains now tucked into your bag. With only 15 minutes left before your shift ends, you took the liberty of scrolling the internet for dresses. Told to dress appropriately for the gala, you would have to comply.

There was no theme indicated but you were sure to go there with a black ensemble. That color was the safest and it was also the easiest to pick from. Getting a faint picture as to what you wanted to buy, you peaked at the wall clock and immediately turned your desktop off.

"Before you leave," Tsukauchi piped up. Peaking at you from his cubicle. "Chief wants to talk to you."

Nodding at his message you went up the stairs and hummed towards the chief's office. He'd probably want updates. He always did have a knack for annoying you. The mission barely started and he's already pinning you to the corner. Knocking on his door, you heard the permission to enter.

Now seated on the guest sofa, you gave him a respectful bow. As did he. Telling you to sit down, you obeyed.

"I request a little update of the mission." He began. The not so subtle exhale from your nostril only proved how obvious he could be at times. "How's working with Overhaul?"

"The status of the mission only has one movement. The upcoming gala has a few villains joining as well." You reported. "I'm not so familiar with how the yakuza works in big events like this, though. So, I took...no. I decided to join the event with him as my plus one."

"Smart choice." He nodded at the developments. "Has he taken his mask off?"

Snickering at the question, you shook your head.

"Take that as a side quest of yours." He instructed. "We need an update on his profile. We're still empty as to what he looks like without that mask. Gain his trust. Just enough for him to show you his face."

Great. Your personal mission just evolved into official business. Accepting the task, you pushed it aside and would rather let things take its course naturally. Overhaul was something else and there was no way you would rush things. Especially if it meant him showing something personal. You were keeping your word. One purpose and one purpose only.

Conveying what he needed to, he dismissed you and you were more than excited to get the hell out of his suffocating office.

Take out. That's what you needed to unwind.

Now that you were walking down the street, establishments began to light up the path. Neon signs heavily contrasting the orange and pink skies. With the mall coming to view, you decided now would be a good time to look for an outfit. And, mostly because shopping calmed your nerves each time you had the talk with the chief.

The air condition was heaven. Heading to the area where dresses were sold, you went inside the first store you saw.

The dresses were nice but came with a high price. Though thanks to your dad, your shopping needs were never a problem. Keeping yourself glued to the ground was always simple. With the job you had, the temptation of impulsive buying always flushed down the drain. Instead, the money put under your name went into aiding your missions and a few under the table deals here and there.

Seeing a dress you liked, you decided to try it on.

Inside the plush fitting room, you stared at your reflection. This brand always did good at flaunting the curves you had. The amount of running and training you did paid off. The dress was backless save for a small but secure bow resting on your nape. The lace mesh wrapped your arms delicately and the bead work was intricate. He would like this.

"Whot?" You thought out loud. Scratching your nape, your vision trailed towards  your face in the reflection. Your cheeks were a little pink and once again your heart rate was a little quicker than normal. “Lack of sleep. Caffeine overdose. Yes.”

Deciding to buy the said dress, you were accompanied to the counter by the clerk. As they were preparing the box and paper bag, you scanned a few trinkets inside locked glass boxes. Most of them jewelry for women and studs for men. They did look nice but you weren’t a big fan of diamonds.

One did capture your attention. Moving closer to it, you saw a shiny gold pair of cufflinks. Upon closer inspection, you saw how the small jewelry had what looked to be a crow. It was small but distinguishable if you knew your birds. Checking the tag, it wasn’t all that expensive. Y20,000.

Okay, maybe it was a little expensive but it looked hella worth it.

“Here’s your dress, miss~” The clerk snapped you out of your thoughts. The smile she used on all customers showing on her face. Her cherry red lips popped due to her pale skin. Accepting the bag, you glanced one more time at the tiny trinket. She seemed to catch up quickly. “Those are limited edition Bivenchy cufflinks. Would you like to see them?”

“Uh, w-” You let out a defeated sigh and agreed to look at the cufflinks.

An hour later, you were now back in the comfort of your apartment. The big paper bag with your dress now laid flat on your coffee table. Beside it, a smaller box with the brand’s name displayed in the center. Sending death glares to the impulsively bought item, you took out the contents and flopped onto your sofa.

Flipping the lid open, inside were the same cufflinks. They seemed to shine even more with the lights your unit had. Cursing yourself, you hadn’t put into consideration that a guy like Overhaul would probably have this item already. Or, something even more expensive knowing him. Closing the box, you placed it on the table and did what you had to do for the rest of the night.

Now that you were ready for bed, you scrolled down to Gei’s contact and called him.

“Hellooo my sweet quiet friend.” He greeted. The faint sound of television could be heard in the background. “What can I do for thee?”

“Hair and make up in two days, is that alright?” You asked shyly. When it came to underground thugs or villains, you were hella confident in asking for favors or settling deals. But when it came to Gei, you were like a child in her first day of school.

“Wanna look good for yo man, I presume?” He teased. For sure, his right eyebrow was cocked high by now.

“I wanna look good for the people in the gala.” You defended yourself. Twirling a few strands of your hair, you let out a yawn. “And, I don’t trust myself with makeup.”

“What time will he be pickin you up, booboo?”

“6. So, you can drop in at 4.”

“Copy on that.” He agreed. “OH OH OH. Did you buy a dress? Please tell me you’re not wearing that monstrous thing from 2 years ago. Honey, that color made me want to puke.”

Cringing at the memory of that vile yellow and purple dress, you THOUGHT you looked good in.

“I went shopping. Don’t worry.”

“What brand?”

“Auscer de la Venta…”

“YAS BEECH! WIG SUH-NATCHED!” He screeched through the line. “I swear to Queen Todrick, if his jaw ain’t gonn drop, imma whoop. His. Ass. even if it kills me. Oooh~ You think he’ll take his mask off?”

“Probably not. I doubt he’d even eat anything at the gala.” There it was again. The second person to wonder about what he was hiding underneath. There was the idea that he hid his face so he could get away if things didn’t turn out. But you recalled his explanation that he hates the air around him. “He hates dust so taking the mask off would probably be the last thing he would ever do.”

“Oh my lords.” Gei breathed out. “If he disappears when the food comes, I bet my money he’ll be eating in the men’s toilet.”

Okay. That made you laugh. Hopefully, you wouldn’t picture that scenario when he comes pick you up.

Gossiping for a few more minutes, your energy levels were now gone. Saying farewell to your friend, the moment you closed your eyes, you immediately fell asleep.

- - - - -

are yall enjoying the story so far? :’) comment or message me if you want to be a part of Overhaul’s waiting list or any questions about the story :)

[novantinuum]

Crack the Paragon, Chapter 10

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 5.8K~

Summary: In another world, he doesn’t have his mother’s sword or shield to hide behind when Bismuth lands her strike. The bubble pops.

Steven falls apart.

Chapter summary: In which Steven's done with moping around and waiting for something to change.

You can find the AO3 link in the reblogs! (I have to omit them from the original post these days to ensure this will show up in the tags.) If you enjoyed this, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos on AO3 as well.

A big thank you to my friend Ganaroth for helping me with edits for this chapter!

_

Chapter 10: Beta, Part 1

Morning light filters through the loft’s window and glints off his phone screen, obscuring the selfie Connie just sent from his view. Though at some deep cognitive level Steven’s a bit annoyed at this interference, outwardly he moves on automatic with barely a feather ruffled, rolling onto his back atop the rumpled bedspread. He holds his phone above his face— right over his nose— humming as he admires the photo. She’s grinning, her long hair pinned back with clips. Her eyes shimmer with every bit of joy a smile that wide suggests. True happiness. Before he knows it he feels his cheeks lift, a smile of his own stretching across his face to mirror hers.

The rest of the photo is just as beautiful.

Beyond the railing his friend leans on is a breathtaking view of wild grasses, ferns, and delicate purple flowers, the patches of greenery half submerged in a lake of water as far as one can imagine. A large flock of birds float on the water’s surface some distance away. Behind her, the setting sun bathes the sky in streaks of orange and pink, the warmth of the ambient light kissing her brown skin. It looks like something straight out of a storybook.

Either that, or a dream. A good dream, the kind that lingers in your mind afterward like the sweet scent of wild strawberries.

oh, that’s so pretty!! he types in response, fingers flying over the keys. where is this?

Just as he hits send, though, another message from her pushes through and answers his question:

Morning!!! :DD Soooo rn we’re exploring this really cool wetlands area! Service is pretty terrible out here btw, so I probably can’t talk for a bit. Fingers crossed my texts send!

His heart grows warm as he reads her words. Even if it’s not as good as seeing her face to face, he’s still so happy they can communicate while she’s on her trip. She looks like she’s having so much fun. He wastes no time in sending a whole cluster of hearts, stars, and smiley faces back at her.

But as he watches his message deliver, the text’s bubble shifting from grey to blue, he finds that airy, bubbly feeling he got looking at Connie’s photo pulling away from him like sand and driftwood on the receding tides. Somehow, all these emoticon smiles just ring hollow right now.

Four days have passed since the disaster everyone’s come to refer to in whispers as ‘the forge incident.’ Not many, not enough for the terrifying memory of what happened down there amidst the blackened stone and fire to stop seeping into his dreams, but thankfully enough that the Gems have stopped coddling and babying him about it. (A sweet relief, that, and one of the many reasons he’s not planning on telling any of them about his recent nightmares. Goodness knows they already have enough to worry about.) Four days. That’s it. The thought of just how little time that is leaves him dizzy. Four days since he was almost shattered by someone he thought was a friend. Four days since two halves fused back into a whole, since his gem rotated to expose the facets that before, his mo... that Rose had hid from her friends… from the whole world. Four days since discovering that his pupils apparently morph into pink rimmed diamonds now whenever he taps into his powers. (And wasn’t that just another wallop to the gut for everyone, Pearl especially). Four days without Garnet, without stability, without blissful protection from the truth: that Rose wasn’t truly the quartz she claimed she was.

Steven still doesn’t understand the how or the why of that.

Truth be told, it’s not a topic he’s ready to dwell on yet.

He shifts to sit up on his bed. Somewhere on the distant shore beyond the window’s glass Amethyst is shouting, her rhythmic, guttural battle cries loud enough that they’re audible from inside the house. There’s no end to this on the radar. For the past few days she’s done nothing but seclude herself away and drill, pushing her hard light body to the brink through endless strength and agility exercises. In the light of recent difficulties no one’s addressed it with her yet, but it’s no secret this is partly related to her insecurities about Jasper.  

Meanwhile, Ruby (who finally returned home on her own yesterday morning) sits on the floor right below him, handling the controller of his Grintendo console with an iron grip that would serve as a genuine contender in Beach City’s underground arm wrestling league. He set her up on his brand new copy of Fight Fighters just an hour or so ago. As far as he knows, she’s enjoying it. It’s sorta hard to tell. She certainly hasn’t given up yet, (she’s way too stubborn for that), but it seems like the levels are difficult enough that they’re giving her a run for her money. Glancing away from his phone, he watches her fuss with the first boss fight for a moment. The Gem’s face is— if it’s possible— even redder than usual as she mashes the proper buttons for her character’s combo attack, muttering in syllables spoken too low for him to intelligibly understand.

A few minutes pass. Ruby sneaks in one solid strike, but eventually the boss overtakes her by merit of their sheer size alone, and her character is defeated. Game Over flashes on the screen in bold orange striped letters.

“Aw, phooey! You were really close that time,” he says.

Truth be told, her playing style is kinda… a huge mess, but there’s no encouraging way to say that. Plus, it’s not like it’s a lie to say she got closer to beating this fight than the last time she attempted it. Maybe she’ll figure it out with a few more rounds.

Ruby drops the controller in her lap, and glances back at him. “Heh. Thanks, Steven,” she responds with a weak smile. “At least I finally got in a hit, right?”

“Yeah, you’re getting better every round! You still up for more? We can play tag team together, if you want.”

“Eh, I’m done for today. I’m no good at these kinda games. At least, not without...“

A wave of melancholy envelops her in a flash, suffocating the last glints of light within her burgundy red irises. Inhaling deeply, she lifts her gemless hand, holding it to her chest tight as she mourns what used to be. Steven doesn’t move to say anything, letting her have her silent moment. Reassurance can be nice, but as he’s learned recently, the sad truth is that sometimes not every problem can be solved with a few well-thought words.

Amethyst’s distant shouts interrupt the somber atmosphere like a jackhammer to concrete, yanking them both solidly back into reality. Ruby’s brow creases.

“Is she still at it out there?” she says, frowning as she glances at the door. “She looked exhausted when she came outta her room this morning.”

Steven frowns, stuffing his phone in his pocket. “Yeah. I tried to ask if she wanted to play Topple Tower with me last night, but I’m pretty sure she was ignoring me. I hope she’s okay…”

Sighing, she slumps back against the large swath of comforter that dangles halfway off his mattress, letting her compact, coily hair smush against its surface. “Oh, she’s not. No one in this dang house is. I just wish Sapphire would come back already,” she says, voice cracking as she speaks her name. “She’s been in there for so long now.”

Prompted by her heartbroken words, he glances at the temple door across the house, seeing both Pearl and Sapphire’s gems alight on the central star. Pearl is simply taking a rest in solitude this morning, but as for the blue Gem… she hasn’t shown her face since she disappeared into her room four days ago. It’s beginning to become mighty worrying. And besides, he really misses her. They barely get a chance to hang out beyond the rare emergency. His lip juts out in a small pout.

It’s so hard to move on with life when you’re constantly being reminded of what once was.

Eventually, Ruby decides she’s had enough challenge for the morning and passes command of the controller to him. Figuring he’s got nothing better to do today, he shrugs and starts a new save file. Half an hour or so passes as he grinds through levels like a pro. Now sitting next to him, bundled like a burrito in one of his blankets, the red Gem watches his gameplay with starry eyes, enraptured. He double jabs at the D-pad to call upon a secret ability, fingers blazing across the buttons with practiced fluency. Just as he’s about to hit the finishing blow on Professor Doom, the beach house door slams open. On sheer impulse he flings the controller to free his hands, his whole body seizing upon the sound. Hard plastic clatters against the floor. The world tints pink.

Ruby jolts to attention from inside his bubble, struggling to unwind herself from the blanket's grasp. “Whoa, what’s—“

“Hey, nerds,” Amethyst mumbles, dragging herself and her uncoiled whip through the doorway. The length of the weapon drags along the floorboards like a dejected dog’s tail. Her tired, hardened pupils meet his no doubt diamond-shaped ones, shades of confusion flickering across her expression as she visibly takes note of the shimmering sphere he’s subconsciously enveloped himself in. “Geez, it’s just me.”

“I- I know,” he croaks, flushing red, “s-sorry, I know. You spooked me, ‘s all.”

She squints, and dissipates her whip. “Dude, I didn’t even do anything.”

“I know... It’s just me being dumb, sorry.”

“You’re not dumb,” Ruby reminds him with a saddened frown, placing her gem adorned hand on his shoulder.

He doesn’t respond, instead taking a deep breath and willing the bubble to recede. Once it’s all but disappeared in a shimmering afterimage of hard light, he crawls across the floorboards to retrieve his poor abused controller. Joystick securely within his grip once more, his eyes drift back to his game. Seems he’s in dire health. Not only did his character lose his perfect attack window, but Dr. Doom has healed himself and continued to rail upon him while he remained idle. His heart drops.

“Awww,” he whines, deflating. “I almost had ‘im!”

The temple door slides open, causing both Steven and Ruby to snap to awareness. (For wildly differing reasons of course, but the result is the same.) Amethyst stands beyond the warp pad, about to cross the threshold into solitude once more.

Nooo, don’t leave! his heart cries in silence. You just came back!

This conversation is already the most interaction he’s gotten out of her since their waffle breakfast four days ago. Ever since, she’s hidden herself away to brood and train. He scowls, fingers shifting rhythmically on the casing of his game controller. Gosh, he’s so sick and tired of this. He’s tired of moping, of acting like they can never have a happy moment ever again just because their circumstances are different now. It’s not true. Things can get better! Heck, he’ll make it better! Somehow. Maybe. He just needs to figure out a plan, and soon… before everyone scatters to be on their own again.

Hmm, think, Steven, think think think! What makes Amethyst happy? Destroying trash? She’s been at it all morning already, probably not. Food? Wouldn’t necessarily get her out of the temple.

He eyes a green sock puppet strewn on the floor by his closet. Months-old memories rush through his mind, of wearing a cardboard box on his head, insisting amidst protests that this puppet represented the emerging Cluster.

...Peridot?

They did get along really well at Funland a few weeks back. Hmm. Y’know, that might actually work.

“Hey, Amethyst,” he calls, and sets the controller on his bedspread. She stops halfway through the doorway of her room, motionless, seemingly waiting for him to continue. It almost looks as if she wants him to give her a reason to stay outside. “You, uh- are you done training for today?”

“For now,” she answers in a low voice, rhythmically clenching and unclenching her fists.

“D’ya maybe wanna go visit Lapis and Peridot with me? Get outta the house?”

She turns, lips pursed as she deliberates in depth. After what feels like— to his antsy, impatient soul— an eternity later, she responds with a half-hearted shrug.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

Steven grins. He scrambles to his feet and floats off the loft to the ground floor before she can decide otherwise. “Sweet, let’s go right now!” he says, bursting with enthusiasm. After crossing the room in a flash, he takes ahold of Amethyst’s arm and gently leads her up the steps to the warp pad, the other Gem making no obvious signs of dissent. Good. That’s a good sign. The immediate problem sorted, he glances back from whence he came. “Ruby, you want in?”

She’s still tangled within his bedding, but shifts upon mention.

“Nah, I’m good,” she says, rolling on her back under the covers so that she’s peering at them upside down. “If Sapphire finally comes out, I wanna be here for that.”

Steven nods. “Okay! Well, see ya’! We’ll be back sometime later this afternoon.”

“Probably,” Amethyst mutters, crossing her arms.

“Yeah, maybe longer, maybe not. We’ll see! Feel free to play any of my games if you wanna, okay?”

“And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, ya’ party animal,” the quartz drones, the bite of dull sarcasm seeping into her words.

With a resounding ring the warp activates and whisks them away.

_________

The young half-Gem takes a deep lungful of air as he skips through the grassy countryside, his chest expanding to full capacity. Ah, it feels so good to be outside, and with a change of scenery, at that! He should’ve done this ages ago.

Outside of all the heartache of their recent family crisis, it’s a perfect September day; not too warm and not too blustery. The sky’s almost entirely clear, barring the faint streaks of white softening the horizon's edges. Birds chirp brazenly as they swoop with daring purpose from tree to tree. A few leaves are just beginning to flutter down from their overstuffed boughs. ‘Tis the season! Pretty soon this area will be awash with sprinkles of vibrant oranges, reds, and yellows. Gee, he hopes he can convince Amethyst to goof off in the woods with him again this year. They could go leaf sledding! That was the most fun he’d had in ages when they did it last time.

How is Amethyst doing, anyways?

Masking his worried frown, he glances behind. Her lips press in a sour scowl, her non-dominant hand clenched by her side. Barely a heartbeat passes as she reaches to her gem with the other, pulling her whip into existence in a glittering flash of light. Instantaneously, the crystal tips of the three-pronged flail expand into barbed spheres. She mutters to herself as she grips the handle, unsatisfied. He doesn’t understand why, though? She summoned it so fast! Like, under a second for sure. As far as he’s concerned, that’s awesome!

He watches her summon, dissipate, and re-summon her whip three times in a row before he decides it's time to intervene with her spiraling frustration.

“Hey, don’t ya’ wanna take a break from all that for a bit?” he begins with a measure of caution. “You’ve been working super hard lately!”

