#sand through fingers

[evadingreallife]

*hijacks the post and proceeds to have an existential crisis in the tags* (sorry op i swear i didnt mean to)

i want to learn ceramics, to play the electric guitar, bass, painting, i want to go camping, get into film photography, learn about tea, coffee and wine, all trees and flowers from my country, try out all fruits ever, know how to cook heavenly, have a cosy house and invite people i love and have a wall they can decorate and a handmade outfit from scratch that i’ll keep forever, have a communitary vegetable garden, own a bookshop that’s also a flowershop that’s also a café

[strawberrystepmom]

shifting sands and the fingers they fall through | two

cw: discussion of an injury reader has with mentions of blood, pus, and infection. reader is also described as smaller/shorter than law. trafalgar law x fisherman f!reader. | word count: 3.1k, reading time: approx. 15 min.

note: this is a series. each post will contain warnings that pertain to that particular chapter. | part: one, three, four, five, six

A gulls cry has been the constant alarm clock through your adulthood for as long as you can remember. It has also become your background music and dinner bell; the cry that reminds you that you’re alive even on days when you aren’t as pleased to wake up as one perhaps should be. 

Mundanity can have that effect on a person or at least that’s what you’ve read in some of the silly self help novels you’ve been able to procure from the small island library.

You don’t have enough free time to do much but reading is how you prefer to spend those few precious moments. Nobody will admit it on the island, least of all the librarian, but they ask other islands to send new-to-everyone here books solely for you to enjoy. 

The gull woke and led you out to the shore this morning. It was a late night spent spearing flounder and coming up short. You’ve cast your net twice this morning, catching a few unimpressive but big enough to be sold mackerel. 

You’re unlucky today but at least you’re at peace.

A contented sigh escapes while casting your net back into the shallow, turquoise water a third time. Your eyes aren’t looking down at the foamy waves, they’re locked onto the horizon. If the sunrise were less spectacular you’d be upset to be here. Everything feels drenched in a glow that no other time of day can replicate and you get to enjoy it all by yourself, uninterrupted.

This is the type of loneliness you wish you felt perpetually. Happy to be alone, embracing the world around you with no expectations upon you. Instead that pang comes in the middle of a long night or when you can’t reach something on the top shelf at home or when you see one of the few other young women on the island hand in hand with the one they’ve chosen to fill their time with.

You learned to more or less accept loneliness as a consequence of freedom years ago, not long after you finally felt accepted by your fellow fisherman on this little gem settled amongst the waves. Arriving here as a stranger and a young one at that raised everyone’s hackles but you proved yourself trustworthy and hardworking, simply pleased to be away from the shackles your life would’ve become if you’d stayed where you came from.

Drawing your net back up to shore, you sigh when it comes up empty yet again. Footsteps pad through the sand and their cadence sounds familiar to you, similar to the ones heralding the man you assured you’d tend to your wound three days ago.

As assumed, you did not tend to it at all. You’ve been too busy to focus on how it throbs, the current fishing season passing quickly and your stall as busy as it always is. 

A chuckle rings from behind you. It’s quiet enough you’d miss it if others were around. It mingles with the waves lapping at your feet, encouraging you to look over your shoulder even though you refuse out of spite at this point. 

You know it has to be this enigmatic man, Law, based off of the way your skin prickles with awareness of his stare just as it did a few days prior. Something about him makes your body react. It could just be an overreaction to someone new. Your best guess is that you are anticipating his imminent lecture and that’s why everything about you feels off right now, your usual go with the flow approach failing.

“How’d redoing those stitches go?”

Now you turn around, dropping your net at your feet and pursing your lips. He looks charmingly mussed up, wearing a tan button down shirt with too few buttons fastened instead of the blue t-shirt you saw him in prior. The unenthused look on your face remains although your traitorous eyes take a peek at the tanned, tattooed skin he’s showing off.

You’re caught in the act, of course. He rolls his shoulders when he catches your roving glance and you almost believe you see the faintest hint of a smirk on his face, those hands shoved deep in the pockets of his pants that are as unique as the rest of him. 

It’s the closest you’ve come to a smile or really anything that isn’t, in your opinion, overt disinterest from the man. It brings back that same feeling you had during your first meeting, stomach turning and feet itching to get away.