“I already am taking a break," she says, slashing at a few rocks strewn on the ground as they climb the last rolling hill. “That’s why I’m here with you, right?”

“Well sure, but breaks aren't supposed to be about training, they’re supposed to be about having fun. And visiting Peridot and Lapis should be tons of fun, I promise!”

Amethyst’s eyes narrow at the very thought. “Yeah, ‘cause when I think fun, I think Lapis.”

“Hmm, I wonder what they’re up to lately,” he muses out loud, hand pressed to his chin.

She lets out a dry scoff, allowing her whip to dissipate once more. “Don’t know, don’t care. Let’s just get this over with.”

He frowns. His shoulders drooping a bit at the sight of her almost hostile melancholy, he glances away.

Thankfully, in a well-timed diversion from the worries of her mental state, Lapis and Peridot’s place of settlement comes into full view as they reach the hill’s summit. Steven’s jaw falls ajar, stopping in his tracks at the sight. (Amethyst, who isn’t paying attention to where she’s walking amidst her brooding, almost rams into the back of him.)

“Whoa,” he says, drinking in the new additions. “Look what they did to the barn!”

He’s not sure ‘barn’ is an apt description for it anymore. No, no. Rather, in the weeks since he last saw Lapis and Peridot, this place has transformed into a full-out homestead.

The grain silo that stood nearby has been tilt at an angle and used to enclose the side of the barn Peridot blew a hole in with her epic giant robot. Their smaller than average lake? It’s now fitted with a ladder, along with metal piping to keep the water level high. Stretched taut between the roof of that silo and a funky hodgepodge spire they formed out of old airplane parts is a clothes line, with a number of shirts and towels hanging off it. Admiring the finer details of their set up, if a person could point at an object and conceivably call it junk, they’ve probably found a creative way to make it decorative. Rusty bicycles, old tires, couch cushions, broken deer antlers, you name it. And then that old truck he slept in every night while working on the drill? It now serves as the proud centerpiece of their little home, the cargo bed solidly affixed above the barn’s entrance. He spots the two former Homeworld Gems sitting up there with the TV, shaded from the midmorning glow with a sun bleached umbrella. Whatever they’re watching, they’re transfixed.

Grinning, he peels away from Amethyst and dashes the rest of the way, feeling the faint breeze dance between his curls. Wow wow wow, he’s seriously got like a hundred questions for them, and a hundred missed hugs to make up for!

“Hey, guys!” he calls, once he’s directly below the truck.

Lapis’s browline raises, attention nabbed. It’s enough to peel her eyes away from the television (is that Camp Pining Hearts he hears??) to meet his. A subtle but undoubtedly caring smile rushes across her face as she sprouts wings and drops from the truck’s bed to greet him.

“Steven! It's so good to see y- oof!”

He nearly barrels her over with his hug, clutching to her like a lone life raft in the midst of the open sea. Surprised and still quite rigid in her affections, her arms awkwardly move to pat his back in return. It’s a silent embrace on his part, yet simultaneously manages to say more than words alone ever could. At this point he’s not even sure words could do justice to the complex emotions that are all jumbled in his head. Only a few short weeks have passed since they hung out together. So why then does he feel like he hasn’t seen either of them in years?

“Steven, Amethyst!” Peridot chimes eagerly, dropping down from the truck and striding out into the sun. She screeches to a halt in front of them, expression pressing inwards in that uniquely inquisitive Peridot-like manner as she takes inventory of the scene before her. “Uhm… Is… everything okay?”

He pulls back from the stunned Lapis, and gently wipes at the corners of his eyes. “Yeah, I’m just really, really happy to see you guys, that’s all!”

“Oh, yes! Of course. It’s only natural to miss the fulfillment of our company,” she says without missing a beat. Turning her gaze to her other visitor, the green Gem balls her hand against her chin. “Amethyst! Something looks different about you…”

She crosses her arms over the white tank top of her new form, her nose scrunching up. “Like what?”

“Have you grown taller since the last time I saw you?”

Amethyst’s eye twitches. An infinitude of silence passes, in which she shoots her a glare sharper than the edges of the crystal studs on her whip. Honestly, being on the receiving end of her weapon might’ve hurt less. Sweat beads at his brow as he watches the situation unfold, yearning with every fiber of his being for a world where he actually feels confident enough to delicately intervene instead of silently standing by as Peridot’s sense of tact veers straight off a cliff.

Behind them, Lapis saves them both and clears her throat.

“O-or… maybe I was mistaken,” the former kindergartener says lowly, flushing with shame. “My apologies.”

There’s a whisper of chill to the air enough to make him shiver as the quartz once more chooses not to respond, and shifts her gaze to her feet. She digs divots into the dirt with her toes, already disengaging from social interaction again, slipping further away with every passing birdsong from the entire purpose of this friendly visit. He presses his lips tight, masking a frown. So far, nothing is going as planned, huh? As big of a dreamer he may be, he can’t say he’s surprised. Nothing in his life has gone to plan since he accidentally slipped on that tree branch inside Lion’s mane. Still, there’s gotta be some way to save this, right?

Come on, Steven, think positive!

Before anyone can quite begin to catch on to his troubled nature, he plasters a manufactured smile on his face. “Wow, you guys are looking good!” he says cheerily. “And I love what you did to the barn!”

“Aww! I know,” she replies, regaining her grin as she glances between him and Lapis. “But wait, wait! You guys have to see the inside!”

And with this declaration, a few magical minutes pass wherein the two of them receive the highest honor of enjoying the Official Barn Grand Tour, presented by the very artists themselves. In a word, it’s a transformative experience. The outside looks amazing, yes, but in his wholehearted opinion the personal touches on the interior decor raises the place’s coziness to the next level. Over the past few weeks, Peridot and Lapis have spent their efforts transforming all the mementos and broken scraps of their lives into art, (or ‘meep-morp,’ as Lapis calls it), displaying the pieces all throughout their shared home. Peridot’s broken audio recorder now rests peacefully on a stand, a sky blue ribbon tied around the fractures at its middle. Touchingly, he learns that Lapis kept the leaf he gave her, delicately propping it upright in a clump of soil. A TV affixed to the ceiling beams with metal cables plays a clip of CPH on repeat. He has a niggling suspicion that the clip she selected represents her lingering trauma about, like... being trapped in a mirror for thousands of years, but according to her it’s merely a fan’s shrine of the show. Still, while discussing books together Connie once told him that all art is subjective and authorial intent is dead, so respectfully he’s sticking to his interpretation. But regardless of its meaning, he’s so, so happy to see her freely making things for herself.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the creative spectrum, Peridot’s green alien plush is floating alongside various hunks of garbage in the hodgepodge aquarium at the side wall. Its slow voyage through the tank is admittedly entrancing, but oh, do those big deep eyes grow more and more unnerving the longer he stares at them. The last straw comes when he watches stuffing slowly drift out of a gaping hole in the fabric at its neck. Subtly cringing, he takes a step back from the glass to go admire something else. Sometimes art isn’t made for everyone, and that’s okay.

It takes a few moments before he makes the proper connections and realizes that the red bow tie Peridot is wearing around her neck used to be that plush’s. Oh… oh geez.

Amethyst, however, doesn’t seem to be buying any of it. In fact, she’s barely cracked a smile since they entered the barn, not even at Peridot and Lapis’ collaborative toilet morp. And who doesn’t laugh at toilets? On any normal day she’d eat that kind of stuff right up.

“This is so stupid,” she mutters, her eyes thin slits as she stares with a frustratingly unreadable expression at the four liquid pillars shooting up out of the bowls.

Disappointment flickers across Lapis’ face like stars on the morning horizon. She quickly releases her iron hold on the water, channeling it into the heart of the tanks. A similar emotion colors Peridot’s features for a moment, and he briefly worries their visit may be cut off short, but after meeting his encouraging glance she shakes it off and promptly begins to move on to the next item of their home tour.

“Alright,” she says, folding her hands behind her back all prim and proper, “I see you're not impressed. But—“

“Hey, you guys!” a familiar voice shouts from the distance, growing closer and closer with each passing moment. “I’m here! I came! Is it too late to join in?”

All four of them whirl around at the interruption.

Peridot squints. “Is that…”

“Ruby?” Lapis finishes, confusion etched across her features with pinpoint precision.

“Ruby!” Steven calls, sliding across the floorboards to meet her at the barn door. “No, you're not late, you’re just in time! Look, look, look—“ He takes her by the hand and whisks her inside, almost sweeping her clear off her feet in the process.

Her mouth falls agape as she drinks in the rustic atmosphere, the air now a good deal lighter thanks to her interruption.

“Whoa… this place looks completely different!”

“I know, right??” he says with an untamable grin. He gestures wildly at all of their unique creations. “It’s art! Isn’t it great? Peridot and Lapis have been showing us all this super cool stuff they’ve made!”

“Yes, I suppose we are pretty great,” the green Gem says, puffing out her chest.

Lapis rolls her eyes in response. No amount of sass can hide the action’s underlying fondness, though. Steven’s no imperceptive fool. She may act pretty aloof at times, but once you get to know her she’s not that hard to read at all. One merely has to pay attention to the subtle shifts in her demeanor. It’s the little things: the incline of her brow, a slight tilt of the head, the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it twitch of her lips as she pretends she doesn’t care as much as she does. And then, the more she trusts you, the less tense her posture is and the more she opens up. It makes his heart sing to know that Peridot has seemingly been added to that roster.

“Eh,” she murmurs with the hint of a smile, leaning back against the wall behind her roommate. “I guess we’re okay.”

Amethyst crosses her arms, her eyes narrowing as she peers down at Ruby. “So, what’s up with you? I thought you said you wanted to mope at the temple.”

She shuffles her feet. “Well…”

“And I thought you and that Sapphire never unfused,” Lapis says, ever so blunt. “Except... for baseball,” she hastily amends. Consumed by a spike of panic, her gaze darts towards the doorway with guarded suspicion. “We don’t have to play baseball again... right?”

“Hmmm… I mean, we could play baseball,” Steven muses, pressing his hand to his jaw.

That’s certainly one way he could encourage Amethyst to enjoy some bonding time with everyone. He has a bunch of fond memories of the last game they played together. Well, okay, so maybe he could’ve done without the ceaseless feeling of dread brought by batting against Homeworld loyalists with unknown intentions, but beggars can’t be choosers. As his first time playing a full game it was still 70% a good time.

Meanwhile, Peridot’s petite frame quivers at the reminder of that day. She grips at her hair, large tufts of yellow poking out from between her fingers.

“Oh my stars, they’re coming back??”

Ruby throws her a bemused side glance. “Uh—“

“Get behind me, Lapis,” she continues, daringly throwing her body in front of her roommate. “I’ll protect us from those Homeworld brutes this time!”

“We’re not playing baseball!” Amethyst cuts in.

His lips curl into a pout. “Aw, but it’d be so much fun!”

She crosses her arms, visibly walling herself off. “Uh, no, it wouldn’t! ‘Sides, there’s no immediate danger, there’s no Homeworld Rubies on our doorstep, so there’s NO reason on this planet I’d play that stupid game again!”

Eyes narrowing with mild exasperation, Lapis nudges her way out from the green Gem’s overprotection. “‘Kay. So, is anyone here actually gonna explain what’s going on, or?”

Nervously rocking on her heels next to him, Ruby rests her hand against her chin.

“Well…”

“Ruby and Sapphire are kinda… taking some time apart?” he delicately explains in her steed, noticing her hesitation. It’s probably something that’s really hard for her to talk about right now, and boy can he relate to that.

“Yeah,” she says in confirmation, kicking her toes against the floor boards. “I didn’t exactly want to, but Sapphy needs her space.”

For all her initial dislike of the fusion Gem, Peridot looks genuinely heartbroken at this revelation. “But… why?” she asks, peering between the three Crystal Gems in wait of further clarification. “Aren’t you two basically inseparable?”

Faint hints of lemon peel and nutmeg linger in the air like silent sentries to their distress. Steven stands in the kitchen with Pearl, Garnet, and his dad, Amethyst lounging on the other side of the counter, and their dirty breakfast dishes still lying stagnant in the sink. Garnet’s kneeling before him. She’s speaking, but he’s so distraught he can’t quite recall what it is she said. His dad’s hand rests on his shoulder, the pressure ever so slightly working to ground him to this moment again. He’s biting back tears, isn’t he? Trying not to cry for the umpteenth time that day. What happened? What changed? Everything’s fixed, yeah? He’s whole again! They were all supposed to be so happy now, and yet… the sight of the morning sun reflecting off the face of Garnet’s visor as she delivers that ill-fated news is the bitter, tangible proof that they’re not.  

“Ruby and Sapphire have decided they want to take some time apart. Indefinitely.”

Amethyst’s expression is colored with hurt. “But… why?”

In the present he stiffens, suddenly polarized by the realization that the path of this conversation has but one destined endpoint. Sooner or later, his friends will hear about what happened to him four days back, what happened to his family, what he learned about his... about Rose. There’s no avoiding this forever. After all, if they don’t learn it from him, they’ll eventually learn it from someone else. And don’t they deserve to know? This affects them too!

But if the recent past has taught him anything, it’s that the truth about Rose Quartz only succeeds in breaking people apart. It stole Garnet away. It shook his relationship with Amethyst and Pearl to the core. It caused them all to argue and fight, back at the fountain and at home. Give it time, and he’s sure the truth will find a way to press fissures in his relationships with Connie and Dad, too. So what happens, then, when Peridot and Lapis find out? In what way will the truth break them?

Just a little while longer, he promises himself. Just one more good day, please, that’s all I want…

“They, um- it’s just a couples thing,” he stammers, chest growing tight. “It’s just for a little bit. Sometimes people need time away from each other, y’know?”

Ruby‘s expression grows tense, sniffing out his white lie from a mile away. “Steven...“

“It’s totally healthy and normal, and not at all a reason for concern!”

“Kinda sounds like we should be concerned,” Lapis mutters. “All of you have been acting weird this whole time, so spill! What’s going on?”

Their words start to become faint and distant in the shadow of his wildly pounding heart, so wondrously human and organic and alive, and yet so endlessly frustrating in its autonomy. Why can’t he hear clearly? What’s up with that awful ringing he can’t get rid of? It’s almost as if he’s listening to everyone ten feet under choppy waters, but they’re all standing right next to him. They’re right there.

The red Gem scratches at her neck, meeting Amethyst's harsh, crystal-studded glance first. Her mouth opens. Still disorientated, Steven misses a good half of it.

“...wants to tell ‘em?” she finishes, waiting dutifully for their responses.

As expected the quartz remains silent on the matter, feigning indifference as she crosses her arms and returns to staring sullenly into the middle distance. Ruby turns to him next. His skin feels downright clammy now, almost as bad as it did when he was almost dyi— NO! Stop! He shakes his head fervently, sweeping his hands horizontal in a signal for her to cut the conversation. He can’t do this. Not now, not today, not ever, he can’t—

Lapis bristles. “Tell us what?”

“Um, nothing, nothing!” he bursts out, clumsy words pouring from his mouth almost quicker than his brain can move to stack them up. “It’s a long story, and we’re all here to have some fun and shoot the breeze, right? Right. ‘Course we are! So we don’t have to talk about that right now, we can talk about it later, and for now we should try to have a good time and enjoy each other’s compa—“

Amethyst slams her foot to the floor so hard the wooden board underneath cracks. Both Steven and Lapis flinch.

“Ughh, you guys! Stop dancing around the headline!” she shouts. “You really wanna know what happened? Steven almost died ‘cause he got his gem busted, and then we found out Rose Quartz was totally a sham and she’s like, Pink Diamond n’ junk, okay?!”

A stunning silence follows this inopportune announcement, in which he swears he can hear his stomach gurgle. On any typical day he'd be thinking about lunch around this time, except at the moment he genuinely almost feels sick to his stomach. Right now he wants nothing more than to turn tail and run, run away from all of this, and yet chained to his fate just as Lonely Blade was destined to his, his legs remain firmly shackled in place. Standing at his side, Peridot blinks in dumbfounded shock.

“What.”

“S-she’s- You’re a DIAMOND??” Lapis shrieks, water wings shooting from her back on impulse.

“Whaaaat?”

_______

Notes: 

The next few chapters will be a bit familiar to y'all, but I'm not doing a beat for beat rehash, I assure you. Events start similarly here because the world external to Steven’s sphere of influence is still operating the same as it does in canon. The ripples haven’t fully spread yet. After this arc, they absolutely will have.

I do have a bonus scene to share soon- set between chapters 9 and 10. I'll likely post that before chapter 11.

Oh, and by the way- the location Connie's visiting is inspired by a real place- the Harike Wetlands in Punjab, India. Apparently India is actually a series of islands in the SU universe...? But I like to believe there’s still a cool wetlands region on one of those islands.

[dadolorian]

Just like me- Part 2

A/N: Some Light Angst because i am an Angst WHORE Credits: Thank you @oloreaa​ for being my Beta reader/editor !

Title: Just Like me Fandom: Prospect (2018) Ship: Ezra/Reader Warning: Reader is an Amputee, talk of injuries/recovering. Hinted PTSD. Arguments. Canonical death mentioned. Angst? Word count: 5K + (Ahhhh this one is almost double the last one in length but there was nowhere to stop)  Master List Request status AO3 Link Previous part  Next part - coming soon

True to his word, Ezra was quick to find you again, an enthusiastic man you had come to notice as he was knocking at your door the next morning. He had that big, charming smile plastered on his face and apparently had been eagerly awaiting an appropriate time to come seek you out. The second he had finished his morning meal with ‘Cee’ he had excused himself to come find you he later informed you. You hummed happily, inviting him into your quarters, delighted by his eagerness, for you mirrored his enthusiasm. From that point on he had integrated himself as a permanent part of your routine on the journey home. 

Unless one of you was busy, you could be found together somewhere on the ship. Most of the time it was in your quarters, but that didn’t stop the two of you venturing out to the observation deck, the mess hall or any small alcove along the many hallways so you could wrack each other’s brain.  Most of your conversations were sharing your opinions on the books you started to read together, laughing as he would use his way with words and expressive vocabulary to add and improve upon the work, something he said he was inspired to do from his ‘Little Bird’. He on the other hand enjoyed listening to your ideas and the way you interpreted the pieces, thoroughly enjoying listening to you as you tried to explain what you believed certain things meant. And just as you had offered, you helped him with dealing with his amputation. During your first few days getting to know one another you explained different prosthetics, and helped him narrow down his choices based on his needs, for when the time came. He wanted something advanced enough to allow him individual movement of his fingers rather than a basic one that would only clench all of them, something that allowed him more control and finesse. You steered him in the direction of a limb similar to your own, something vacuum sealed that would allow him to wear it without the need for too many straps. “You truly have made this process far less daunting,” he had told you as he took messy notes with his left hand and flashing you that smile once more. He began to subject you to many annoying arm puns, his vocabulary resulting in some of the most creative and long winded puns you had ever heard. You wanted to smack him each time you saw that shit eating grin but you just couldn’t stay annoyed at him for long. ‘Keeva,’ you thought ‘Is this what it's like when I do it too?’

While you weren’t as skilled at such creative language, you had experience on your side, giving him simple but classical leg puns quickly in return. His boisterous laugh each time warming your heart.

His little notebook was soon filled with all the advice you had given him on keeping his stump healthy, and one evening, just a few weeks after you had met he even trusted you enough to begin speaking about his nightmares with you. It was clear he showed a tremendous amount of trust in you at that point already, as he bore his deepest fears to you and allowed himself to be so vulnerable in your presence. 