You promptly look away while pretending to busy yourself with your net, cheeks warm. It makes you wonder why he approached at all if only to give you a hard time which only makes your face heat further.

“Didn’t have the time. I’m a busy girl, you know.”

Grunting his initial response, he takes a few steps to close the distance between you two. You jump back a few steps, pretending that they were necessary to untangle your net. Law pauses, eyebrow raised.

“Does your health mean nothing to you?”

Sighing, you drop the net at your feet and fold your arms over your chest in an ill guided attempt to puff yourself up. He’s intimidating, not just in expression and brusque conversation, but in stature too - broad and twice your size. You’re no stranger to dealing with men who talk a big game but an eerie feeling in your gut makes you believe that this man could back it up. 

This stranger who insists on disrupting your day, your silent, peaceful beach time with you and the foam and the fish. Agitation gnaws and you tilt your head to the side curiously, brows raised.

“Why do you care what a woman you don’t know does with her body?”

It appears you have finally taken control of the situation judging by the way he slowly blinks like he’s processing what you said. Then he shakes his head, rolling his eyes enough that it’s your turn to catch it and scoff.

“I’m a doctor. It’s my responsibility to care.”

Although that isn’t enough to explain to him why he cares. As a principle, he believes men like him should not take a vested interest in the wellbeing of civilians. Pirates live a life that few can understand and certainly not simple fisherman on an island that he and his crew are currently taking a brief respite on.

“Then care about someone else,�� you shoot back with a smile, finally bending to reach for your net and walking a few steps closer to shore, back toward your unexpected guest. The gentle morning waves wash over your boots. He watches as you toss, seabreeze ruffling the end of your shorts.

Unburying one hand from his pocket, he scrubs it over his face defeatedly. You’re just an honest person trying to make a living as difficult as you are. That’s why he cares. Not this strange draw he feels, a little poke between his ribs every time he thinks about the unique woman from the fish stall.

“My ship has an infirmary. I can take care of it since you apparently refuse to.”

You glance over your shoulder, a single brow raised.

“I try to avoid following strange men anywhere.”

Law sighs, exasperated. 

“We aren’t strangers, we’ve met before. You even know my name.”

You shake your head, heaving your net back toward shore. “And that suddenly makes you perfectly upstanding and trustworthy?”

He doesn’t miss the wince that flashes across your face when the knotted fibers drag across your arm and subsequently the wound. Looking into the weave, you frown when no fish are flopping around and prepare your arm to cast again but stop when your arm twinges. 

The doctor shakes his head, pulling his other hand from out of his pocket and folding his arms over his chest. If he can’t reason with you, he believes he may know another way to convince you yet.

“I’m not going to stand here and argue with you. Let it fall off for all I care.”

Worked like a charm. That caught your attention, the ever astute man notices. The defiant smirk on your face falls, eyes widening in horror instead. 

“Can that really happen?”

Internally he’s nearly aghast at your naivety but he nods once, face unchanging. He could sever it himself if he were to use his abilities, it would probably be less trouble than getting you to take him seriously would be but something tells him to be patient. You are a little prickly, perhaps distrustful, but you don’t seem to lack sense enough to dismiss his help a second time. 

“Fine. But promise you aren’t going to steal my organs or hurt me in any way first.”

He snorts, shaking his head.

“I’m not promising anything. You can let me look at it or you can suffer, those are your options.”

You contemplate the suffering option for a second until your arm aches again. This draws a dramatic groan from you, your empty net tossed over your shoulder. It’s so rare that you need help from anyone for any reason but this is out of your wheelhouse. It’s time to take what’s being offered to you, albeit reluctant.

“Lead the way then, doctor.”

Thankfully Polar Tang isn’t submerged and waiting terribly far from where you stand right now. It’s how he stumbled upon you anyway, walking the shore before the rest of the crew decided to greet the day. 

Things are already off to a strange start but once he gets this done, he can stop worrying about you completely and move on with his life.

—----------

You’ve never been aboard a submarine before and admittedly, you kind of would be alright not doing it again. Or maybe just not this one, its grumpy captain leading you inside and instructing you to remain quiet and walk straight in the direction he’s pointing which must be toward that infirmary he talked about. 

When the two of you finally arrive, he shuts the door tightly behind you and instructs you to sit down near a stainless steel bench attached to the wall. While you do so he grabs his glasses off of the bench and a pair of gloves and snaps them on, leaning over you and grabbing your arm to stretch it across the table.

“This won’t take too long.”

You nod once, sitting in the stool and looking around at the incredibly clean environment he calls his own. It’s strange and you never would have considered looking at him that this is how he maintains his space. It seems like a direct contrast to the man in front of you who seems at least a little bit rough around the edges.

You suppose the same could be said about you though, precise in your work despite everything else about you being flighty at best, so you keep your opinion to yourself. It’s kind enough of him to see you in the first place that you don’t want to make him mad and potentially end up without an arm if his claims were to come true.

Noises on the other side of the steel walls capture your attention and Law groans, looking up from his work for the briefest moment.

“Go away. I won’t tell you again.”

He doesn’t raise his voice because he doesn’t have to, the low growl clearly enough to send the several pairs of feet eavesdropping outside of the medical bay door scurrying. You giggle, shaking your head.

“Friends of yours?” 

Law’s face is unchanging, glasses perched on his nose while he leans back in.

“My crew. I assumed they’d still be sleeping but apparently I was wrong.”

“Oh, a crew!” You exclaim and he shoots you a warning glance encouraging you to be quiet lest they catch wind of the fact not only a stranger but a female one is onboard. “Sorry, I was kind of excited to hear you aren’t traveling all alone. You seem like the type that does.”

A strange thing to say but he chuckles so quietly you believe you imagined it, that same thumb from three days ago holding your arm as though it’s made of glass. That feeling of being seen and not simply viewed returns, settling strangely while you kick your feet back and forth where they dangle. 

“Do you guys go around the world and help people like this all the time?”

Reaching for his scissors that are in a cup on the table behind you, he shakes his head once but his eyes never move from your wound. He cuts through one of your poor stitches and then another, the tension keeping the cut closed finally releasing and showing you just how much pain you’re about to be in. You play it cool, kicking your feet a little harder to focus on something besides how bad it hurts and finally, he speaks.

“No. We’re pirates.”

Staring wide eyed at the man, you try to will your face to change before he can look up and catch the expression. Unfortunately, you failed and he looks over the top of his glasses, mouth set in a flat line.

 “What? Are you scared?”

“No no no, just surprised is all,” you chirp, playing off your anxiety. “You’re helping me so I have no judgment either way. Besides, I don’t have much a pirate would be interested in anyway.”

Trafalgar could name a few things about you the pirates he knows would be very interested in but he keeps them to himself, squeezing the edges of your wound together to release any lingering pus. You wince but swallow it down, tough girl that you are, gnawing your lower lip and flaring your nostrils as you breathe through the sting.

“How did this,” he nods and you know what he’s nodding toward. ”happen?” 

You swallow thickly, blinking fast to keep from crying.

“Uh, it was nighttime. I was by myself and something was caught in my nets that wouldn’t come out. I tried to cut it out and ended up cutting myself instead.” Sniffling, you wrinkle your nose to keep any further show of pain or emotion from arising. “Cut the net too which really sucks.”

The pain is immense but manageable while he cuts through a few more of the stitches, gently squeezing as he goes. It’s bad but it isn’t as infected as he thought, fighting off annoyance at your utter recklessness like he should care or something. 

“I hate to break it to you but maybe you shouldn’t be doing things on your own if this is the outcome.”

Contrary to the immediate offended glare you cast toward him, you have to admit to yourself that he may be correct. This time wasn’t the first you’ve ever injured yourself alone and as long as it isn’t the last, you have always sort of just considered things even but this is bad. It aches. Every stitch he pops releases the tension of the thread and you hiss through your teeth. 

“You’re probably right,” you admit aloud, feet no longer kicking out and instead planted firmly against the legs of the chair to brace yourself for the worst of the pain to come. “But all I have is me so I do what I have to.”

The remark about his crew suddenly makes more sense. He hums, reaching for cotton and disinfectant solution to clean now that it’s squeezed out and the stitches are gone. 