You had sat by his side on your bunk, stroking his back in comfort as he trembled and confessed what was haunting him. In return, you began to share the more personal stories of your recovery, telling him of painful therapies, numerous surgeries and horrifying nights alone in the hospital. He was able to provide you with your own comfort you had been denied for so long.

From breakfast till nightfall, every day for months you two were in each other's company, conversations with Ezra were far from boring, but as the two of you grew closer you both felt comfortable enough with each other to not constantly fill the silence. The day the two of you spent just sitting in your bunk each reading a book in complete silence together was the day you felt like you could truly call him a friend, not just someone you knew. He had even introduced you to Cee, his ‘little bird’ he had mentioned when you had first met, she was weary of you at first, not that you blamed her after everything she had gone through. But you made a genuine effort to gain her trust, and you weren’t close, but she began to relax around you during your short interactions. Ezra told you he had made it his personal goal to make sure Cee would be taken care of now that she was orphaned, when he first started to trust you more he had explained to you the full tale of how they met. Curled up on your bed, side by side, he expressed deep sorrow in being the reason Cee was now an orphan as well as some hidden resentment towards her father for what he had attempted to do to him, but more importantly, the life he had forced Cee into. You listened to Ezra rant on about how Cee should never have been taken to the Green. How a child her age should not have been forced into the life of a prospector. You could see quite clearly that Ezra had a connection with her, he cared for her and wanted to do right by her. That just endeared him to you more. The contrast between a hardened, cynical prospector and a soft, genuine man made him seem more human to you than any other person you had met.  

He was the complete opposite of you, in terms of affection, he did nothing to hide his thoughts and admiration of you, even from the start, constantly complimenting you and making any excuse to touch you. He was always watching for any sign that it was unwelcomed, and he did nothing to hide his adoring smiles when they weren't. You on the other hand weren’t quite as expressive as him, you wished you had the confidence he seemed to have, because you wanted so desperately to return all his affections, his compliments, his casual touches. He would casually brush some hair from your face and you wanted to lean into his touch, to feel the warmth of his hand on your cheek. When the two of you sat together, curled up on your bunk as you often were, one of you reading out loud from one of your precious books, you wanted to rest your head on his shoulder and embrace him. He would casually put his arm around you as you walked, you wanted nothing more than to lean into him and wrap your own arm around him in return. But no, every time he spouted beautiful monologues complimenting you,admiring you, praising your mere existence to the heavens you kept quiet, somehow convincing yourself Ezra was just being nice.

It was amazing and terrifying just how important he had become to you in just a few short months. Your feelings were an uncomfortable cocktail in your stomach, you were wanting to bridge whatever gap was between the two of you and become something more, but were fearing the risk of losing the friendship you had. And a cynical, depressing, part of your mind wanted to push him away, knowing deep down once you departed the ship you would lose everything regardless. It was some desperate attempt to shield yourself from the pain that was to come. 

But as he spoke about some other thought that had escaped his beautiful mind you pushed those ideas away, burying them deep so you could enjoy your time with him and deal with them later. It was not something you would be able to keep up forever. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A week before you were scheduled to land back on central, you were curled up with him on your bunk as usual, his one arm around you, leaning back against the wall with a content smile and his eyes closed as he listened to you read aloud. You were lost in thought, reading the words aloud on instinct, not really paying attention to the words you spoke as you thought. You had been avoiding it for a while, but now, a week until you landed, you were finding it increasingly impossible to distract yourself from what plagued your mind. You had never kept up a friendship or relationship at all once you parted ways with someone. You did not have his affinity for words, you couldn’t just ask or communicate your thoughts the way he could, so you continued to push it away. You had a tendency to do so, that was why it took you so long to properly deal with your own recovery, it took wanting to help him for you to accept that. And had picked up on it, he truly was an observant man because he always noticed when you were trapped in your own mind, overthinking every little thing when something was bothering you. Even as you read aloud, he noticed it. “Angel?” He asked, a pet name he had taken to calling you after he joked for the umptheenth time that you were Heavensent. “What is plaguing that extraordinary mind of yours?” He asked, opening his eyes to look at you, brow quirked in question. You glanced at him. “Nothing,” you lied, trying to be nonchalant, giving him a one shouldered shrug, to which he huffed. “Please, do not attempt to lie to me like that,” he said, narrowing his eyes at you in suspicion. “We have far established that I can tell when something is bothering you. You are usually so expressive when you read to me, a fact I thoroughly enjoy as I listen to your angelic voice." He paused, brows burrowing, looking at you.

"You are distracted and monotonous as you speak Angel, something is troubling you."

His voice softened until it was barely above a whisper, "You are nothing if not patient and understanding with me in aiding me in my troubles. Please grant me the same trust I do to you?” He had a point, he trusted you in telling you of his nightmares, trusted you at his most vulnerable, surely you could do him the same courtesy? You sighed, trying to think of a way to best express your thoughts into something he could understand. “We land in a week,” you started, crossing your arms in self comfort, and he simply looked at you, cocked his head, unable to see what was so significant about that fact. You continued when he didn’t say anything. “I have never maintained any sort of relationship once I have parted ways with someone. I have never run into the same partner again, or managed to keep a friendship once I have left. I’m too much of a drifter.” A soft, understanding smile drifted across his face. “And you fear we will drift apart once we are done with our endeavors?” he asked, giving your shoulder a gentle and affectionate pat. You nodded slowly, avoiding his gaze. “There is a simple fix to that, Angel, we must simply keep in touch once we depart!” he said cheerfully, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. “I would love for it to be that simple, Ezra.” You sighed “But once we land I'm going to look for work as soon as possible. I’ll take the next sling out to whatever planet I can find to continue prospecting. I’ve been so desperate to get back on my feet, literally, that I'm not even going to stick around central to enjoy my spoils from this job.” He thought about that for a moment. “I suppose I do not blame you for that,” he said, rubbing his patchy beard for a second in further thought. “I am certain when the time comes for me I will be finding myself in the same position. But, we can try to keep in contact!” His optimistic and playful smile trying to ease your anxieties. “Once we land I will be making my way with Little Bird and finding a home. Get all the legal stuff sorted, and get her into a school. Keeva knows she has no desire to stay stuck in the life of a prospector and I am not inclined to force her. We can arrange for a means of communication between us before you leave again,” he said, removing his hold on you to give you a comforting pat on the knee. You gave him a skeptical look. “You? Setting down roots?” You asked skeptically, not believing it for a second. He was more of a drifter at heart than you were, you knew for a fact he had no desire to settle yet and wanted to get back to exploring the galaxy as soon as possible. “I’m afraid so.” He sighed, a sad but hopeful, wistful look in his eyes. “There is no way any sort of sane official will let me become Little Birds legal guardian without a stable home. I am not connected to her by blood after all and I have no rights to drag her over the galaxy for my own dreams as her biological father felt the need to." He sighed again at that, gaze becoming far away, a small frown settling on his face. "She will be happier with the chance to settle down and experience a normal life, I intend to give her that.” “Thats…incredibly selfless of you, Ezra” you mumbled, once again endeared to his soft nature he kept hidden under the hardened exterior he often tried to convey. “It’s… The right thing to do,” he said, shoulder slumped. “I am the reason she is without a father after all, I can't just abandon her to the mercies of the universe after what I took.” “Please tell me you aren’t doing this out of guilt?” you asked clanging back at him with a small frown. “Taking care of her as some penance what happened on the Green is not the only way you can do right by her-” “I know that!” He interrupted, hand held palm up to stop you. “I am not doing this as some form of self inflicted ‘punishment’. I have been having many serious conversations with the Little Bird when I retire from your company each night,” he explained pinching the bridge of his nose as he revealed his plans. “Our original plan was to track down some distant relative, or put her into government care but neither of us were satisfied with those bleak options. I have grown close to her, she is a remarkable child and i want to make sure she is taken care of, given the best life she can possibly get." He took a deep breath, looking distressed. "She will not get that from some government official, or some strange family member she has never even met before, who takes her in simply from biological obligation. Someone who holds no love in their heart for such an amazing child. Who would possibly have any desire to be raised by that?"

Ezra looked at you, expression earnest. "I am taking this upon myself, because I want to. I resent any notion of not seeing her again, just as I hold in my heart the fear of not being able to see you again either.” Your heart melted at his words. “Ezra,” you sighed, leaning forward on the bunk. “I can’t make any promises, you and I both know prospecting isn’t a lifestyle that allows long term relationships to last….” “Then I shall make it my goal to keep in contact with you!” he said, optimism clear in his voice and sparkling in his soft eyes. “I’ll send out transmissions every single night to you if i have to to keep our friendship kindled! Just to keep some semblance of you in my life, and I in yours.” You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, that will keep up for what? Six months before you get bored?. Until someone more interesting comes around and i become an afterthought in your day-” “Angel, just where are you getting these thoughts?” he interrupted, shaking his head. “How could you possibly think I would forget about you for even a second? My thoughts have been consumed by you from the moment we met!” He got closer, but did not touch you, hand clenching in obvious frustration. “Experience, Ezra,” you sighed, pushing yourself away from him a little. You had not intended to start an argument, but you wanted him to understand that once you parted ways, you had little hope for what was between you to continue. The annoying, toxic little thoughts that had been creeping in the back of your mind for a while started spilling out. You had learnt the hard way that your life would not allow for something so permanent. When you had met him and offered your ear, your help, you did not believe it would extend past landing in Central. You hoped to give him enough help until he could find permanent support. But you became enthralled by him, your friendship had blossomed into something you would cherish for a lifetime, something you knew could not be maintained and fall apart just like every other relationship you had ever had. “Then let’s experience something better!” He pleaded. “I am more than willing to put in the effort to keep in contact with you! Whatever it takes, Angel, I'll do it!” Desperation clung to his words, his brows furrowed as he looked at you, jaw working, visibly holding back on his words. “Your optimism is just going to get you hurt,Ezra,” you sneered, “I should have brought this up weeks ago, before we got so close-” He cut you off. “You wish to have cut our friendship off before we became close? Angel, I would not have allowed such a thing-” You got up off the bunk in an annoyed huff, away from him, he just didn’t get it. “Do you really believe it could work, Ezra?” You asked him with an exasperated sigh, gesturing at the distance between the two of you. ”Have you ever been able to successfully maintain a relationship of any kind once you said your goodbyes?” His brow furrowed, shoulder slumped once more and his gaze drifted down to the ground. “N-no…I have not, Angel,” he sighed. “It might have been for the best if we had just cut this off before anything started. That way neither of us would get hurt,” you said, wrapping your arms around yourself in comfort. “I believe that's a cowardly way to shield your heart, Angel” he said, lips pressed tightly together. “Have you ever heard the quote ‘tis better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all’? I value the friendship I have found in you, and even if we do not see each other after we part ways, even with the heartbreak I am positive I shall experience. I will hold onto the memory of you and our friendship with a deep love and admiration. I will not regret even for a second choosing to get to know you and becoming your friend because I was afraid of getting hurt.” His voice was low, pain an audible undercurrent in it. “Well, I wish I had your mindset.” You sighed, shaking your head. “I learnt a long time ago that it's just easier to not get involved so much.” “ ‘Easier’ “ He scoffed. “That’s just cowardice and we both know it. How is the woman I met this guarded? This afraid? You are a dazzling and radiant creature. Such a brave and kindhearted woman, I had no inclination you could be this cold about something.” “And here I thought you were logical enough to understand the reality of long term relationships as a prospector!” You snapped, pointing a finger at him. “You said so yourself that you have never maintained one in this life-” “I’ve never wanted to before!” he almost shouted, panic rising in his voice. “I have never dreaded saying goodbye to someone the way I dread saying goodbye to you-” “That’s why we should have ended this weeks ago!” You shouted back, curling into yourself, getting away from him, fists clenching. “No! That's exactly why we should work to maintain what we have!” He said desperately getting up off the bunk so he was more eye level with you. Stepping into the personal space you were trying to expand. He wasn’t having any of that. “It won't work! It never does!” You said, you could hear your voice rising in pitch, as it often did when you got emotional. “Just because you have been unlucky in the past does not mean we should give up on a good thing!” he said, reaching for you cautiously. “Angel, please understand, I will do whatever it takes…Please do not cut me out. I fear being forced from your life will do more harm than naturally drifting apart over time would do. Do not force me away,” he murmured sadly, taking your hand in his, impossibly gentle. You bowed your head so you didn’t have to look at him. “I’m not going to be responsible for you sitting at home, every night, waiting for some kind of response from me. I don’t want to give you false hope-” “It’s not false hope if there's a real possibility of you answering,” he said quietly. “And what happens if I don't? “ You asked, pulling your hand away. ”This is a dangerous profession, we both know that. What happens if I get hurt, or worse? And you're sitting in your home every night, for months? Years? When do you give up after i'm gone?” “Please don’t talk like that Angel.” He sighed. “Why? Too much of a reality check?” you taunt, biting back even more poisonous words “I think you are just looking for more justification in pushing me away,” Ezra said. He hesitated before he continued. “I understand you have been hurt in the past, but your notion that cutting things off, and shielding your heart from others will do nothing to ease those pains. I will worry about you every night regardless, even if I am not granted the pleasure of hearing from you daily. I will still worry about you no matter what, and I will not give up on hope of hearing from you again, so long as you do not forcibly push me away.” You turned away from him, ashamed of the hurt you would no doubt cause this man. “You should focus on Cee ” you sighed, words bitter in your mouth. “She needs you, and she’ll be around permanently for you once you get things sorted. An adoptive daughter is something much more important than a drifter you met and became acquainted with.” “ ‘Acquainted with?’ “ he asked with an exasperated sigh. “Angel, we are friends, good friends. Please do not devalue the relationship we have built. You are the most trusted friend I have ever had-” “I don’t want to hurt you, Ez-” “Then don’t cut me off!” He pleaded, running his hand through his hair in distress. “Make the effort and I will too!-” “I don’t want to get hurt either! I don’t want to risk it!” “This is bullshit!” His breaths were becoming a little rapid. “ It’s going to hurt no matter what you do! Is it not worth the risk to you?” “No !” you shouted. “No, it never is! I hate the heartbreak and I should have stopped this before it got too far!” “Angel, please-” He pleaded again, voice desperate. “NO! No, Ezra just go.” you sighed, slumping in position.” Please. Our friendship was nice while it lasted. I didn’t mean for it to go this far….” He made a hesitant step towards you, face heartbroken , he tried to take hold of your hand with his own again but you pulled away quickly. “Just go,” you sighed again in exasperation, mind running at lightspeed. He tried to plead with his eyes, searching your gaze, but you just looked away again. “I am sorry I have caused you so much distress,” he said, sorrow thick in his voice and he made his way to leave reluctantly. “I will cherish the time spent with you, I am sorry you will not look back on it with the same fondness,” he added before he finally left, door shutting behind him, achingly final You had not realized, in the time you had gotten close to him, just how much he had sunk his way into your soul. 

You had enjoyed his company so much but ignored just how much his presence had wormed its way deep into your heart. You had been blind to the reality of what would happen once you had made friends with him. And you wished, wished you really had cut things off before it had gotten this far, because the heartbreak racing through your being was far, far worse than anything you could have imagined. It tore away at your insides and you tried to process just what was causing it, the pain of cutting him out, the pain of hurting him, or the pain that told you he was right? You loathed yourself as you realized the only reason you were currently feeling so disgusting was because of your own stubbornness. You felt your knees grow weak as the sorrow crept up on you, the acidic cocktail of pure shame swirling in your stomach, you staggered over and collapsed into your bunk, which still smelt like him. You could not hold your tears back as you cursed yourself for ever letting him get so close to you. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ezra did not show up at his usual time the next morning, and you were unsure if you were pleased or not with that. His absence just made you feel worse and you stubbornly doubled down on the belief that that proved you should have cut him out sooner, rather than accepting he was right.It was easier to delude yourself that admit completely that you were wrong. Hiding from the truth like a frightened child. For the remainder of your journey it felt like he was actively avoiding you, because you had never once seen him in passing whenever you left the safety of your quarters. The night before you landed, a knock at the door roused you. Your heart betrayed you as you felt a rush of elation course through you, he had come back to see you despite everything you had said to him! “Just a minute!” You called to him from your bunk as you rushed putting your prosthetic on. You scrambled to the door unable to hide the relief you felt as you opened the door and saw…Cee. “Uhm, hey," the girl said, looking awkward, "Sorry about this, Ezra wanted to return a book he borrowed but he didn’t want to ‘disturb’ you.” She handed  you one of the books you had leant to Ezra. ”But that’s code for ‘too chicken to come see you’. Turns out he’s a bit of a baby like that,” She continued with an enigmatic smile. “Ah, thank you,” you said, deflating , taking the book, disappointment apparently clear on your face. “I’ll tell him you were wanting to see him,” she said a little playfully as she slinked off. You tried to call out to her to stop but she was quick to disappear into the dark halls and ignored you. With a heavy sigh you closed the door and went back to bed, throwing the book onto your packed belongings as you did so. His absence had done nothing but distress you more. Perhaps it was pride, or stubbornly sticking to your belief that kept you away, but more than anything you were just too afraid and ashamed of how you had acted. He had called you a coward, you were beginning to believe him. You glanced at the book from your position on your bunk, and wished he had returned it himself. But at the same time you were relieved he didn’t. You had planned to be up early, the next morning, so you pulled your leg off so you could settle down properly. Wanting to depart the second you landed, able to avoid seeing him that way, if possible. You couldn’t deny to yourself now that you wanted to see him, but you were stuck in your belief that it was better not to get too close for fear of getting hurt even further. Seeing him again, as much as you wanted to, would just hurt you all over again, because you still believed it wouldn’t work. It was a  storm of feelings inside you, each of them battling each other.  This was why you kept people away. It was easier.

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You were up and early the next day, having packed everything that remained and cleared out your quarters. You elected to hide in your bunk, rather than the foyer that would no doubt be packed with people raring to get off, just in case he was there. But, despite your efforts to hide, he was there anyway. Waiting on the boardwalk outside the departure doors, Cee just a short distance away off to the side, minding her own business. Annoyingly, he stood dead center in the middle of the walkway, hand on his hip as he scouted you out. The stubborn, cowardly part of you wanted to return to your quarters. You could attempt to sneak past him but that just felt childish. The crowd had already dispersed enough now so it was just a gentle trickle of people leaving the ship. So you kept walking , head held high, not looking at him. He caught your wrist anyway, fingers curling around it firm, but gently. “Please let me go Ezra,” you whispered, not meeting his gaze, clutching your bag closer to yourself. “Angel, please, do not do me the disservice of not giving me a proper goodbye. I will never be able to forgive myself if I do not say farewell to you properly.” “Ok, goodbye,” you said, trying to pull out of his grip. “Angel, don’t be childish” he chided, not willing to let go of his hold on you until you relaxed, so you relented reluctantly. He was right, you were being childish. He pulled you into a hug as best he could with one arm, chin resting on your head. “I have missed your company this past week, as I would like to imagine you have done so with me,” he started, holding you tightly to his front as if scared you would take flight. 

“It has given me a taste as to what life will be like now without you and I can ascertain that it is not something that i enjoy. However, I can not deny that despite our time together being so short, I have thoroughly enjoyed what time I have spent with you, and I do not regret one second I spent getting to know you. My only regret is that we cannot continue this, as much as i wish we could. I will not force you to partake in something you do not want, as much as it pains me to say goodbye. You are an amazing, beautiful and kindhearted woman, your help in dealing with the most difficult part of my life will forever be appreciated, and I truly believe your kindness has saved my life. I wish to go on only looking back at our brief friendship with fondness, which is why I wanted to say goodbye properly,” he said, his voice tight. Your eyes were tearing up. If only you could be so open with how you felt, telling him exactly what is going on inside your head, and once again you found yourself jealous of his way with words. You felt them, trapped in your throat, you wanted to express every thought and emotion he had managed to conjure up in you, to tell him of your confusing feeling that had been consuming you. To just tell him that you were sorry and that he was right, because that part of you that cared about him knew that if you just admitted you were wrong there would have been no need for any of this. 