“Then you need to be more careful,” he warns, that cursed thumb finally letting go of you so he can use both hands to soak the cotton with the solution. He gently swipes it across the surface and he feels the tension in your body return.

“This is what happens when you get hurt and ignore it. It’s a pain in the ass and it hurts when it comes time to fix it.”

Frowning, you can hardly hide your displeasure over his poor bedside manner. Not that you’ve been to many doctors in your adulthood outside of the one who occasionally comes to do semi annual checkups for everyone who lives here but you assumed being a doctor meant you kind of had to be nice. 

“I’ve learned my lesson.”

Your words are dripping with sarcasm but he ignores them, stepping on the trash can pedal beneath the bench and tossing the cotton in there. He moves as swiftly as you’ve ever seen anyone work and procures a needle and thread also from the bench behind you. That thumb touches the outside of your arm, again, and he pauses a moment to look up at you.

It’s obvious that you’re in pain and pretending like everything is fine. He gets the sense you do that a lot. Not that it’s his problem but he feels obligated to take the best care of you that he can while this situation is happening so he speaks slowly.

“This is going to be the worst part.”

You nod.

“It was when I did it too.”

At least you can laugh about it. 

Gently poking through one side of the wound with the needle, he pulls it through and you see a tidy line of thread left behind. Far better than the messy, knotted, too big stitches you had before. He continues his pattern - poke, pull, weave - and you marvel at the quality of his work. It’s clear he takes his duties as a doctor seriously and a wave of gratefulness washes over you. Sure he hasn’t been the nicest man alive but the fact he’s done this at all tells you that he isn’t all that bad no matter how he acts.

“Thank you.” You want to leave it there, mouth opening and then closing again, but you don’t feel right saying that and nothing else. “I don’t know why I’m even telling you this but I’m not good at asking for help or accepting it either. Most people give up after I shoo them off the first time so I guess thanks for not taking me seriously.”

Finishing the final stitch, he cuts off the thread and looks directly up at you. 

“Yeah, well it’s not like it was hard or took a lot of time.” 

Averting his gaze back down to his work to give it a final inspection, he considers telling you he’ll check in again to make sure it’s healing right. It isn’t his responsibility now that the work is done but your honesty has convinced him you aren’t very good at looking out for yourself.

“Alright, I’ll walk you back up to shore.”

You’ll have to figure out how to do it without him because once you leave this ship, he won’t bother trying to see you again.

[annabelle--cane]

the post-statement section of mag 142 is so good because martin has his little freak out of "no no no no, this isn't jon, it's uhh mind control or something, he would never choose to this, and if I thought he did then. then. well I can't think about that, because it's not true," and then, almost like the forces of the universe are listening in on him (because they are), a daisy is delivered up to him to make it explicitly clear that just because there were external factors involved and she hates a lot of her past actions doesn't mean that she isn't responsible for them or she wasn't in control of herself. and then she has to explain to him that almost all of jon's overtly bad choices are really classic ptsd symptoms, something that seems to take martin aback to hear.

[rhymaes]

The Untamed (2019) // “Snowdrops,” Louise Glück

[faaun]

we sang in the aeroplane over the sea tgth ☆

[this-is-a-antiradqueer-blog]

⏳TransTimeTurner⌛️

TransTimeTurner is a transid term for those who identify as a timeturner, and as a transpossession term for those who identify as owning/using a timeturner.

✨I DO NOT SUPPORT JOANNE ROWLING! THE HARRY POTTER FRANCHISE IS SOMETHING I USE TO COPE AND FIND COMFORT IN! I ENJOY HARRY POTTER WHILE SEPARATING IT FROM THE AUTHOR!✨

[dollya-robinprotector]

I know I have a habit of always keeping things to myself… But why am I still surprised when people don’t know what I know?

[galaxyhybridscentral]

chat is this anything

my memory sucks, i forgor who i referenced this off of, but it had Phoenix, Trucy and Apollo. im so sorry that im an idiot 😔

[paradoxolotl]

God I need a hug :(

[crispy6usiness]

Ahh im so sad i wrote up a whole thing in response to an ask about my fantasy ocs and then i saved it to my drafts...... It got eaten......... Sayonara lore dump..........