But you couldn’t. You weren’t him. You were far too stubborn for your own good and you couldn’t express yourself as easily as breathing as he could.

All you could manage was to choke out a muffled “Goodbye Ezra” as he held you.

He begrudgingly let you go, pulling you closer for a brief moment to plant a kiss on your forehead.

“Goodbye, Angel” He said. “If…if you ever change your mind, I wrote my contact number in the cover of the book Little Bird returned.”

You finally looked into his eyes, his own reflecting the tears that welled up in yours, pain and sorrow looking back at one another.

You turned your back to him, and with that you were gone.

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TAG LIST @oloreaa​ @chaotic-noceur​

[tracybirds]

:DD I finished!! Part 2!! of my Man from TB5 AU!! yay!!! A reminder for those who don’t recall last week let alone last month, this is based on a prompt by @kenzie-running-free :

A 'what-if' story based on "The Man From TB5" where the Hood recognized John in the scene when he makes himself known (instead of John stuttering).

Uh and so I did that and then John got kidnapped. Full backstory here: [Part 1]

Super many thanks to @gumnut-logic and @plantmuffin for reading parts and chatting plotting with me :D You’re both lovely!

Enjoy!!

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The silence that followed John’s dramatic exit was the hardest part. No one spoke, the only sound the roaring of the wind and the faint beeping in John’s ear that told him the connection had not yet been re-established. Perhaps, it wouldn’t. The Hood had intended for Penelope to call his brothers to her, and crucially away from him, so it followed that the frequency disrupter was concealed on his person.

If it were him in his ‘bird, he knew how to trace the dead air that a comm jam inevitably created. There was a trail that would follow, maintenance reports and upgrades listed. There was sudden news spreading online of short, unexplained communication failures, a flurry of online activity that burst into life the moment the disruption ended.

He wasn’t in his ‘bird. He didn’t have access to a vast network of datastreams and information caches and statistical modelling programmes. He had a radio that was only connected to a single network and magnetic socks for all the good they would do him. And he had thrown away the one item that might have been useful as a weapon.

After that impulsive choice, he wasn’t certain he could claim his brain as an asset.

One problem at a time. He knew how to calm a racing mind, knew how to create order out of apparent chaos.

Three goons.

One mastermind.

No control over the mechanism strapped to his body.

Wind chill.

No way to contact his family and make his position known.

Yet.

The steady beeping of an unconnected comm was replaced by crackling static. A stationary frequency disruptor then, not on the Hood’s personage at all. It would make things harder for Penelope and Parker to get out of the mess they were in, if they needed to destroy the jamming technology themselves, but it gave John a chance. He twisted slightly in his harness, the unforgiving metal tugging at his skin.

“You won’t get out, boy,” sneered the Hood. “And where would you go? Fall to your death like your mother? Like your friends back at the hotel will?”

John ignored him. His arm snaked higher, feeling underneath the lapel of his suit. He shuddered at the bite of metallic thread, the icy burn spreading outwards from his fingers.

His hands were clumsy and the cold already beginning to muddle his mind as he worked, fighting his instincts to curl up and preserve heat instead of picking at frozen circuitry.

The static dropped into the familiar, faint beeping as they flew through another patch of destructive signal interference. He worked through it, twisting at the threads to create a receiver that would remain open and linked into the iR comm line. To hack into his own network was no mean feat and more than once John had to abruptly shift from fiddling with the electrical components to scratching his chin as the Hood or his men peered back at him. A quiet Tracy was a dangerous Tracy. The Hood had learnt that lesson long ago.

He couldn’t allow more than a sharp inhale of excitement as the radio receiver caught the first snatches of conversation on the air.

“It’s been nearly an hour.”

“And he hasn’t called any of us?”

“EOS, you’re sure this isn’t you?”

“Positive!”

He couldn’t leave a transmission line open, not without creating a signal of his own that would draw attention to himself from unwanted parties. Especially as he couldn’t guarantee it would attract his brothers’ attention. Better to wait.

A new voice broke through.

“Calling International Rescue, we have urgent need of assistance.”

“Lady Penelope?” Scott and Gordon’s voices intertwined, although one displayed considerably more anxiety than the other.

“Lady Penelope, what’s happened to John?” demanded Scott. John could almost see the withering glare he gave their younger brother, almost daring him to speak.

“John’s not… he’s been…”

“Kidnapped by the ‘ood,” cut in Parker. “Begging your pardon, m’lady.”

A loud thump.

“I told you we should take it seriously,” hissed Alan.

“How was I to know it wasn’t his stupid AI being the devil incarnate again?”

“I said it wasn’t me!”

“What information can you give us?” Virgil’s voice was low and calm. John could almost feel his warm hand dropping on his shoulder, his eyes intent and serious.

“I don’t know where John is,” said Penelope, letting out a shaky breath. “But we’ve just destroyed a frequency jammer that was affecting all our communications, and there are three devices slowly cutting through the cables holding up the infrastructure of the hotel. We have nearly 300 civilians that need help now.”

A splutter of outrage came through the earpiece.

“John–”

“Don’t argue with me, Scott Tracy,” Penelope snapped. “Do not think for a second I don’t care about your brother because I do. The Hood wants something from him specifically, he’s not in any immediate danger. But we have experienced altitude shifts from a loss of tension twice in the last forty-five minutes, and we cannot afford to wait much longer.”

“She’s right,” murmured Virgil.

There was an awful silence. John held his breath.

“Thunderbird One and Thunderbird Shadow are our fastest planes,” said Scott. “Kayo, let’s move. Gordon, you and Alan, get up the hotel specs up in the comm sphere, start running timeframe simulations. We need to get those people out of that building.”

“I’ve forward you boys all the information I can.”

“Virgil, can you–”

His stomach in his mouth.

Wind whistling in his ears, drowning out the words.

A drop in altitude, a spike in terror.

He groaned as his body jolted in the harness, the fall abruptly ended with cruel laughter from above. Slowly the mechanical wings retracted and again gravity overcame him. A numb jolt shot up his legs and he crumpled to the hard tarmac. The fall was only a few feet high, but it was enough to cause serious ground shock which slammed through his nerves like a lightning bolt.

John looked up, squinting in the harsh sunlight.

Above him, the Hood and his henchmen circled like vultures, almost lazy in their descent. They would never be able to reach him if he could make a break for it.

‘If’ very much being the operative word.

John looked around him. The mountainous landscape cut off any obvious escape routes. There was a car nearby, evidently left for them to use as a getaway for the next phase of transport. Black, hard top, driver’s seat on the left. He noted the make and model before checking over the sprained wrist he’d sustained as he’d fallen forwards. He grimaced as he tested its range of motion, thanking his lucky stars he was right handed. Gingerly, he dabbed at scrapes beneath his torn dress trousers, doing his best to clean them.

He risked a glance upwards to see how many more precious few moments alone he would be given.

Hunched over his wounds, it was time to make a signal disruptor of his own. He needed a device that would draw attention not only to his existence, but his location. He huffed on his hands, his fingers still stiff and clumsy from the cold. A localised disturbance in the comms network would do it, he knew the precise frequencies that the comms would be operating on and would be able to target a destructive pattern much more efficiently that the broad spectral disruption that the Hood’s device had used. And if he could code a message into the pattern of disruption, all the better.

‘If they can find it.’ He pushed the thought away. His brothers were still chattering in his ear, their focus on the rescue at hand and unaware of his eavesdropping. He knew they were close by, close enough that the comms would record the disruption even if they weren’t looking for it. He just had to hope someone would at least note the regularity of the anomaly when they reviewed the mission logs. He tried not to think about the fact that that someone was usually him.

He had to trust his brothers.

The binary of Morse code made it easy to incorporate, able to be read through the on/off of the signal disruption. They could all recognise a simple SOS message, it had been one of the first rescue lessons their father had drilled into them from childhood. He set the signal to repeat.

Rough hands pulled John upright and he stood on shaky legs that struggled to hold his weight. His adrenaline level was decreasing rapidly, and the resulting shock was beginning to crash his system.

“Get him in the car,” said the Hood, barely glancing at John. “Move quickly, International Rescue will fly over this region soon enough and I want us long gone before they get a sniff of this place.”

“Yes boss.”

John was frogmarched to the back seat and strapped into place. He hadn’t sat in a middle seat since before his first growth spurt and he shifted uncomfortably with his knees around his ears.

“I want something from you, John Tracy.” The Hood sounded bored, merely reciting a daily script with a stranger. “It is a mistake to say I need it. All I want is for you not to have it.”

A soft click drew John’s attention. The cold impression of a barrel against his ribs left him certain of the Hood’s intent. The blood pounded in his ears, the mental instructions he sent to calm his heart rate unheeded by his body.

“I am not concerned how I get it.” John could see the man’s cold, glittering eyes in the rear view mirror. “Do we understand each other, John?”

John licked at his dry lips. His voice was merely a rasp and he hated himself for betraying such an obvious physical reaction.

“We do,” he whispered.

“Excellent.”

John was feeling dizzy. The reality of his situation flashed through his mind, sudden images of being thrown from the hotel, forced out of the sky, the gun that was pressed into his side. He closed his eyes. Faintly, he thought he could hear Alan’s excited voice, his words indistinct as hysteria threatened to overwhelm him.

He couldn’t give that level of satisfaction to his worst enemy.

He wouldn’t allow his emotions to control his responses.

He needed a cool head and all his wits about him if he were to get out of this mess.

The car was speeding along the mountain road, isolated with nobody nearby for miles.

He opened his eyes. Alan was still talking into his ear.

“Guys, I know that’s John.”

“What, so the comm signal drops off nearby and you immediately assume it’s John?” scoffed Gordon. “It happens, alpine regions are always sketchy. It’s back now anyway.”

“Exactly,” said Alan. “Signals that drop off don’t just come back. It’s not random noise either, look at this projection of signal strength. And it’s moving.”

“Kayo, go check it out,” ordered Scott. “It may be nothing, but let’s not take chances. Virgil and I can finish up here, we’re almost done.”

“FAB Scott.”

“Alan, try to make contact. If it is John, I want confirmation of his situation.”

A high pitched frequency assaulted him. Audio feedback, a misplaced connection in the radio receiver and John yelped, bringing his hands up to protect his ears.

He froze, eyes watering.

“Pull. over.”

The Hood’s voice was as silk, a smooth, low, furious sound that demanded obedience.

John didn’t move, didn’t dare draw attention to the radio embedded in his jacket. He could lose the earpiece, despite the anguish it would cause to lose a stable connection to his family. Without the radio itself, their link to him would be destroyed.

Rough hands grabbed at his arm, ignoring the sharp cry as his injured wrist bore his weight as he was hauled from the car.

A hard shove sent him sprawling.

“Get him up,” said the Hood. “Stop wasting my time.”

Revulsion rose from John’s stomach as the Hood stepped closer. His head jerked away, only to be captured in the Hood’s other hand, yanking his ear down to eye level.

“A speaker,” he muttered, plucking the earpiece from its place. He lifted it to his own ear, cocking an eyebrow at the voices that emanated from it.

“So, you’re in contact with them. Clever. And yet you haven’t alerted them to your whereabouts?”

John said nothing.

“There must be a receiving unit. Presumably a transmitter as well – ah! A textile radio, how delightful. Did Brains cook this up for you? But of course he did.”

The jacket was ripped from his body, leaving John shivering in the mountain air.

“How does this work, John? No, don’t tell me. Brains’ inventions are always so intuitive. Very convenient in an emergency, wouldn’t you say John?”

He threw the earpiece back at one of the henchmen holding him in place.

“Best give this part back, we don’t need it.”

The man hesitated.

“Get a move on,” growled the Hood.

John flinched as the earpiece was replaced, his head filled again with the sounds of his family calling to each other back and forth.

The Hood fingered the lapel thoughtfully.

“I can open a transmission to them. Should I do that John? Let them know how helpless you are? How helpless they are?”

“Thunderbird Five calling unknown operator, come in please.”

“They’ll find me. They won’t stop searching.”

“Such faith in family.” The Hood peered into John’s eyes. “Do you really believe that? Surely you recall their past failures. Their prejudices. Their arrogance.”

“We have received an SOS from your location. Please respond.”

He leaned closer.

“John, if you’re out there, give us a sign. Anything. Please.”

Alan’s voice broke. John could hear the shuffling motion of a brother pulling another close. Gordon’s calm, steady voice took over the call.

“You’re about to find out what I learnt long ago. Family lets us down. Family leaves us behind. Family don’t look forever.”

John’s heart thudded in his chest. The Hood’s lips twisted into a cruel smile, a knife twisting in the wound he’d just dealt.

“Of course, you already know that.”

>>>“Dad, we need you.”

>>> “Dad, we won’t stop looking.”

>>> “Dad, please.”

>>> “…”

>>> “Dad, they need me. They need Thunderbird Five.”

>>> “Scott says we have to stop.”

>>>“Dad, I think he’s right.”

John knew. John remembered.

The Hood opened the channel.

“Wait, wait Scott, we have a connection.”

“Can he hear us?”

“John? John?!”

“Anything you’d like me to pass on, John?”

The Hood smiled, a triumphant figure.

“Last chance.”

“Go to hell.”

He laughed, fingers playing on the edge of the jacket lapel.

Twenty-two thousand miles above them, his laugh echoed across a suddenly silent space station.

[Part 3]

[siverwrites]

Coming Home

@fyeahghosttrick Ghost Swap treat for @azurefishnets. A little attempt at some Lovey-Dove as our perfect pigeon does deserve more love and that’s final. And by extension, Pigeon Man. Happy Ghost Swap my friend <3!

AO3 Link

The junkyard was a place of change. The pigeon hadn’t meant to stray there late one day, but she’d been separated and lost from her old flock for too long. She was alone now and she found herself here amongst the heaps of junk and garbage. There wasn’t much help to be found by way of shelter or food and the place was more dangerous than she knew.

As she poked around, fluttering to one place and hopping to another, investigating, it happened. Something in the great heaps fell and she became pinned under the object, legs and wings useless. There was pain and no amount of frantic flapping or loud chirps did anything to free her.

It was then the human came, a small man who moved slowly by the garbage, pausing every now and then, tilting his head as if to listen. She cooed and chirped again. Would this human help her or merely ignore her as so many humans did? Or worse, hurt her more for being a ‘pest’ and a ‘dirty nuisance’?

“There you are.”

So the man did spot her. As he approached she stilled and a little of the pain faded. No, he wouldn’t help. His mouth was turned down in that way humans wore before chasing her and her brethren away. Angry or disgusted.

“What are you doing here?”

The man crouched, reached out and the weight lifted from her. She struggled to stand. She’d run, fly away, but her leg wouldn’t work right and she flopped.

“Easy, little one.”

The man’s frown was deeper than ever but the sound of his voice didn’t match the anger he seemingly wore. He spoke quietly and slowly. Soft. There was another small human, a child, who used to speak like that and sat near her old flock, tossing them seeds. Maybe he was like that one. She kept herself still as he reached out, his movements still slow.

Cautious fingers probed. Then the man stood and she wondered if she was wrong after all. Would he leave her? What would she do now? Instead he shrugged off his coat and knelt by her once more. With more of those gentle movement she found herself being wrapped in the coat and lifted. Once again her wings were pinned to her, but this was different. She sensed this somehow was safe and she snuggled deeper into the coat’s warmth.

She was brought into a building on the upper level. It was cluttered like outside but warm. The man placed her, coat and all, on a table and gave her water which she thankfully drank as best she was able while he stood by still frowning.

“Should get you properly looked at,” he muttered. With that he reached for and spoke into the black object like the others she saw outside and sometimes humans spoke into those too. She had eventually decided it was a way for them to communicate, like some sort of long ranged bird call.

The man’s words washed over her unheeded while she finished drinking her fill and huddled into the coat. It was a good nest for now. Maybe she’d sleep…  

  She woke in a different place. Her leg felt strange; something was wrapped around it, but she didn’t hurt so much. With a wobble she stood, on the alert for danger and wondering where she was now. And where was the man who took her?

“Awake, are you?”

Oh, there he was. The man stood over her and she was in some kind of shallow box. With a little more effort than she was accustomed to, she fluttered up to perch on the edge, balancing with another wobble. She was on another table and there was a huge, tall white box and a shorter but still big shiny looking box with knobs and some kind of window. The man jerked forward with a frown and hand outstretched before he suddenly pulled up short of touching her. But, it was all right; he was all right and she shuffled along the edge to get closer.

“I don’t want to have to take you to the vet again already.”

“Coo?”

“Oh all right.” He took her into his hands. She cooed again and cocked her head trying to make sense of her surroundings from this new vantage point. It didn’t really help much, but his hands were warm. That didn’t last long however as he then carried her over to a countertop and set her down. Before she could get too offended the man opened one of the many doors and took out a bowl. To her growing approval he then filled that bowl with seeds and set it down for her.

“Let’s get some food in you,” he said and leaned against the counter while she pecked at the seeds.

They were good—much better than the meager offerings she’d been able to find in the junkyard and the man let her take as much as she pleased. When she finished the man took her back to the box, muttering something about needing something else, but it was comfortable here and this human was clearly one of the nice ones.

And so something new began. She rested that night and in the morning they met again. Once again she tried to fly and once again the man frowned and she stopped. She didn’t want this human to be angry, but as he lifted her again ever so gently, she realized it wasn’t anger, but something she saw when a human would chase after their smaller humans and there would be raised voices and then hugs—merely trying to keep their chicks safe.

She would stay low for now. It felt harder to keep her balance and land anyway and the man brought her more water and this time a mix of seeds and fruit. But, they weren’t to stay here today.

“I can’t leave you here alone,” the man said and she soon found herself in the box in a truck and back to the junkyard room.

And the next several days passed as such. They went back and forth between the man’s home and the junkyard office—most of the time was spent in the office, sometimes well into the night and all night in one case during those first days. She didn’t mind. The location made little difference—the man was there either way—and besides the office had more to explore as she regained her strength. As those days passed, the man grew more talkative. She didn’t understand a lot of what he said, especially when he started talking at his desk over piles of papers and objects she also didn’t understand with words like ‘meteorite’ and ‘radiation’ but she liked to hear his voice.

It seemed he liked her too. He had no problem letting her perch nearby or on his shoulder or even a tentative landing into his hair—it looked so soft and better than any makeshift nest she’d tried making of scrap paper and whatever other bits he allowed her to take. He made an odd sound when she landed and then she realized it was a laugh. She hadn’t heard that from him before and found she very much liked the sound. The new perch was added to her daily rounds as she watched him work.

Then the day came. She’d regained her strength and the binding around her leg had been removed a few days prior. She felt utterly normal again as if she’d never been hurt in the first place. The tumble could be an ever growing distant memory to be forgotten.

She perched on the man’s shoulder as he went outside. Was it time for another walk around the junkyard? Or were they leaving early today?

The man’s shoulders lifted then sagged as he stopped just outside the office and spoke. “You did well, little one.” He reached up and she happily waddled into his hands. “It’s time to go now. Back to your life.”

She cocked her head. What did he mean? He lifted his hands up and she fluttered up to perch on a twisted metal rod nearby to stare at the man. Her life? She could leave now. She could leave and… be alone. She often saw humans with others, small flocks of their own that came and went and yet she never saw this man with anyone else. He was alone as she was. No, this was her life now. There was nothing else she wanted to return to. She took off from the rod to return to her perch among his hair.

He twitched, startled and reached up to pet her. “You can go. You’re all better.”

“Cooo.”

“This junkyard is no home for a lovely dove like you.”

“Coo!”

“Hm. That’s it then, is it? Well, come along then.”

Now it was back to being the day it was supposed to be. Their routine continued as normal until that very evening. The man fell asleep over the table his head pillowed in his arms while she’d been strutting around the desk poking at the various items, the coloured sticks and the black chirping box and so forth. She flew over to the table landing near the stack of papers and the other weird object she was pretty sure he’d called a micro-something. She nestled against his arms amongst these items she still didn’t understand, but there was one thing she understood. This here with this man was home now.

[perish-the-creator]

The Heat of The Moment

{Rodan x Godzilla} {Warning: intimate encounter} {Refrences to the mating calls will be linked} 

Prompt: Rodan has entered heat and proceeds to let it be known. The Monarch employees are beyond perplexed when a certain king comes to answer the call.

Isla de Mara was never the same after the rude awakening that was the titanus Rodan swooping through the sky and rattled the fundamentals of life that had established themselves below his home for the past hundreds or so years. No one could ever shake off the feeling of the damage he had caused, nor were there many who were willing to try and reclaim the land as their own. The former residents, for the most part, had surrendered their keep of the island and fleed to find new homes. It wasn’t uncommon actually now. There were huge masses of refugees escaping being under the horrid blanket of the creatures that could wipe them out without a second thought.  But few did remain on the island. Very few. And those that did explained it away via speaking of their bloodline and how their ancestors were the ones to worship him. They did not admit to renouncing the Christian god, but they proposed living under Rodan as if he were a divine being. 

Of course, the majority thought those people were crazy but nevertheless bothered trying to persuade them. If they wanted to live with the constant threat of being flattened by the powerful gust produced by the wings of that demon, so be it. 

Monarch themselves were worried about the people who dared to stay rooted in the land that belongs to Rodan. But their responses were snickers and chuckles about how the threat was always there, at least this time they could see it coming. And truth be told they had a point. As Monarch began constructing another outpost a few miles away from the island, they noticed how Rodan appeared to be rather docile. As if he understood the threat he lingered over the town. If he flew away he’d make sure his gust isn’t directed towards the people. 

After about a year or so, people began to return to the island. At this point, Rodan was more like a big brother. A watchful eye that only reacts if one were to screw up. So for a while, life resumed. Things began to go back to how they used to be just with the added firebird in mind. Until Rodan began acting weirdly. 

It started with his calls. They were loud yet rhythmic as if he were singing a song. The noise had startled many of the residents on the island, some grabbing their emergency escape bags and ready to run for it. But they were relieved to see that noises were all he was doing. He’d stand at the edge of the volcanic mouth and let out a deep chirp. Bobbing his head up and down a little bit and shuffling. The display only lasted about ten minutes but it was enough to get the scientist at his outpost to contact those who had some experience with this guy. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mark was a bit hesitant to return to this place again. So many places created so many scars in his mind. He was also extremely worried about bringing Madison back too. The two of them, while still struggling, were attempting to repair the broken bond. And it didn’t help that both had developed a bit of PTSD. Madison gained a nasty fear of thunderstorms and had break downs when lightning flashed. Mark remembers many nights of having to sit on the floor with her as she covered her ears and cried for it to go away. No one likes seeing their kid like this. 

But at the same time, she wanted to be here. As far as she’s concerned she held no previous ties to the fire demon. She had failed to bear witness to whatever carnage he had created. That’s why she doesn’t shiver at videos or photos of him compared to…

“So,” Stanton began, having been another individual who had been requested to come back. “Got any idea as to what the hell he’s up to?” 

They all look at the monitor, watching as he strutted around his volcano, bobbing his head back and forth while screeching. Mark stared curiously. Rodan was a tricky guy to try and figure out. A rebel. A wild card with unpredictable motives.

“We thought it was due to our drones,” A female scientist spoke. “But after we stopped using them he still kept doing…well…this.” 

Rodan circled around some more, squawking and rocking side to side. Madison couldn’t help much laugh a little. Her father noticed. 

“What’s funny?”

“Heh, it’s just, he’s like the birds in the videos. Dancing around and whatnot.”It was kinda cute if she were honest. It was just hilarious to see a creature that is so complicated and revered acting like this. 

“Ah,’ Stanton said with a bit of surprise. “Come look at these stats man.” They all huddle over to him, getting the best view possible. Stanton chuckled a little bit. 

“So I played back a few of the sounds and this new system compared it to other sounds in our database. Apparently, it’s-”

“A mating call.” Mark finished, feeling his face flush a bit. There were already enough of these big fellows as is, so of course, it made his heart jump at the thought that this beast is attempting to procreate. 

“So who’s he putting it on for? Last I checked there aren’t many fire turkey chicks.” Stanton responded in a jokey fashion as an attempt to lighten the mood. Of course, anyone would be up in arms if they found out a bloodthirsty volcano chicken wanted to make more baby volcano chickens. 

Just them the monitors pick up another presence. A deep rumble that returned the calls of Rodan from the depths. A brief thought passes them their brains of who it might be, but they try to dismiss the possibility. There was no way HE was going to answer the call, right? Why choose an individual who sided with your enemy and wounded their symbiotic partner? 

Apparently, titans didn’t use that logic and everyone in the outpost were more than shocked to find out that indeed the king of the monsters was making moves on the fire demon. 

“Well…wasn’t expecting that.” Mark speaking what everyone was thinking. They watched with their breaths held. 

Godzilla rose from the water, making his presence known by letting out his iconic roar. Certainly, the people of Isla de Mara very terrified. Was a fight about to break out? Were their homes they had spent months rebuilding about to be destroyed again? Will some of them die? However, worry died down when they noticed neither titan appeared threatened by each other. They just sort of stared, er Godzilla did, Rodan tilted his head side to side and chirped again and again. 

“Is that a taunt?” A random intern asked. Another punched his arm, telling him how less than ten minutes ago it was said that this was a mating call. 

“I guess we should just sit back and enjoy the show, huh?” Stanton once again playfully asked. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rodan rotated his head side to side, never really taking his eyes off of the king. He had entered the dreadful heat and was desperate for anyone to come and end it. He was a bit overwhelmed that the alpha himself would answer his call. But that didn’t mean he had to accept him if the king failed to impress him. 

He knew Godzilla wasn’t like him and he was a bit nervous as to whether or not the king would even understand his gestures. A plausible conclusion was that Godzilla mistook his call as an intimidation threat and Rodan wanted to fight. But at the moment Godzilla had not attempted to assault him. Maybe he understood?

Rodan was then astounded when Godzilla started to mimic his head turns and giving mock chirps. Okay, so he did understand! Rodan continued on with his display. He opened his wings and flapped them, jumping slightly in the air and squawking. He did this about five times, each noise louder than the last. Godzilla’s head followed the motions of Rodan, clearly very interested and locked in.

The king gave a reply via gruffs and wiggling his head. As Rodan had done in the beginning, this act establishes that he’s considering mating with him. It’s not a yes but defiantly not a no. The fire demon chirped, happy that he is considered. Now, he can do his final act that’ll hopefully seal the deal.

Rodan begins his dance, chirping and rocking side the side. It was as if he were going along to some unheard melody. He was determined and in his element, striving to impress the king. It was instinct after all, and instinct was a means of self-preservation and enhancement. 

Godzilla watched with attentive eyes. The dance was working. He was pulled in. His head bobbed too, once again mimicking his potential mate to communicate that he wanted the other. It was a pleasure to watch. Godzilla hadn’t had a proper courting ritual in millions of years since the extinction. Even then, because of his small stature at the time he’s never had a successful one. So it was more than wonderful that this was working out. 

Rodan concluded, turning his head side to side again. A loud squawk once more left his beak, but the direction was for Godzilla. He could want Rodan all he wanted but if his display wasn’t up to pare then Rodan had the right to decline him. 

Godzilla snorted through his nose and gruffed three times before sinking into the water a bit. That’s when he began his mating call. His head stayed above water, raised slightly up towards the firebird. A deep rumble emits from him and his back submerges for a mere second. Large bubbles fizz around his sides as he rumbles again and repeats the process. He repeated making the earth rattling rumble towards his courting partner, trying his hardest to impress the other. The smell of his desperate arousal drove Godzilla crazy. Titans in heat were rare, and titans who wanted to mate while in said heat were rarer. Especially from a different species. Perhaps the term miracle could be thrown around at this point because this might be Godzilla’s only chance to have a partner who will be sexually active with him. 

He momentarily stops his call and opens his mouth, letting out loud gruff reminiscent of a lion. The objective was to make sure Rodan was still paying attention. And Rodan responded, chirping in a low mimick of his gruff, of course not as heavy. 

Godzilla spent another minute or so alternating between the two sounds until he saw that Rodan was satisfied. The fire demon waddled down the mountain like a cockatiel, very playful and adorable by both human and titan standards. Godzilla emerged from the water and stepped himself onto the beach, snorting again as if asking if Rodan accepted him.

And Rodan did. 

Rodan chirped and Godzilla mimicked it. Then Godzilla gave a low rumble and Rodan replicated. Indeed, they were now a mated pair. Godzilla leaned down and nuzzled his snout against the rough beak of his new partner, both throat emitting vibrations of contempt. 

Rodan then nipped at Godzilla’s neck before lightly knocking his foot against the region in which Godzilla’s genitals would come from. Godzilla huffed, licking the top of Rodan’s head. The smell was unbearable, and it took everything in the king to not mount the bird roughly whether or not the other wanted it. But he understood that if he forced himself he’d risk never being able to mate again, and that was something he couldn’t lose. 

Rodan chirped again before turning around and presenting himself. Like most birds, he possessed a cloaca, making it hard for the unknowable to know his gender. But then again, his kind didn’t follow the linear rules the small humans had on the subject.

Godzilla was more than happy to allow himself to be exposed, gently rubbing his length against Rodan’s tail instead. It was to not only impress his mate but also warn him of the coming mass that would soon enter his body. The king gruff again, the noise vibrating in his throat for a moment. Rodan gave a whimper, an act of submission that let the king know he could enter.

With that, Godzilla snorted and pressed himself inside, both creatures wailing out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“OOOH KAY!!” Mark shouted out as he quickly covered up Madison’s eyes. Some of the newer interns began to laugh some, one even falling to the floor holding his sides.

“Oof, well, at least we know the courting works.” Stanton chuckles. “Wonder if that technique works on humans haha!” 

“Poor guy,” A woman winces. “Looked a bit big for him.” Another scientist smirks. 

“Poor people on the island. Imagine having to explain to your kid why two big monsters are on each other like that. Oof, if it’s loud from here just think about how ear-piercing it is for those guys.”

Madison argued with her father as he proceeded to walk her out the observation room with his hands over her eyes. Apparently, seeing multitudes of people dying, nearly facing death yourself, and even being considered a member of a very important research agency means nothing when it comes to observing the mating patterns of titans. 

Oh well, the file will be stored away with the rest of their courting footage. She’ll just have to watch it behind her father’s back.

[modestlyabsurd]

Compromised (Loki x Reader)

"We're gonna need reinforcements."

Steve Rogers tensed at Natasha Romanoff's grim implication.

The thought rolls around in his mind - all the possible conflicts, outcomes, subsequent issues. It's the last thing he wants to do. But those scenarios meshed with the image of God knows what's happening to you right now at the hands of God knows who.

All of them would rather not do it. What choice do they have, though? With the loss of your cell phone signal, and with no knowledge of who's behind this, it leaves them in an uncomfortable helpless rut.

For a second Steve gets angry at the matter. Of everyone in the compound - every employee, every intern, every agent, and not to mention the Avengers - why would someone target one of the youngest, most caring, innocent, good-doing people in the facility? Why you?

And then he realizes; the answers are there. They're obvious. That's why Natasha is resorting to this, knowing what it encompasses. This leaves him no choice but to use his training to twist that anger into pure determination before someone gets hurt.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," he concludes out loud.

Natasha gives a tight nod and rushes to go find Bruce Banner and Agent Maria Hill.

~

Illuminated by blue screens and beads of sweat, the agents' faces clearly reflect the matter at hand. Bruce presses his fingertips into his temple, Maria bites her nails in concentration, while Steve and Natasha exchange apprehensive glances. They can't bring themselves to look at the screen, the words "waiting for communication" looking coldly back. It never seemed to take this long for a reply.

Tony Stark and Clint Barton were promptly notified hours before at the beginning of the circumstance. While the rest of the world must continue to turn when duty calls, they've both been put on direct standby if needed.

Steve's wondering, staring that white spinning circle down, controlling his temper. Are these guys gonna pull through when needed the most? At this rate, going on twenty minutes of lost time spent waiting while you're still gone, he's losing patience. And with that, he's losing trust. Respect.

He only has faith in one God. But these guys are supposed to be dependable.

"Maybe we should reconsider this."

Natasha sighs, "Steve - "

"Look, we're wasting time." He uncrosses his arms defensively. "We need to be aggressively searching and we're just gonna sit here like lumps on a log?"

"We are searching, we've got every unit on it and every one is coming up cold. This is clearly out of our hands if we can't find any breadcrumbs whatsoever. It's our best bet."

"How do we even know they can help?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Natasha's rolling her eyes at Steve's frustrated nonsense when a distinct ping sounds from the oversized monitor, followed by Bruce stammering.

"Wait wait wait hold on, I got something," he clicks the mouse and types rapidly.

"Connection is established," a computerized female voice speaks. Everyone lets out sounds of relief simultaneously.

"Can we get verbal communication now?" says Maria impatiently, swiping her fringe from her eyes.

Bruce shifts as she hovers over him at the computer desk, "Should be able to - yeah, just give me a second ... " he trails off while clicking away at the tabs and windows popping up on the screen.

Steve shifts on his feet as well, anxious to make some sort of progress. He stares at the computer for answers, only to become even more frustrated because he doesn't understand anything he sees.

He does, however, understand the words "communication unavailable" in red letters spread across the screen. A swear word wisps from his throat quietly enough that no one else knew, along with words from the others.

"That's alright, just calm down. I still have a connection and can send them a distress signal," says Bruce.

"Well, get on it then!" Steve snaps.

It's not often that Natasha is the voice of reason. But when she needs to be, she's damn good at it. She may not even mind it, being the pacifier from time to time.

She steps in front of Steve's view, gentleness in her eyes looking up at him. "Why don't you go take a break? You might wanna recharge for a minute." She grins, "For lack of a better term."

Leaving everyone to their devices and standing idly by is not Steve Rogers' forte. Especially not when the life of someone he cares about is on the line, up for grabs. Out in limbo. What in the world happened her? he thinks, as a wave of pain ripples through his forehead. A stress-induced headache.

He massages the bridge of his nose in anguish. Maybe Natasha has a point. Come to think of it, he hasn't even had breakfast, as it draws into late-afternoon.

Little does he know how Natasha's manipulation skills are working so well. She convinces herself it's for the greater good - and she's right. What good is a distracted soldier in a war?

Steve gives in. For a little less than an hour he's supposed to be "recharging". When Agent Hill runs to the gym in Stark Tower and finds him destroying a punching bag down to the stuffing with his bare fists, she knows he's been fully charged.

Exactly what they needed.

Out of breath, she tries to catch Steve's attention. In his controlled stupor he hears nothing.

"Steve," Maria huffs, "Steve!"

He whips around mid-punch - sweaty, red-faced, arms bulging. Furious.

Maria nods rapidly, wide eyed. "We've got 'em on the line."

Steve and Agent Hill speed walk down the corridors to the computer lab. No sounds but that of their boots hitting the descending floor levels and their pounding heartbeats.

On the way Steve clears the rest of the clouds from his mind, what the workout couldn't get rid of. "How'd you get the connection?" he asks - not really meaning to out loud, but it filled the silence and slowed his mind down.

"Fury gave us the access code into one of our astro-energy receptors," her voice cracks with her steps, "Banner contacted Stark and was able to link JARVIS to the system which gave us a communication inlet. They've been exchanging written messages but ... we all agreed that you would likely be the best one to break the news."

"All this time with a line of communication and you haven't even told them?" Steve begins, but quickly stops himself. Now's not the time; this is good, this is progress. He doesn't skip another beat until they arrive to the lab.

When they walk in, Maria takes a backseat to Steve as he hesitates halfway to approach the computer. From across the room somewhere, Bruce sees something on the screen and squeezes by Steve's unusually intimidating frame. His eyes light up, "Looks like we've got a voice connection now."

He barely hears Bruce say that they've successfully got them en route, before politely shoving by him and Natasha to see the screen - again feeling like a caveman trying to comprehend it.

As a silence fills the thick air, Natasha knows why. She glances down and notices Steve's fingers twitching ever so slightly. From her position beside of Bruce, she lightly hits Bruce's bicep and motions to what she's seeing; Captain America instead of Steve Rogers.

Not quite as reassured as Natasha, Bruce watches his demeanor further. He follows his eyes studying the words on the monitor. It's then that it clicks; what's causing the change. Bruce gently prods him in the arm. "You wanna talk to him or ... ?"

"Yes."

After some clicks and typing, Bruce has the microphone set up. Steve looks off in the distance - away from what he's about to do.

"Does anybody copy?" he says.

A few seconds pass.

...

"Ah, the soldier." A mocking voice comes through. "Now what on Earth could ever bring you to speak to me?"

The room goes cold. Everyone's skin jumps just a bit as old memories flash back, but only for a moment. Composing himself, Steve speaks again.

"Loki ... She's been compromised."

~

Earth's mightiest heroes. That's what those incompetent fools call themselves.

The ones charged with keeping their home planet and those who reside in it protected from danger have allowed one of their own colleagues to be captured, right beneath their noses. And yet, the humans still trust them gravely. A mockery. A damned disgrace. Midgard never ceases to astonish.

On any day, issues such as this would be but the buzzing of a fly - it would never concern Loki, or any of Asgard for that matter. An alliance has been made and continues to be upheld, but no need to call in the help of another realm unless absolutely necessary.

But if they hadn't contacted Loki, if he'd  found out on his own, they would've had to restrain him like an animal and pray it would save themselves from being torn apart limb from limb.

Luckily for the Avengers, it didn't happen that way. Instead, he's here. Hiding under invisibility in the shadows of this dark, barren planet, far away from home. Surrounded by eerie black skies free of any sunshine. Feeling his way through cool walls of rock beneath his palms. All too familiar; a place he wished upon no one to be. Well actually, on second thought, he would possibly like to send the Avengers here ... but the last person deserving of this place is you.

You. His little Midgardian dove.

Your shy touch, soft eyes, your sweet kiss. Your warm embrace; him hating the fact that he loves - no, needs it. Your clammy hands; your blushed cheeks when he tangles his fingers with them. Your entire self lighting up whenever you see him, and for what he'll never understand. Your lovely little way of keeping him firmly grounded, yet on his toes at the same time.

Your captors took that when they took you. Left behind was a murderous rage in Loki.

But he doesn't act on it. Not just yet.

He's made himself a perch, a bird's eye view from ground level. Looking on at the place where everything changed just a few years prior, the fear he remembers, while just below the surface, seems a light-year away at the moment.

Over a boulder, he sees one of their ships in the distance. Steady streams of smoke coming from the rear indicated either an emergency landing, or failure from the ship's operator. He dials in closely. Guards lay motionless spread on the ground. Could it be ...?