[strawberrystepmom]

cw: mentions of fishing and non-violent methods of killing fish. reader is described as smaller/shorter than law and is wearing a dress. trafalgar law x fisherman f!reader. | word count: 1k, reading time: approx. 4 min.

takes place in the shifting sands verse

It’s a clear, cloudless morning above your island home. 

You’ve risen before the sun, as always. You’ve made your way to the beach, as always. You’ve packed your nets and your knives yet there’s one thing you could not have prepared to bring with you in your wildest dreams.

Trafalgar Law, the mysterious man you seem to keep bumping into no matter how hard you try to avoid him. He was walking the beach with his hands in his pockets when you arrived this morning. Briefly, you contemplated pretending you didn’t see him at all but it goes against your nature to not at least be friendly so you asked him to join expecting a no.

To your surprise, he shrugged his shoulders and gave you an unexpected “why not?”.

Now you’ve set out, two people in one small boat. The waves cause the boat to rock although it’s a gentler motion than the last few weeks have given you. Two weeks ago a monsoon blew through, a week after the lingering winds were nearly too strong to come out at all. 

At least you have a second body to weigh your boat down in case a rogue wind does appear.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

You pose the question lightly, chin digging into your shoulder while you turn your head to look at him. Each time the wooden boat bobs, your body moves in like. Hips shift and feet widen to shoulder width apart on their own after years spent braving these very waters, your beloved lucky net dangling from your forearms.

The sunrise casts just enough light over him that you can make out the faintest hint of a smile. At least you think that’s what you see before you look away, narrowing your eyes to look across the horizon. 

“Nope.”

Sunlight catches the rippling waters, making them sparkle. With a content sigh, you peek over your shoulder again to steal one more glance at him. That smile you imagined still remains. The corners of his lips are upturned just enough that the untrained eye may miss them but not you, ever astute and fixated on every move he makes.

“Then at least keep quiet and don’t distract me,” you tut. 

He rolls his eyes and shifts his position. Long legs are spread wide, feet planted firmly on the ground below him. His fingers are linked to make his hands into a singular fist that rests in the open space. You steal a glance at his forearms, bare as they are, but your bravery leaves and you don’t linger for long.

“I’m not the one taking their own sweet time here.” 

It’s difficult to argue against the truth. Laughing, you turn back toward the water and finally toss your net. The boat rocks stronger than the waves for a moment, slightly disrupting your stance and Law’s hand makes its way to the small of your back. Long, tattooed fingers spread across the linen dress you’re wearing to cover up your bathing suit, sliding from your back to hip to keep you steady.

“I can handle myself.”

The reminder that instinctively leaves your lips makes him smile though you don’t see it, keeping your face forward lest he make out the surprised expression on your face. This isn’t the first time he’s touched you but this is the most intimate, far more so than popping and replacing stitches in the meticulously kept medical ward aboard Polar Tang.

Before you can further contemplate the weight of his fingers so close to your skin, your hips, the curving swell of your backside, your net pulls and you lean forward to reel it in. He leans with you, those long arms and tall stature coming in handy in situations like this, your back cradled by his palm while you bend over. He continues to sit with his legs spread and his feet planted just as firmly as they’ve been, watching you quickly pull the sopping wet fibers into the boat. Fish flop halfheartedly through the weave and you grin excitedly, looking behind you.

For the first time you see the position he’s in, looking up at you with that dark hair blowing around his face. The breath you were taking catches in your throat and you attempt to swallow it, knitting your brows together. The length of his arm still holds you upward, fingers digging into your dress.

“You alright?” 

It feels like a loaded question but you answer it with a nod, looking away to gain some composure.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” you mumble and mutter under your breath, bending your knees to squat. The new position finally forces him to drop his hand and lets it dangle while he rests his forearm across his knee. “Thought I saw another boat in the distance.”

It’s not a good lie and both of you know it. Law watched your body shift completely, your face change, your eyes dance across him. What your mouth won’t give away the rest of you always does and he picked up on it early. 

Saying one thing, doing another. Always, always, always.

“Thanks for keeping me steady.” 