Loki goes to gate of the ship. His suspicions are confirmed.

It's them. It's him.

Upon closer examination he sees their hideous faces twisted in agony, frozen in time. A smile pulls at him in brief satisfaction. Fitting, he thinks. He can't tell how the three of them died, but it's clear they're dead. He forces himself to peel his eyes away from the gratifying sight.

And just as soon as he does, he senses a presence approaching. Immediately he's contemplating a move before the being even knows he's there.

Loki drops the invisibility spell and starts to enter the rubble that's left of the ship. Nothing's really there to be found - though he's absolutely positive that at one point, possibly just moments ago, there was indeed something to be found.

The disturbance also caught the attention he wanted, an inhuman noise cutting the near silence.

"You do not belong here, Asgardian," it speaks in a guttural snarl.

Loki smirks and plays along. Without turning around, he raises his open hands in surrender. "Yes, you're right. Though I do terribly apologize for whatever has happened to your ship," he slowly turns.

Oh yes, it is them. He'd almost forgotten just how repulsive these creatures truly are. And they have you in their cold, evil hands.

Luckily, self-control is something Loki is quite skilled at.

The being that distinctly resembles the one he dealt with who he knew only as Other, tilts its head to the side, evaluating him.

Loki interjects before it can speak again, "If I may explain myself ... In truth, I've come looking for something; and on my search I came across this, this, wreckage. Ah, what a shame." He shakes his head, feigning pity. "But since you've survived, perhaps you would be willing to assist me."

The being grows suspicious.

"I may even be able to return the favor."

It bares its disgusting teeth and gums. "A gamble with the Chitauri?"

"I prefer a bargain. After all, you seem to be in a rather large predicament here," Loki motions to the crash site.

The creature appears to sadden at the loss of the ship for just a split second. That's all Loki needed - he knows it's convinced that their predicament is more severe than his. A breeze howls, blowing dark blue dust behind the creature's metal boots.

Seconds pass. Loki never breaks eye contact with the being, and lets his lack of fear be known.

"Yes," the creature hisses, "it would seem so. Of what assistance could you be to us?"

There's more of them somewhere, Loki's mind jumps.

He plays it off well. "I'm quite good directionally. If you tell me where your people's destination was, I could get you there faster than this ship would've."

Careful, he reminds himself. Seeing the two thumbs on the creature's gray hands flexing is a good indication not to get too snarky.

He thinks of you. It keeps him calm.

But then, the air changes.

Under his armor the skin of his arms raises in goose flesh. A shiver threatens to ripple through his body. He feels himself moving, although both him and the creature have remained still. Locked on each other. The sensation brings about memories he doesn't wish to revisit.

The being begins to raise its hand, to test him. To use its power to tear apart Loki's mind from the inside out. To graze him with concentrated pain. A defense mechanism, a torture method, and a good one at that.

It never got the opportunity. It fell to its knees after noticing Loki had disappeared. Pain barely registers behind its legs before a horrible stinging, burning, pounding feeling pours from its shoulder.

A continuous hissing wail erupts from its throat. Blinded by white hot pain. Instinctively a deformed hand reaches up to the wound, only to feel a handle of some sort sticking up from it.

The wails begin to get weaker, as the world darkens around the creature. As though it is falling into a bottomless pit; just before it slips into the abyss, an uncontrollable vivid vision plays in its mind.

Loki squeezed the creature's forehead as hard as he could, just for good measure.

He closed his eyes and watched the images. He recognized so much of it. The throne hovering above ground. The incredible starlight. He saw figures of those standing guard as well as the one in their grip - struggling, flailing, screaming. Fighting.

He grew angrier and angrier. Your hair, your clothes. Your body.

You.

Loki saw red. Dark, metallic, sticky red.

"Where is she?"

He made a point not to kill the being. A small dagger strategically laced with poison to keep the victim awake.

The being pants, mouth desperately hanging open. It drawls in a wave of pain, "I do not know who ... "

Loki twists the dagger.

Over gurgling yells, he growls next to the creature's head, "The girl. The human. The Midgardian, where is she?!" He screams the last of it.

Before it takes another breath Loki pulls the cold dagger out, then sinks it into the other shoulder. As the poison works, the being inwardly wishes for death. "Closer ... than you think," it chokes out.

"Where?!" He twists the dagger again, rendering the being morbidly defenseless.

It screams something in a foreign tongue. Loki's brow furrows, about to pivot the knife to pop the shoulder off when the images around him alter.

In a cloud of smoke, the rubble left from the crashed ship is revealed to be nothing but an illusion. The smoke clears to unveil the hidden sight; Chitauri standing in a defensive line ready to attack, and just behind that line is three or more of them - he cautiously looks closer to find that they're surrounding you.

That's all he needed.

He hesitates no further at the sight of you to raise the stabbed creature up, roughly pulling out the dagger and exposing its neck to it.

It's when he speaks that he realizes he's ran out of breath and his blood is running hot.

"Let her go ... or I will retrieve her myself."

The creature in his grasp shakes violently, whimpering, a blood-like substance oozing from both shoulders. Loki feels it getting on his hands, on his chin.

"Make your move," he taunts them.

A few of them cock their heads.

Then one of them raises a spear.

The knife sinks into the dying creature's neck and Loki drops it, conjuring and strategically throwing two more in a matter of seconds. Three Chitauri drop dead.

Five more come forward. Loki creates another two daggers and uses their momentum to slash critical points - the neck, chest, and head. He hits each with precision. Two larger Chitauri come barreling toward him as he conjures an illusion of himself, leading them a few feet away before throwing knives into their necks from behind. They drop with bleeding wounds.

One grabs his shoulder. Loki whips around with incredible speed and kicks the creature behind the knees then twists its neck, killing it instantly.

He's now facing you. Through wild strands of hair he makes eye contact with you. You're a distance away, held in place by chains to a boulder. His throat flutters at your loving eyes.

He gets lost in them, as always. His feet slowly take him over to you, and he sees the marks on your face. No, no no no, his mind starts racing at what they've done to you, when a hard blow to the middle of his back knocks him to his knees.

He sees the sky, now a dusty brown haze.

He feels the tip of a cold metal at the back of his neck.

You gasp, afraid to make a sound. You can't breathe, you can't think, seeing Loki with a spear to his neck.

The alien son of a bitch says something to him, but you can't hear it from your position as well as over the amplified sound of your blood pumping. Loki's face curled up in pain ...

His hands are up, his eyes squinted shut. The alien begins stepping closer to his back, angling the spear downward toward his spine. He winces, making your entire body jerk against the restraints like a rabid dog. A defenseless rabid dog.

Loki opens his eyes, locking with yours. You watch as the alien steps flush against his back, the spear pointed straight down against his skin. You see something in him you've only seen maybe once - and never in such a circumstance - fear. He's scared of dying.

You panic. In a frenzy you look around for something, anything, and quickly realize there's nothing you can do. No way to distract. No way to kill. You can barely even move for fuck's sake.

Loki eyes you, trying to ask something. You shake your head, not understanding, but then you quickly see it. Unbeknownst to the alien he's conjured another blade, but he can't see where to swing it.

You become his eyes. He needs a kill shot. The blade is in his right hand. Keeping eye contact, you wiggle your left foot. Rock scrapes beneath your shoe.

Thank goodness, he understood that primary gesture.

He whips his arm around and slices the alien's Achilles tendon open.

The ground thumps with the fall. Loki stands up and crouches over the alien; you see his arm swinging down near its face multiple times, until it doesn't move anymore.

This time, when he sees you, he doesn't walk leisurely. He runs his ass off and nearly crashes into you.

As his hands go to the chains around you, you can't take your eyes off him. It doesn't feel real. None of it feels real up to this point. All this time you've felt so heavy, like cinder blocks. The smell of travels, sweat, blood and that of Loki envelopes you, his frame shadowing you from the massacre that just occurred.

You've been staring at his chest. You lift your head to his face, and you feel light as a feather. Pure, unrefined relief in a physical form looks like Loki. You can almost taste it it's so sweet.

You hear his heavy breathing, the washing sound of a radio speaking the words "Congratulations, you're an Avenger now", and the clangs of metal falling to the ground piece by piece. The coldness falls from your skin, replaced by the familiar coldness of his hands on your cheeks.

He says something, you don't quite catch it. "Are you alright, my dear? Did they hurt you?" he says louder, gently shaking your head.

"You found me," it comes out as a weak whisper. "How ... ?"

His face flashes with disdain at the thought of those imbecile Avengers. "I had a bit of help. A small, small bit," he smiles at you, resisting the want to hold you close to him and never ever let you go again. He squeezes your cheeks in his hands and gives you a long kiss to your forehead.

You smile tiredly, falling into his chest. "I've never seen you fight like that," you murmer.

He tenses, "I know. I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve to see that."

You look up, your chin against the brass of his chest plate. "I thought it was pretty hot."

~

tag list: @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @afinedilemma @fire-in-her-veinz @paradisaicsam @drakesfiance

[currebunz]

Burn The Candle At Both Ends Ch 10

AO3 Link

Pain shot through your body, mostly due to the fact you were bound tightly. The rough ropes dug into your skin and irritated you after a while. At least you weren't being kept in a cell, the room was nice but being bound to a chair was still being bound to a chair. Any hopes of escaped were dashed as the large man with a scar came to get you. "Any funny business and I can't be held responsible for my actions" he smirked. He lifted you out of your seat with one hand, placing you back on the ground with a rough shove. You walked out into the hallway, running into the little boy again. "This way, this way" he chirped leading you along the path. From the passing windows, you could tell it was dark out.

Your mind wandered to Endeavor, no doubt he wasn't troubled by your disappearance. You were sure Sir Nighteye would show more concern and possibly contact your boss. That was your only hope, but it was unlikely they would make it in time. You felt a tug on your ropes, the little boy had been speaking. "I gotta blindfold you now, no peeking" he placed the cloth around your eyes and tied too tight for your liking. You became more cautious with each step, the ground shifting under your feet. You could tell you were outside at least, the humming of an engine was more than enough proof. Someone grabbed your bindings and lifted you with ease. You felt yourself being tossed into the back of the vehicle, painfully meeting the cold metallic interior. You heard the little boy fuss and a low chuckle. "My hand slipped~" yeah right.

You sat quietly as the vehicle began moving. You were at a disadvantage in all directions, all you could do was wait. For some reason, that was worse than being captive. You were waiting to reach an unknown destination, waiting for them to do whatever they were planning, and waiting for death. Your stomach felt sick, you had to calm yourself. You thought of Dabi, hopefully, by now, he would realize you weren't at home. Unfortunately, there was no way for him to know what had happened. But right now, he was your saving grace. Thinking of him kept you calm, at least enough to focus on surviving this.

The vehicle came to a stop, you heard multiple doors shut and the creaking of large doors. There was a tug on your blindfold, the fabric fluttered to the floor and dim light filled your vision. "Follow me, oh before I forget" the little boy whipped his hands around and created bubbled on your forehead. "Water Tiara!" he laughed. You felt the moisture on your skin, it held its place, seemingly defying gravity. "I pressurized the water so it's only being held together by that if you try anything funny, I'll have to kill you!" he giggled. You swallowed hard, well that narrowed your choices down.

You took this time to take in your surroundings. By the looks of it, you were somewhere underground. The dripping water and echoes of the familiar sound of subways only confirmed your speculation. Where ever you were, it wasn't remote enough you could get away on your own. The little boy broke off from the others, leading you down a dark corridor. You heard a bubbling on your forehead, no doubt a warning. The path ended at a large pit, giving you a morbid idea of what was going to go down. "In ya go" the boy gave your bindings a tug, releasing them from you. He pushed you into the large pit, resulting in you landing harshly on your ass. You sat up slowly, dusting yourself off.

The surrounding walls were made of rough concrete, damp from water most likely. You noticed a reddish hue to the stone. At first, you thought it was rust. On closer inspection, you could tell it was blood. You backed up against the wall, curling into a ball. This wasn't going to be a simple negotiation.

Dabi was hardly impressed with the choice of negotiation. Damp and dark didn't work well for his quirk. He leaned against the wall of the tunnel. Spinner and Magne would be bringing the nomu as requested. They would trade a nomu for a "special" hostage. It sounded too shady for Dabi's liking. He heard a groan and a thud, the nomu was becoming restless. He stepped to the side as Spinner and Magne passed with the deformed creature. He never really like the nomu, but they had an expendable advantage. Dabi followed behind them, meeting up with Shigaraki, Kurogiri, Toga, Twice, and Mr. Compress.

There was a large pit in the center of the area, on the other side sat their business partners. "Shigaraki Tomura, the leader of the Leauge of villains, I'm glad you made it" a young woman announced with a bow. From the shadows, Dabi could make out a few other people behind her. They came just as prepared as Shigarki had.

"My name-"

"IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT YOUR NAME IS!" Twice yelled aloud.

The girl paused, obviously taken back by his outburst.

"He's right, you're on our time so you better not disappoint" Shigaraki warned. The girl hummed, closing her eyes and smiling. "Fair enough, you may refer to us as Trident" she settled. The others behind her shifted, only stopping when she raised a hand. "We would like to offer an alliance with the league, we've already gone as far to secure a hostage for you" she explained. Lights switched on, illuminating the area. Dabi could now see the pit, by the marking inside he knew it was for fighting.

"What good is a hostage to us?" Shigaraki asked rather annoyed. "This hostage has ties to Endeavour and the Hero community, I'm sure they would miss her dearly" she explained. Twice peeked down into the pit with Toga, both childlike curiosities getting the better of them. Spinner looked anxious but didn't bother looking. As for everyone else, it wasn't in their best interest. "Or she'd make a nice stain on the wall for the hero community, another life they couldn't save" she continued darkly. Toga let out a happy giggle at the mention of killing.

Dabi, who finally had enough, looked over the edge to gauge for himself.

Why the fuck were you here?

You were curled up against the wall, obviously trying to hide from them all. "Release the nomu" Kurogiri ordered. Spinner and Magne unbound the nomu. "Hold on, I don't buy this" Dabi argued. He had to do something to get you out of there. They both held the nomu back, hesitating. "Let. The. Nomu. Play." Shigaraki punctuated loudly. He wanted some entertainment to keep him in a good mood. Despite Dabi's efforts, Spinner and Magne pushed the nomu over the edge.

And into the pit with you.

You heard voice overhead, but you kept to yourself. It wasn't until you heard a loud thud, did you look up. There was a pained his, sound of skin beating on the hard concrete and the squelching of something wet. The silhouette of something sinister moved erratically across from you. You heard hissing and wheezing as the creature raised itself up. It stopped moving, only twitching occasionally. You could tell it was looking at you. Remaining still, you tried to make out the shape. It was obviously larger than you, but its shape was inhuman. You heard a clicking noise, the creature must be assessing the situation. Suddenly, the creature began moving.

Slowly, it crawled into the light, revealing it's terrible form to you. The creature looked like a human crawling on the ground, it not for the protruding joints indicating it had been molded into that shape. It's flesh looked like it was rotting off its body, patches of vulnerable skin bloomed across its body. These patches pulsated with the muscles and organs underneath, spasming when the creature hissed. Its head was mostly exposed nerve tissue, save for bloodshot eyes and jagged teeth. You held your breath in disgust. You recognized the key characteristics of a nomu. The creature was still crawling slowly, tilting its head from side to side.

In a matter of minutes, the creature would be upon you. It was time to act. Looking around, you noticed there were no exits. A large caged doorway was your only hope, however, from the scratches on the cage, you could tell it wasn't a lot of hope. You looked around for anything that you could use to fend off the nomu at least. There were pipes along the wall that looked like they could be wedged off. You jumped to your feet and took off to the nearest set of pipes. A loud screech from behind you alerted you of the nomu's haste. The sound of beating flesh became louder and quicker as the creature pursued you.

Upon reaching the wall, you grasped the cool metal and pulled with all your strength. The pipes budged, but not enough to come loose. Your heartbeat echoed loudly in your ears as panic overcame you. But there was no time to panic, the nomu had already caught up. It's powerful hand slammed into the pipes next to you, thankfully loosening the pipe for you. With pipe in hand, you swung it across the face of the nomu. The sickening crack as its head bent at an angle made you feel sick. Although, when it forces its head back into place, you really did gag a little. You created some distance between yourself and the nomu, holding the pipe defensively as the nomu corrected itself. There was no injury left behind by your swing, but your pipe already began to form a dent.

Now you had to decide, which would last,

You or the nomu?

Your little show of resistance provided some entertainment for the others. Shigaraki was slightly impressed, raising his mood as Trident continued to negotiate their plans. Plus, it kept Toga and Twice quiet, two birds and one stone. Although, not everyone was keen on the exchange. Dabi was overcome by so many emotions even he didn't understand. His fury outbalanced it, however, leading him to leave the peanut gallery of villains. "Oh? Where are you off to?" Magne asked. Dabi had to refrain from setting the entire floor on fire. "Gonna get a breath of fresh air, smells like shit down here" he sighed. No one pursued him after that note, it did smell awful down there.

Despite the smell, Dabi slinked to the lower levels of the underground. There had to be a way to the arena like pit you were in. Dabi moved quietly, no doubt that Trident's member would be walking around. They didn't appear to be stupid, someone must have followed him. He peeked around the corner of a wall, spotting a small boy with silver hair. The boy hummed as he sat in front of a large caged door. From the sounds of it, he was watching the fight from ground level. Dabi glanced around, he had to get rid of this kid quickly. Dabi slowly walked over to the boy, raising his hand ready to burn him alive.

"Hey mister, wanna play?" the boy asked aloud. Dabi froze, there was more to this kid than he thought. The boy turned around, smiling brightly. "I'm kinda bored with just watching, but Jiĕjie told me to make sure no one interferes" he explained. Dabi cocked a brow, was this kid serious. He didn't have a lot of options now, his best bet was to play along. "Sure, what do you want me to do?" he humored. The boy giggled, bubbles rising around his feet.

"Interfere~♥"

You fell back after another hard blow, this nomu wasn't holding back. Your pipe was already stressed in the middle, one more blow would destroy it for sure. Your head ached and your body felt heavy with fatigue. Speck of blood covered the ground, it was your blood. While you hadn't sustained any major injuries, you were sure your body was bruising. The nomu didn't show any signs of exhaustion, throwing itself at you once again. You defended yourself with the pipe, the metal finally giving away and you being thrown across the floor again. You scrambled to your feet, grabbing the closest piece of the pipe you faced the nomu. The large creature tackled you down, it's horrendous mouth screeching in your face. "Shut up!" you shouted, driving the jagged edge of the pipe into the soft tissue of its brain. The nomu reeled back as blood and spinal fluid spurted from its crown.

You rolled away from the nomu, looking around for another makeshift weapon. Something caught your eye, the cage door. There was a light emanating from the darkness behind the door. You ran over to the door, shaking it desperately. The door appeared rusted shut, the would-be lock was a mass of metallic decay.

You really wish you still had that pipe.

Behind you, a pained screech echoed through the pit. The nomu raised itself back to its feet. It turned to your direction, pipe still in the brain. Now, the eyes were moving erratically and the creature was shaking more than before. It was either super pissed or out of control. Neither were good for you right now. The nomu charged at you with full speed, drool flowed from its mouth as it's head swung from side to side. There was nothing left to use as a defense against it, that nomu would crash into you without sustaining damage to itself.

Or not.

You ducked out of the way just as the nomu leaped at you. Its hulking body broke through the rusted metal of the cage, toppling it into a mess of scraps of metal and rust. You climbed over the nomu and started running.

You had to get out of here!