Now you’re just saying one thing and meaning another. Fortunately he picks up on the thing you won’t say.

Thank you for touching me. For caring enough to do it gently, to protect me.

“Work on your sea legs and I won’t have to,” he shoots back, raising his eyebrows and groaning while he stretches out.

Laughing, you begin untangling the flopping fish from their captivity to inspect them. The smaller ones are tossed right back out amongst the shimmering seas. The larger ones are stunned using the ice pick that rattles across the floorboards each time the boat shifts while you mentally say a little prayer, thanking the sea and whatever created these gifts for giving them to you.

“Don’t overestimate your importance, doctor.”

You don’t look at him when you say it but he can feel the amusement. His mind can easily conjure the curve of your cheek. He shakes his head, folding his arms over his chest and his feet one over the other, extending them and letting his boots rest next to where your left foot is placed. 

Each of your soles, his and yours, nearly touch.

[alackofghosts]

i can't believe i managed to scrape together the gil for a medium and hold on to it for the time it took to get one, because since then i've been living a perpetual 15k gil life

[eridanidreams]

WIP Wednesday

Tagging: @bearlytolerant, @silurisanguine, @aro-pancake, @fangbangerghoul, @atonalginger, @aislingdmdt, @fshenkoescape, @ninjaofnaps, @lisa-and-shadow, @a-cosmic-elf, @thatsgoodsquishy0, @hockeydemon42, @fomagranfalloon, @violenceandviolets, @therealgchu, @staticpallour and @artemis-crimson

I'm late to the party tonight, so enjoy!

from stars through my fingers like grains of sand

Lillian agreed, then took a deep breath. "But Sam, I need something. I need to see my daughter more. These messages, they're just a tease."

"And she misses you," Sam countered, before Cait could draw breath to speak herself. "But, Lillian, the last three times we planned something, you bailed twice. Twice." His jaw set, his eyes burned the hot blue of stars, and his anger fueled the embers of her own. Before it could go out of control again (she'd wanted to—what? the memory had gone up in smoke), she leashed it, channeled it into words.

"Cora knows you're not really invested in her, Lillian," Cait said, choosing every word with exquisite care. "She certainly knows that you put being a Ranger over spending time with her. And pretty soon now, she's going to figure out that you aren't actually interested in your reading club. Right now, she just thinks you're a slow reader."

Lillian flushed. "How dare you say that?"

Cait felt a slow, angry smile cross her face. "Life is a storm, my young friend. You will bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next. What makes you a man is what you do when that storm comes. You must look into that storm and shout as you did in Rome: Do your worst, for I will do mine! Then the fates will know you as we know you." Lillian still looked confused. "That's only one of the most famous quotes from the book you're supposed to be reading right now."

"Do you have any idea the looks I get when I'm reading Dumas around the other Rangers?" Lillian demanded.

"If you really cared about Cora," Cait said softly, "it wouldn't matter."

"For crying out loud, Lillian," Sam added, "where do you think the whole 'Rangers always have each other's back' thing comes from?" Lillian looked at him in complete astonishment. "I'm not the reader Cora or Cait is—" His anger was dissipating, replaced with a sort of grim amusement that damped Cait's anger like a fire extinguisher "—but I'm not immune to a rousing adventure. Like, oh, The Three Musketeers." He let that hang in the air.

"All for one, and one for all," Cait murmured.

"And books aside, what this all boils down to," Sam said, "is that every time you bail out on Cora, it destroys her. And I'm the one left to pick up the pieces." Now that her own anger was more-or-less quenched, Cait could clearly sense the memory of Sam's devastation as it shivered coldly through him.

"Be honest with yourself, Lillian," Cait commanded. "Do you really think you can put Cora first? Every time? Because if you can't, then you need to stop pretending that you can."

Lillian winced, shaken to the core by Cait's brutal honesty, as Sam added, "Whatever you've got going on with Cora right now, I won't stand in the way of that. But we're not going to make plans again if you can't be sure you're going to make them. Even if there's an emergency."

Lillian sighed. "It's so often a matter of life and death, you know that—" There are other Rangers, Cait thought, but did not say. Lillian needed to make this decision herself. "—but you're right. Maybe—maybe when she's older." When she's older, Cait knew, would never happen; Lillian had just driven a stake through the heart of any hope of a closer relationship with Cora. Unless she changed drastically, and soon, this was the most she would ever have. Cait couldn't find it in herself to be sorry—at least, not for Lillian. Silently, she vowed to do everything she could to make the inevitable easier on Cora.

Sam nodded solemnly; Cait wondered if he'd heard the same thing she had. "Okay. Friends, right?"

Lillian set herself, and underneath all the turmoil, the anger, the resentment, Cait thought she heard a faint note of relief. "Friends." She gave a soft, rueful laugh. "You and me—we were over before we ever began." Cait hadn't expected the turn of conversation, and now she did feel like she was intruding. She took a half-step back, intending to make a discreet exit, but the ice cracking beneath her foot betrayed her. Lillian offered her a soft half-smile, but her emotions had sharpened into something almost—speculative. "No need," she said. "Sam and I—we didn't really choose each other, we just sort of—fell into it. I admire him, and he's one of the few people in the Systems that can make me laugh… but he's right. What we had, was never love. Not then, and not now."

"Truth," Sam agreed.

"All right," Cait said, feeling like the ground itself was shaking underneath her. She was teetering on the edge of emotional overload, and she knew it. "Do you think you two can go on from here? Is there anything else you need to address?"

Sam shook his head in silence. "No," Lillian met her gaze without flinching; after a moment, a half-smile curved her lips. "Sam's found himself one hell of an advocate."

Cait shook her head. "Sam didn't need me to support him—he did just fine." Sam's surprised appreciation curled up through her, adding itself to the storm already raging inside of her. "He needed it for Cora." She breathed deeply of the cold air, trying to use the shock to steady her for just a few moments more. "I'll go take a walk while the two of you finish up whatever you need to. Lillian, I presume we're dropping you back at Neon?"

"No need," Lillian said. "I've arranged for pickup. But I will make sure to say goodbye to Cora before you lift off." She gave Cait a long, considering look. "And thank you. You've given both of us a real gift. Not a comfortable gift, but…" she let out a sigh. "Honesty is the best way to go... however painful. As if I didn't owe you already."

"I'm not one to keep score," Cait said. "But I'm glad I could help. If you'll excuse me…" She nodded to them both, then walked away quickly before either of them could draw her back in.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Has anyone seen, or read, about the old cartoon Mummies Alive? Because while I've only seen maybe two or three episodes, I really like the premise, which is a random kid is the reincarnation of a pharoah's only child, but tragically are murdered. Their old guardians/mentors/guards failed to stop it, and are turned into mummies (so, you know, killer, gutted, stuffed, etc., what happens to a person to make a mummy).

Well, the ancient bad guy is awakened, the Kid stumbles into the museum, winds up in danger, the mummies come to life, and now they're adapting to the modern world, protecting this scrappy kid, and trying to grapple with them being a reincarnation of their old ward (who they were found family with).

So. Let's do this with X-Men.

They'd be from an ancient civilization and empire of mutants, and Reader was the only child of their pharoah/emperex/monarch, and was the ward and possible biological child to one of the adult guardians/mentors. They helped raised Reader the moment they were born, they were there for them when they had nightmares, they were loved on by Reader with all their love, they kept them safe, they taught them about their powers and of their ancient history and how to rule and defend-

And then Reader was assassinated, and they couldn't live with it.

So they were mummified, only set to rise again when Reader was alive again...

It should have been impossible... Yet here they are, waking up in a strange new world, looking down at a kid who insists they aren't Reader, but they look like them, have their name, even their mutation... And all they can do is protect them, raise them, in thi strange new world, defending them and trying not to let the past repeat itself...

(A few of the adults want to restart their empire, their civilization, where mutants prospered and weren't hated or forced to hide, while the rest just want to leave it be. Reader doesn't know they all knew their past life, Reader doesn't know they had a past life actually, and are just trying to help these poor old mutants who need help adjusting to things like modern medicine and cars and electricity... The adults also try to trigger Reader's memories, hoping they'll at least remember something of their past, if not all of it... It's just that some can't accept what's happened, and strive to fix things by bringing the past back, in full glory...)

[dreadfutures]

:(