Ahead of you, the tunnel flashed with pale blue light. You recognized that color, only his flames were that color. You ran into the clearing staying close to the wall. Dabi was near the center, surrounded by a veil of flames. "Dabi!" you shouted. His eyes went wide as he stared at you. "Get down!" Dabi ordered. You barely heard him as those bubbles appeared again. You dove to the floor, covering your head. Water dripped onto your back and heat blew by, Dabi must be fighting the little boy from earlier. You heard a screech, the nomu must have followed you. Climbing to your feet, you looked for Dabi again. He stood further away, holding the boy off with his flames.

The two noticed the nomu enter, neither of them appearing pleased by the event. "Oops, you weren't supposed to get out" the boy's eyes narrowed at you. Before he could attack, Dabi engulfed him in flames. The nomu charged at you again, prompting you to run away. "Ugh! I can't let you die yet!" the boy focused on the nomu, gritting his teeth. You heard yells and approaching feet, the other villains were headed this way.

"Explode"

Behind you, the nomu left out a screech before bursting into pieces. The shockwave sent you flying to your knees. You heard Dabi and the boy let out pained yells as well. You climbed to your feet, ears ringing loudly. A hand was extended in front of you, thinking it was Dabi, you took it. The hand tugged you to your feet and spun you around. You were ushered into a dark tunnel and a blade was to your throat.

"Shhh, let's hide for a bit~"

Whoever it was, they sounded very happy.

You heard angry shouting as Trident arrived and questioned the boy. There was more yelling as the Leauge of Villians rendezvoused to Dabi. You couldn't make out very much, but it sounded like the deal was off. It wasn't until silence overcame the area did the person release you. Turning around, you met excited yellow eyes. "Well don't they sound cranky?" a blonde girl smiled at you. She put her knife away, holding your hands in hers. "That was so fun, wasn't it fun?" she asked. You nodded slowly, unsure what to make of her. "Oh! I'm Toga by the way!" she giggled. She dragged you with her as she continued down the corridor, humming a tune. "Where are we going?" you asked. She tilted her head, almost as if she was unsure of herself.

"Well, I can't bring you to those guys, let ask Dabi!" she giggled. You were only more confused as she took out her phone and began texting. "How..." you began. Toga looked up at you with her never-ending smile. "I'm a genius when it comes to love, not you or not Dabi can hide from my intuition" she explained. You were speechless, you have only met this girl for about 5 minutes and she was already on to you. She didn't answer any more of your questions but asked a lot of her own. You drew the line about your sex life with Dabi, the way she giggled made you wonder if she was even serious, to begin with.

She stopped at a ladder, pointing up at the manhole. "We're gonna go up and we should be clear, no looking up!" she winked as she dusted her skirt off. You kept your eyes down as you climbed up after her, only the smell of fresh air made you look up. Toga had already climbed out and was rocking on her heels as she waited for you. "The heroes will be here soon, so I better run away," she said as she pulled you out. You weren't sure why but didn't want to question her rationale. "Let's exchange number before I go!" she cheered. "My phone isn't with me" you explained. She hummed if she was upset you couldn't tell. "I'll just steal Dabi's phone later, bye-bye~" she waved to you before skipping off.

You leaned against the nearest wall, sliding to your bottom. The sound of distant sirens put you at ease, you were ready to flop on a bed.

Or drink an entire cellar.

[zamancollective]

Fiction, Poetry, and the Shaping of Mizrahi Cultural Consciousness

By Sophie Levy

This article was originally published in the Fall 2019 issue of The Current, a journal of politics, culture, and Jewish affairs at Columbia University.

“So sometimes people think we are Arabs

and they are Jews?

[My nephew’s] words make flocks of birds fly through my body

ripping my blood vessels in the commotion

and I want to tell him about my Grandmother Sham’a

and Uncle Moussa and Uncle Daoud and Uncle Awad

But at the age of six he already has

Grandmother Ziona

Grandmother Yaffa

lots of uncles

and fear and war

he received as a gift

from the state.”

- Adi Keissar, “Clock Square”

I read Adi Keissar’s poetry for the first time at fifteen years old, when my mother forwarded me a link to Haaretz’s Poem of the Week under the headline “Who’s who? Who’s an Arab, who’s a Jew?”

The poem was a vignette of a conversation between Keissar and her young nephew as they walked beside the clock tower in Jaffa, tracing the aftermath of his distant observation of a man speaking Arabic. With each consecutive line, I felt like an anvil had been dropped on my chest (in the best way possible). Why did a Persian girl from Los Angeles who hadn’t really thought about her Judaism in years feel such a punch in the gut from a poem by a Yemeni woman in Israel? It felt incomplete and a little tacky to exclusively attribute my reaction to our shared Judaism. There was another layer to consider— a quiet but strong common denominator between the way I thought of my family and the way Keissar wrote about hers, even though I grew up hearing Farsi spoken more than Arabic, and I am American, not Israeli.

I only heard the word Mizrahi used to describe people from Middle-Eastern and North African Jewish backgrounds a few weeks before I read “Clock Square.” It made sense to me that there was another word for us out there—for Jewish people who called ourselves Sephardi even though our supposedly Spanish lineage seemed less-than-factual. It felt good to become aware of this new, audibly articulated way of making a distinction I wanted made—not because I resented the Sephardi label, but because I noticed something different about the community from which I came, and those differences were bound to Iran, not Spain. I let the word roll around inside my head and off my tongue. Mizrahi. So that’s what I’m called.

Of course, label-picking in the age of identity politics can sometimes take on a flattening or superficial connotation. It’s understandable that pinning any one label onto a multifaceted self can feel stifling, and there's been no shortage of analysis surrounding the derogatory or Orientalist undertones of Mizrahi’s literal translation to eastern. It’s a subject that often comes up in the company of other young Arab and Persian Jews I know, some of whom also feel distanced from the term’s relatively recent or “artificial” origin in Israel’s political lexicon.

Bearing this nuance in mind, I would still argue that identification with and critical thought surrounding the issue of Mizrahiut can open the doors for a new, constructive, collective self-perception— one that’s rooted in a consciousness of culture, heritage, and history. In her essay “The Invention of the Mizrahim,” Ella Shohat acknowledges how the Mizrahi label can be seen as a construct born from societal formation under Zionism, but also sheds light on its strengths. She notes that Mizrahi identity “celebrates a Jewish past” in Southwest Asia and North Africa, and that in turn, it can imply a “future of revived cohabitation” with other peoples of the region. In the meantime, its inclusion of a diverse range of Jewish communities places value on the cultural dialogue that ensued between them once they encountered each other in Israel (or in Western countries, as in my family’s case).

The story of Mizrahi immigration to Israel is not a smooth one. Between 1948 and 1951, roughly 325,000 Southwestern Asian and North African Jews migrated there, following their departure or expulsion from their countries of origin. Upon their arrival, many were placed in transitory refugee camps (ma’abarot) with poor conditions, later being displaced to remote development towns or vacated Palestinian neighborhoods in Jerusalem—situating them in Israel’s geographic and socioeconomic periphery. Their ensuing civil rights struggle would continue for decades.

Mizrahi refugees at a ma’abara in the early 1950s.

Contemporaneously, an underground Arabic literary network began to take shape, connecting Mizrahim in Jerusalem and the ma’abarot with Palestinian writers who remained in Israel proper after 1948. Fiction writers like Sami Michael and Shimon Ballas got their start publishing short stories in al-Jadid, an Arabic-language, left-aligned journal that served as a vital platform for Mizrahim and Palestinians alike in the early decades of Israeli statehood. The novel soon emerged as a favorite medium of Mizrahi writers (many of whom were Iraqi men), their characters’ psycho-emotional turmoil reflecting the tumult of the political changes in which they were caught. Whether set in Baghdad, Jerusalem, or Haifa, these novels lamented the waning reality of integrated Muslim-Jewish life, criticized the treatment of Mizrahim in Israel, and conveyed wistful longing for Iraq— all in Arabic.

However important this underground fiction movement was, its tangible success in spurring Mizrahi cultural consciousness among a wider public was limited. Contributors to al-Jadid were writing almost exclusively in intellectual circles, hiding themselves from wider readership in ma’abarot or other communities of Arabic-speaking immigrants to Israel. Further, the overwhelming cultural dominance of the Labor Zionist Ashkenazi literary canon and the disenfranchisement of Mizrahim on a material level led to practical obstacles to publishing. Thirdly, although the deliberate decision on the part of these authors to write (sometimes exclusively) in Arabic was a commendable act of resistance against the state’s efforts to stifle the language’s use, this reduced their novels’ wider appeal to a Hebrew-speaking public. Amid the political activism of the Mizrahi Black Panthers and the decline of the Labor Party in the 1970s, Mizrahi novelists were able to publish their work more frequently; yet even then, they mostly remained on the margins of literary life in Israel— dear to a burgeoning community of Mizrahi academics, but largely unknown to a wider audience.

Despite these barriers to recognition, Mizrahi fiction was and is of value. The often explicitly-stated goal of these novelists was to encourage a sustained connection to and appreciation of the worlds they were a part of before their displacement to Israel. By writing in Arabic, they demonstrated acute political and historical consciousness, challenging the state’s prevailing narratives about Mizrahi primitiveness, its effective demonization of Arab language and culture, and its dismissal of any positive bond to diasporic life. Most importantly, in the words of the writer Almog Behar, their work “carried a torch” for Mizrahim of future generations — like Adi Keissar, and like me.

After “Clock Square,” I started reading Keissar’s work almost voraciously, scouring Haaretz and the Forward for translated poems when I couldn’t understand enough of her Hebrew. As a flagrantly opinionated teenager, I got a high from her blunt feminism and indulged in the refreshing matter-of-factness with which she expressed the depth of her emotions. After having left my majority-Mizrahi Jewish day school for the odd funhouse mirror of a secular, preppy, majority-white high school, it felt like a comforting exhale to settle in the sweet, relatable sadness of poems like “Black on Black:”

"My grandmother loved me with a thick accent

spoke to me Yemeni words

I never understood,

and as a child

I remember

how scared I was to stay alone with her

out of fear that I wouldn’t understand the tongue in her mouth [...]

the sounds far, far away

even when she spoke closely.”

I didn’t yet know enough about Israeli history to fully grasp the political subversiveness of Keissar’s poetry, but I did know that her work made me feel seen. I felt estranged from the no-questions-asked Zionism of the Reform, Ashkenazi institutions I belonged to as a child, and I felt detached from my high school’s country-clubby, all-American ethos. Sometimes, as much as it embarrassed me to admit it, I felt the same distance from my large and (lovingly) overbearing Persian family, and even from other Mizrahi kids. Yet the more I looked into Adi Keissar’s work, the more I understood I wasn’t alone in those feelings, and the more I understood there were ways to address them constructively.

The fact that my mother came across “Clock Square” on Haaretz in English translation was not only indicative of Keissar’s increasing success as an individual poet, but of the rising recognition of a poetic movement she had ignited a few years prior. Keissar is the founder of Ars Poetica, a collective whose name is a double-entendre between Horace’s The Art of Poetry and the word ars عرص — a slur reserved for Mizrahi men that essentially translates to pimp in Arabic. Bringing together Mizrahi poets of diverse ages and backgrounds under an all-women roster of leaders, the group has put a new spin on the poetry reading by reinventing it as the hafla (Arabic for party).

Adi Keissar at a poetry reading.

Since Keissar organized a night of rousing performances by spoken-word poets, alternative DJs, and belly dancers at her first hafla in 2013, Ars Poetica’s loud, multifaceted reclamation of Mizrahi cultures has sent shockwaves through Israel and beyond. Keissar, Roy Hasan, and Tehila Hakimi— additional members of the group and renegade poets in their own right— all won the Bernstein Literary Prize within two years of Ars Poetica’s launch. Change is also felt elsewhere. Erez Biton, often seen as a father figure of this poetic movement, faced many of the same obstacles to mainstream success as his fiction-writing contemporaries for decades, until he became the first Mizrahi writer to win the Israeli Prize for Literature in 2015. The next year also presented a huge milestone, when Biton was appointed as chairman of a new governmental committee dedicated to promoting the inclusion of Mizrahi history and literature in school curricula. Since Ars Poetica’s founding, the group’s impact has garnered extensive media attention, with Jewish newspapers and poetry magazines in the US and Britain publishing article after article about the “Mizrahi Revival” cropping up in Israel.

Ars Poetica may well have triggered the strongest shake-up of Liberal Zionist, Ashkenazi hegemony in the context of Israeli literature to date. Of course, as we’ve seen, the written fight for Mizrahi recognition didn’t begin with Keissar, but her collective does much more than function as a simple continuation of the efforts of writers who preceded them. The group’s unprecedented headway is the result of taking that history, learning from it, and building on it in a new direction.

One thing this “new direction” has entailed is a deeper, more intersectional, subversive strain of political consciousness. Written attacks on the structural subordination of Mizrahim now often serve double functions; when Adi Keissar writes in embracement of her body and physical features as a Mizrahi woman, she is also writing to undo the internalization of racialized misogyny. When Roy Hasan bristles against the performative liberalism of centrist Ashkenazi elites, he is also tackling Israel’s class divide as it occurs along ethnic lines. Keissar and Hasan’s ability to synthetically address a broader range of societal issues in their work with relative brevity enables it to speak to a readership wider than that of the novelists before them.

Furthermore, Ars Poetica’s rejection of elitism goes beyond the content of their poems and permeates their approach to language itself— their verses often full of curses and reclaimed slurs, their Hebrew colloquial, their tone raw and piercing. Hasan points to Jay-Z and the Wu-Tang Clan as important influences on his writing, and it only takes feeling the rhythm of repetition and line breaks in his poem “In the Land of Ashkenaz” to feel their impact on his work:

“...I am the armed fucking robbery

The crook with the kippah

In the court of law

I am the graves of holy men

And talismans

I am a pimp

I am clapping hands

And cheap music

Low culture

Low grade

A stubborn root

And a pain in the ass…”

Between the subject matter of its members’ poetry, their use of vernacular language, and their formulation of the hafla as a truly grassroots method for communal ingathering and artistic promotion, Ars Poetica has shown itself to be founded on a sense of radical accessibility. These poets are stripping their medium of the sterile, elite connotation it has borne for many working-class Mizrahim and presented it as a reachable, usable medium for readers, thereby breaking down the barriers that kept Keissar herself from writing poems until she was in her thirties. It’s predictable, of course, that this accessibility has garnered some backlash from prominent Ashkenazim in mainstream literary institutions; critics have branded their poems as too angry, unrefined, or unsophisticated— arguably recalling decades-old biases about Mizrahi primitiveness. I think it’s safe to say that Keissar and Hasan would meet their discomfort with a scoff and a smile.

There’s also something to be said about the rise of poetry as the medium of choice for many of today’s Mizrahi writers. Prose still has its merits, of course; fictional narratives are a way of emotively articulating and preserving a fairly developed sense of what life was like for Mizrahim before 1948. It remains relevant, as demonstrated by the writer Ayelet Tsabari, for instance, in her use of short stories to create strikingly beautiful vignettes of modern Mizrahi life. But poetry, by virtue of its performability and new aura of accessibility, has demonstrated a special potential for change— not only in Ars Poetica’s move closer to the spotlight in Israel, but in its ability to effectively reaffirm the value of Mizrahiut in the eyes of an ordinary reading public.

This new wave of Mizrahi writing is turning heads toward old and new writers alike. A sweet consequence of the poets’ success today has been rising recognition of yesterday’s novelists, and that recognition is happening in contexts much more interesting than just Israeli academia. This past October, Mahmoud Abbas requested the printing of Ishaq Bar-Moshe’s novel Departing Iraq for distribution at a “conference for Arab leaders” in the West Bank, echoing the author’s hopes for cooperation and consistent interaction with Palestinian Arabs. Meanwhile, the media buzz around Ars Poetica has exposed young Mizrahim in the diaspora to the concept of cultural revival, creating real potential for us to process what we’ve been through, scrutinize where we are, and connect to where we come from.

That’s certainly what new Mizrahi poetry has done for me. I should clarify that my close family doesn’t have a history of immigration to Israel, and I will not erroneously claim to understand what it’s like to grow up in a majority-working class, Mizrahi development town. Even so, amid the difficulties of toggling between life in a huge, close-knit Persian family and finding myself lost in Ashkenazi-run, ardently Zionist institutions, I’ve noticed links between the kinds of alienation many Mizrahim feel from our cultures, whether we were raised in Israel or in the Western diaspora.

The experience of occupying any larger, Ashkenormative framework presents its commonalities: being discouraged or prohibited from speaking Farsi or Arabic as if it were a vulgarity, receiving minimal formal education in Jewish history aside from shadowy mentions of the Holocaust or sanitized tales of Israel’s establishment. From another angle, the legacy of our parents’ or grandparents’ exile from Muslim countries presents its own unique implications: a precarious relationship to the languages that came before English or Hebrew because of the political stigmas they bear, the angst or detachment that results from not being able to see your family’s country of origin because of blacklisting or hostile diplomatic relations. All of this feels disorienting, to say the least.

Written endeavors to foster Mizrahi cultural consciousness— whether academic or creative, intellectual or grassroots— have not only sought to combat this disorientation, but to engage with it on a deeper level, to wrestle with it and derive something of substance from that struggle. The Mizrahi writing with the strongest impact and the most meaningful legacy does more than shallowly advocate that we “connect to our roots;” rather, it demands that we unravel feelings of disorientation and displacement by facing our histories in full, envisioning what we want for the future, and giving ourselves a voice to communicate that effectively. This means reckoning with our relationships to Ashkenazi institutions and communities, but also to non-Jewish Middle-Eastern ones. Iraqi novelists sought to reach across the latter divide by writing in Arabic, and progressive Mizrahi writers today do the same in their advocacy for increased solidarity with oppressed populations across the region.

Engaging with Mizrahiut in a modern context also prompts us to reevaluate the idea of the “homeland.” There is discomfort in an awareness of our communities’ intense estrangement from places and worlds that were once inextricable from our existence. But out of this awareness, and out of the complex implications of exile, there is room for a new understanding of what constitutes a “homeland” for Mizrahim. Alphabets and accents, stories and poems, flavors and smells, songs and images become objects of longing often as deep as the desire for physical return to an inaccessible place. I think a lot of us quietly yearn for that feeling of home, even if we don’t always know how to articulate that or put a finger on what it is. I find it most often in the celebration of dialogue between Mizrahim, in recognizing the connections we have to the things we’ve been conditioned to forget, and in the words of writers like Roy Hasan:

“From the ruins of the language of my parents

I shall build a house for my children."

[boogiewrites]

Choking On Sapphires 74

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Title & Song: Tonight

Summary: Alfie gets Genevieve out of the house and they're met with annoyance at the appearance of a fellow businessman both despise. A disgruntled party from a transaction gone wrong tries to ruin their night and get them both arrested. They succeed in one of those things. But Genevieve proves more adept at being a gangster ('s woman) than even she expected. **Chapter song is Tonight by Hard-FI .**

Warnings/Tags: Intimidation. Night Out. Protective Alfie. Arrest. Gangster’s girl stuff. 

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.)

Alfie had gotten you out of your rut that you'd put yourself in with your tendency to over think when it came to things you genuinely cared about. So instead of staying in and reading and studying on a Friday, he took you out to his club like it was your first date again.

The dancing girls were in full swing under the bright lights of the stage. The club was dim otherwise, a typical blanket of mystery applied on a busy night to make the patrons want to enjoy themselves. A gentle nudge of encouragement to think they were safer than they were. You were among them, hanging off of Alfie's arm as you made your way into the warm and loud space from the dreary cover of outside.

You had reasons to celebrate and he had made sure you were dripping in jewels and a new gown to not only show your importance to those that would see you together, but to yourself. You had heard whispers of Alfie spending time in the jewelry quarter as of late. You had admittedly gotten a plume of butterflies inside you at the mention of it, springing up thoughts of engagement and proposals. You couldn't help but think the large and sparkling jewels he'd gifted you earlier in the night might be a cover for such activities. He was a very clever man after all, he would know that you would hear he was spending time with the tradesmen. The thought of him hunched over a glass case, bickering with the best of the best in their profession over something for you added a certain twinkle to your eyes on this night when you looked at him. Even when he would grumble and curse as you yet again, kissed his cheek only to have to swipe away at the schmutz left behind. But then again, it never took much for you to look at him adoringly.

You're standing at the stairs that divide the levels of the club, watching the expressions travel across Alfie's face as he speaks about you, praising your talents to a woman who had seen you speak at a charity function. He was a salesman and he was the best you knew, talking you up so people couldn't help but be tempted to buy your works.

"But aren't artists known for being difficult to deal with?" a man's voice that you unfortunately recognized comes from out of sight as the woman you spoke to looks at the tall and daunting man with rapidly blinking eyes, not accustomed to such a rude interruption in part of society.

"Excuse us, Miss." Alfie says politely, a nod given to the woman as she gives the interruption a dirty look and walks away. "What are you doin' here?" Alfie groans, looking Cyrus Horne up and down as he stood with his hands latched to the lapels of his jacket.

"Heard you two love birds were out and about tonight and had to stop by. Not every day I get to speak to both of you at once, is it? Hard to talk to you two, you know."

"I'd prefer it be more difficult." you say with a sigh.

Giving you an amused tilt of his head he smirks down at you. "Even though I know you people don't work on Friday nights. Or at least you say you don't, we know you aren't exactly keeping it all level when it comes to your little foray into being pillars of your community and all that...I thought you might be willing to answer some questions for me."

"If it's business you could make an appointment." Alfie says obviously.

"And you wouldn't see me would you?" he says crossing his arms.

"What is it?" you say exasperated, just wanting him to leave.

"I wanted to check with how you two were doing. Together. I've heard some nasty rumors about you Solomons. Other women...in cities far from here while little Durand here plays homemaker. Never took you for liking blondes." he sneers.

Alfie's shoulder rise and fall but his face stays indifferent. A skill you wish came as naturally to you as it did for him. "If you are accusing me of infidelity I would be happy to say your accusations are false."

You knew what he was referring to and you stand by Alfie's statement with a strong face and squared shoulders. "And what if I had heard he was seen cozying up to a little blonde up in Manchester at some other club?" Horne asks, looking over to you.

"I'd say you don't know what you're talking about." you respond curtly with pursed lips. "And even if he were, which he is not. What business would it be of yours?" you give him a glance of disdain as you flip your hair.

"Well the breaking up of two businesses would be my, in fact, my business. Seein' as you've already caused a bit of trouble for me already."

"What the fuck are ya on about? We ain't been dealin' wif you."

"Not directly. But it seems there was interference with some friends of mine...some Americans. I had a lot riding on their entry into the London business world and they suddenly all pulled out. Calling London businesses undignified and uncivilized."

"What does that have to do with us?"

"From what I hear you were doing some business with some Americans a few weeks ago." he says with certainty.

"I have not had any contracts with any Americans." you shake your head.

"No but there was a meeting." he says with a lilt of superiority.

"No. I had no business with any Americans. If there were new Americans in town in the industry, I would know. I'd be working with Abeille to set up with them before anyone else did." you defend your skills.

"It was about both of your businesses."

"You know I innit been workin' with no bloody Americans." Alfie huffs out.

"I mean both of HER businesses."

"I only have Abeille." you retort.

"Let's let go of that lie for a moment shall we? Between old friends?"

You and Alfie both roll your eyes. "Then fuckin' get on with it, mate." Alfie groans. "Out wif it!" he says with an accompanying hand gesture.

"Durand had a meeting with Americans. This meeting did not come to pass as it should. And I've been told that it was directly due to your interference Solomons." he answers in a snappy tone. "So I want to know why you are involved in Abeille business, as that was what the meeting was originally for, and I want to know why you made a handful of American businessmen fuckin' disappear." he asks, leaning in with his almost white blue eyes that made your stomach churn.

"I ain't been in works with no Americans." he states again definitively. "I certainly not makin' so bloody business men "disappear". What load of bollocks is that? I'm a businessman. I conduct business not snuff it out before it comes to pass. And I don't meddle in Gen's business. It is hers, in whole. It will remain that way. She built it up herself, she handles the contracts and I have no part in it. So I don't know where ya gettin' ya information from. But it's not correct."

"And I have no idea what you're talking about. I'd love to do business with the Americans. An international agreement with some restaurant owners would benefit me greatly. I have no reason to turn away their offers."

"I know you don't. But perhaps your darling here might that you don't know about." he leans into Alfie, speaking quietly. "You've caused a very large disruption in my assets Solomons because of your men interrupting that meeting. I don't know why you did it. But those men turning tail and going back home has cut significantly into my profits. And I am not a man who fucks around with money."

"Neither am I." he sneers back, not backing down from Horne's intense delivery. "And if you got a fuckin' point to make. You better bloody well make it fast because we are here tonight to celebrate and I'll not have to likes of you and your rubbish accusations ruining what should be a night of revelry for us."

"Horne. I don't care for your baseless threats one bit. If you have something, say it. We're both very busy people and I want to get on with this evening, apart from you. Now I have many things to be thankful for and I'd like to continue talking about my achievements with people that have some bloody manners instead of you."

He leans away, his posture pin straight. "I know you're both very, very busy people aren't you?" he says with a cool, calmness to his voice that you do not care for one bit. "I was merely seizing the opportunity to speak with you both. It's so hard to get ahold of you Genevieve, one would have to steal you away to get a word in. And what a shame it would be to have to separate you from your darling, hmmm? A man like him can only make problems for a woman like you."

"I won't have you speaking to her that way." Alfie says pushing up chest to chest with Horne. Despite Horne being taller, Alfie didn't back down with his jutted chin and low brow. You could feel the tension in his muscles as your hands stayed around his arm, your face indifferent to make the scene not look as tense as it was to onlookers.

"And don't speak of him in such a manner." you snap back. "Leave. You know we'll have you forcibly removed and I'd like to avoid you soiling an otherwise lovely night." you say in an offended tone and a sharp nod of your head.

"Very well." he says, readjusting his jacket. "But don't be surprised when his actions come back to bite you, sweetheart."

"Fuck off Horne." you bark at him, not hiding the disgust in your face as you gently pull Alfie back to your side.

Alfie stares him down as he saunters out of the club. People are whispering and trying not to be obvious as they look at the two of you. Alfie lets his shoulders relax, knowing his anger would serve no purpose at the moment, only fueling whatever rumors would be started by the public exchange. "I'm sorry 'bout that love." he mutters under his breath.

"No, no. You did nothing wrong." you insist, reaching over and patting his chest. "He's an animal. Any interaction I've had with him has been absolutely awful and that's without you around as well. He's just a disgusting person. No getting around it."

"You supposed to be celebratin' your fing's tonight and he..." he takes a deep breath and gives a nod to a passerby to show everything was fine.

"Come here my darling." you say, using your gloved hand to move his face towards yours, a gentle kiss to his lips. "I will forget it and enjoy the night with you. Can't let such people ruin our free time can we?" you give him another peck. "So let's forget that fucking tosser and enjoy ourselves, yes?" you say with large endearing eyes that called out for him to play along, even if he was still fuming.

"Right." he guffs out. "Let's go get ya a drink, love." he says, his hand going protectively against your lower back as he moves first through the people towards the bar. ----- Later in the evening, a few glasses of wine in, which nowadays is enough to give you a happy buzz, you're slow dancing with Alfie as the peak crowds have passed. The floor is still alive with moving bodies, lovers in each other's arms as you all sway and stay in your enclosed bubbles of adoration. As much as Alfie disliked dancing in public, he would indulge you on the rare occasion with a slow dance. Tonight happened to be one of those occasions. You were caught off guard as you heard his annoyed tone of voice begin, your eyes closed as your cheek rested against his chest, totally oblivious to the people around you. But he was never oblivious, that was part of his job. His lack of fantasy indulgence afforded you to be able to forget about the less appetizing bits of your life for small suspended moments. It was something that you were grateful for.

"I'm busy innit I?" he says after one of his men tries to pull him away.

"Sir this is. This is important." he says with a stuttered delivery.

"Fuckin' wot then?" he says, keeping you to him as the man sighs and gives in, whispering something to him in his ear. "Fuckin' 'ell." he says and you feel his shoulders slump as his hands are already moving to your back.

"What is it?" you say with an almost sleepy delivery.

"Right. Now pet, I'm afraid I got some bad news." he begins eyes looking over to the entryway as his bottom lip disappears under his full mustache. Your heart sinks and your lips pout involuntarily. He speaks very quietly, his hand moving to your chin to keep your eyes on him. "There's gonna be some policemen comin' in 'ere in a few minutes. They're on their way." he says in a very calm and steady voice.

Your eyes open widely as your back straightens at the news. "They what?" you squeak out.

"Apparently they are comin' to get us for some questionin'." he says as your chin pushes into your neck.

"Us?" you say with a shaky voice.

"'At's what the intelligence is sayin'. Now we innit bein' arrested, yeah? They ain't got nothin' on us. Just like I promised. Me guess is someone has done one of 'em anonymous tips and we know who we've both pissed off tonight." he says with pursed lips. "But you remember what we went over, yeah? In case somefin like this did happen?"

"Of course." you say with a quick nod of your head.

"Then there's nuffin' to worry 'bout is there?" he says with a smile. "They are still on my payroll, right? Probably a call in from a higher up. They can't keep us long. They gotta let us go after a bit. This may end up bein' a long night in a way I had no intentions of it ever bein'. But fink of it as practice, eh? You never really messed with these boys so you'll get some real gangster experience in under ya belt innit ya?" he grins, his nose grazing yours as he keeps his attention split between you and the doors.

"Do you know what it's about?"

"I do not. But no matter what it is, we got a game plan dunnit we?" he gives you a reassuring nod. "They's coming in the doors now, pet. Don't you worry 'bout me, eh?"

You pout despite knowing you both had a strategy for these sorts of events, no matter what happened. "I love you. Don't worry about me either. I've been through worse I'm sure of it." you respond softly with a smile.

"I love you too." he coos back, you both looking into each other's eyes, totally ignoring the pause in the music, the eyes all turned towards you both, still swaying in each other's arms. You ignore the stern words of the policemen as they approach. "Now give us a kiss for the road, eh?" he grins.

You keep your lips together, eyes shut as your arms are pulled behind your backs. Both your faces strong and dignified despite the situation, back straight and proud, eyes non-plussed as you're finally torn apart, sharing an apologetic glance before you're both shown into separate cars.

-------

You sit in the bare room with your hands clasped in your lap and a cup of tea in front of you. You were waiting for another round of questions, your face looking bored much to the annoyance of the men that had been trying to break you.

It had started out as them trying to get any information out of you. You simply sat still and looked at them with large innocent eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about." being the response most commonly given. Then the questions became more specific.

"You were both seen on the night in question when Lord Prittance went missing." one of the two men in the room with you began. One was short and had a mustache and kept his jacket on, he was the one demanding things of you. The other was lean and had bright green eyes, a slight stubble of ginger on his face. You're assuming they were growing tired of being there as well.

You sit and blink at them. Not responding to anything that wasn't a question.

"Did you see him there that night?"

"Where?" you say with a tilt of your head, deliberately messing with them and making them be specific so they couldn't misuse your words.

"At Alfie Solomons club."

"I did. He's rather tall. Wore a dated top hat on top of that. How could a woman with a fashion sense such as I not notice an atrocity like that?" you exclaim.

They both roll their eyes at your answer. "And did you see him leave?"

"No. Alfie and I went back to my home for the night shortly after I saw him."

"Did Solomons interact at all with Prittance? Any arguments, anything to make him react in violence?"

"Absolutely not. My Alfie is not a violent man." you say with complete honesty in your voice as they both narrow their eyes at you. "I was tired and I wanted to retire back to my home with my beau. So that's what we did."

"And you left together?"

"We took his car back to my home outside the city. Where we had a nightcap and went to bed."

"And he was with you all night?"

"We were in each other's arms the entirety of the evening."

"At no point did he leave?"

"No. We sleep in a rather close way after we've been intimate and we had on this particular night and I would know if he had left."

"How would you know?"

You purse your lips at the man. "Because we fall asleep with him inside me." you answer in an offended tone, leaning forward with a furrowed brow. "Do you need to know how we fucked as well? My goodness." you say with a shake of your head as your response makes the man slumped back in his chair at your language.

"Maybe we do." he retorts back with a back attitude.

"I had been enjoying wine all evening and chatting with my dear friend Arthur Shelby. Yes, that Arthur Shelby. He was also staying at my home that evening as he was in town and I wouldn't dare have a friend stay anywhere else but with me if they were so close. He stayed at the club after we left, but I was informed he came home later in the evening my staff. So if you'd like to discuss Alfie's whereabouts with him as well, he would also tell you he was with me the entire evening."

"And how would you know that?"

"Because Alfie was with me the entire night. Pink wine makes me rather amorous and it's possible poor Arthur had to hear us making love as we do go about it for some time after a few drinks. You see Alfie's a rather patient man and he likes to take his time as much as I might be opposed to the idea when I am a bit drunk. Seeing as I was a bit tipsy that night he was on top and it was rather romantic I do recall. He is a surprisingly soft lover. What for how gruff he seems outside of bed. With his harsh appearance and sharp words. But he's always very soft with me. And that night was no different. We made love well into the night but were asleep before the sun came up. We slept in that next morning and had tea in bed. I have my staff that can also attest to this. They most certainly heard our lovemaking if Arthur did not. Alfie can make me rather loud as he's very well endowed and especially gifted with his-"

"Alright!" the cop standing against the wall says, making a rather pleased look appear across your face. These men certainly didn't want to hear your retelling of another man's cock.

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to." you snark back, drawing your lips together before taking the cup of tea. "Rather good brew." you say as they sit and stare.

"Thanks." the stout one responds. "I made it meself." he says as the other man knocks his arm at the softness and pride the man heard in his voice at a compliment coming from a woman.

"Oh yeah? Cheers." you say, raising the cup before taking another drink.

"I think we're done for now. You wait here." the more cross looking of the two says as he yanks the arm of the sitting man and takes him outside the room.

Your tea is long since finished before they come back in again. One standing in the doorway as the other motions a long arm towards his direction. "You're free to go."

"Oh thank you boys." you say gathering your coat and putting it back on. "Everything check out?" you ask with a polite and sweet face as you stretch before leaving the room, the men in front and behind you.

"Everything checked out with the Shelby's." he says with a tired voice.

"And what of Alfie? Should I be expecting him?"

"They're still talkin' to 'im." the shorter one says with a mumble, his head knocking back in the direction you came from.

You hear raised voices come from down the hall. "I think shouting is a more apt description. You better not have been too rough on the old boy. He has a bad back you know." you pout, adjusting your fur collar and fluffing it with a prissy exterior as the two men looked at you with both annoyance and interest.

"I'm sure he'll be fine." the taller says. "You can wait or he'll be released shortly. They've been at it all night." he says, his hand running down his face before he sighs with a groan and walks away.

"You know Miss Durand. You seem like an intelligent lass. Why are you mixed up with Solomons, eh?"

"Because I love the man."

"Eh." he says with a shake of his head. "You don't seem like the type to led around by your heart. Most women break under interrogation. Not take it like it's gossip at high tea like you." he says with a huff of amusement.

"Perhaps I can be both, yes?" you say with a smile and pat the man's arm. "Thank you for your time, sir." you say with a small bow and turn to walk out into the morning sun.

It's breaking over the mountains, Ollie sitting on the hood of one of Alfie's car's as you emerge from the confines of the dark and musky station.

"Oh Genevieve, are you alright?" Ollie asks, forgetting his place in the absence of Alfie and putting his hands to your shoulders.

"Quite alright, Ollie. Thank you. Any word on Alfie? They were still yelling at him last I heard." you say, rummaging through your purse for your mirror.

"Nothing yet. Time's almost up on the hold though. So should be any time. We can take ya home or call another car. Whichever ya like."

"I think I'll stay and wait. I'd like it if he did the same for me." you say, using your gloves to wipe under your eyes, erasing the smeared makeup that was left as proof of your long night. "He'll probably want to go home after anyway. We'll save some petrol this way." you say dismissively, waving your hands as you snap the compact shut after fixing your makeup.

"I can get you some food if you'd like?" he asks with genuine concern. "Thank you Ollie but I'll wait until I get home. I just had some tea in the station, I'll be fine." you pat his arm and move towards the car. "But I am rather knackered so I'm going to sit in the car to wait." you say with a lazy nod as he shuffled forward to open the door for you. "Any other news? Everything alright while we were in there?" you ask, settling into the seat and talking to Ollie as he had his weight against the side of the car.

"Nothing that I've heard." he shrugs. "Closed up the club at the normal time. Everything was as usual, didn't want to cause a panic. Tried to kill any rumors with answering questions as people left. Just wanted to ask ya some questions in regard to a missing acquaintance we said."

"Not entirely a lie."

"Did they not ask ya that?" his head turns back to you.

"They did but they were really just casting a very wide net for anything. It was rather strange. The informant for the tip must've been right. They didn't know anything. Just knew that Prittance was missing."

"Was that his name?" Ollie asks.

"Yes. Best we don't say it again." you say with a long exhale.

"Yes Miss. My apologies." he ducks his head and looks back to the doors of the station.

"What's the time darling?" you ask, starting to nod off in the car.

"Quarter eight, Miss." Ollie replies, his fingers fidgeting.

"My word. Alfie will be too old to bear children when he's released at this rate. Christ." you groan, slouching in the seat.

"Perhaps not." Ollie cheekily answers you quickly, rushing towards the doors as a roughed up Alfie appears.

"Speak of the devil and he will appear." you say with a broad smile as you approach him with open arms. "My darling, they didn't fuss about you too much did they?" you ask with pouted lips as you take his face and kiss his cheeks.

"Nah. Buncha twats, they are." he groans, rubbing his head before putting on his hat, his hair a right mess underneath.

"Shall we go home?" you ask, taking his arm and rubbing his back.

"Are you alright love?" he asks, looking closely at you with a furrowed brow.

"Oh quite alright. Not to worry, darling." you coo as you hold his hand.

"Good, that." he nods, grunting and resituating himself in the benched seat. "Take us home. Night's gone on bloody long enough." he says loudly with a shake of his hand. "Seems they called up your Shelby and after that, they didn't 'ave much else to say 'bout anyfing."

"Arthur? I did tell them he was around." you nod and snuggle into his arm, crossing your legs towards him as his splayed out, taking up most of the back seat.

"Nah. The other prick." he grins.

"Tommy? Oh our Parliament boy?" you chuckle.

"'At's the one."

"Well it seems he's come in handy hasn't he?" you say with a hopeful sigh, patting Alfie's thigh before he takes your hand into his.

"Never thought I'd agree to that, yeah?" Alfie huffs out a coarse laugh.

"Looks as I've come in handy again for you Solomons." you reply defensively but with a smile.

"Ya always do, love." he says with a kiss to your forehead. A deep grunt, his muscles exhausted as he puts his arm around you and cuddles you close on the lengthy drive home.

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