#so much of the universe is empty space and we are here with our very own star?? it makes us alive and it is not a stagnant thing

[opens-up-4-nobody]

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[alexiroflife]

‘don’t ignore me’

“Across the Earth” Part 1: satoru gojo x reader

part 2 | part 3

Synopsis: you travel to NYC for spring break completely oblivious of satoru’s plan to follow you there

to sum it up: satoru does not take being avoided by you very well

WC: 12,731

The late afternoon glow of the setting sun milks the empty classroom through the row of glass windows touching the floor up to the ceiling. Most classes for the day have ended, and students scatter about the campus in search of food, study spaces, and each other’s company. It is no later than five pm, two days out from the university's suspension for spring break. 

The chaotic atmosphere of the large campus is finally subsiding after a month’s long hectic craze of last minute assessments and projects as people prepare for their much needed vacation from strenuous academics.  

Satoru Gojo and his best friends lounge peacefully inside their empty philosophy classroom, soaking in the rich rays of orange sun. A comfortable silence has settled over the group as Suguru works to finish an essay and Shoko toys with her lighter, flicking it open and closed repeatedly as she watches the small flame ignite and dwindle in her palm. 

Satoru, oddly quiet, has been tapping away at his phone, hunched over the back of a chair so that he is facing his friends who sit properly before him at desks. The three pay each other no mind, wrapped into their own dazes, when Satoru breaks the stillness and thrusts his phone into their faces.

The two stop, snapping up from their trances instantly, the glow of Satoru’s phone screen disrupting their concentration. Satoru says nothing, waving his phone back and forth tauntingly in order to keep their, what he assumes will be, short-lived attention.

They lean forward to examine what the device has to display and scrunch their noses as their eyes dart over words and pictures that stand out to them in clarification of what Satoru has done. 

Email confirmation. Seven day stay. Hamptons, New York, USA. 

Suguru looks up first, confusion and distrust swimming in his hazel eyes. Shoko puts her lighter down and takes Satoru’s phone from his hand gently next to peer down at the images of the extravagant, luxurious villa plastered all over Satoru’s phone with her own eyes. 

Satoru taps the back of his chair eagerly, eyes swapping between the brunette and the ravenette with an enthusiastic smile. “So? What do you think? You guys excited or what?”

Suguru crosses his arms atop his desk, leaning forward with eyes slim with suspicion as he tries to process what he has just seen. He places his pencil down next to his unfinished paper with the understanding that inquiring about whatever his best friend is planning will take a good chunk of time out of his work hour.

 “Satoru…” he begins tiredly, searching the snowy haired man’s jubilant expression for whatever true intentions lay beneath it, for there was always a reason why Satoru did the things he did. This applied especially to when his scheming led to greater absurdity, his actions as loud and ridiculous as the reasons he executed them. “Why did you rent out a villa in the Hamptons?”

Satoru shrugs. “The real question here, Suguru, is why not?” 

Shoko swipes her finger over the plethora of pictures Satoru’s email confirmation has to offer, brows jumping with subtle interest with each snapshot. “You want to go… to America?” she poses softly in a mumble, eyes glued to the phone.

“Ah, no. Correction: we are going to America! As a group!” Satoru exclaimed, leaning back with outstretched arms. “For spring break! Aren’t you guys excited?” 

Shoko finally looks up again, meeting Satoru’s eyes blankly, while Suguru rubs his forehead in exasperation. “And why would we be doing that?” 

“Well, because the first class round trip tickets are booked, and so is our stay, which you’re looking at right now,” the blue eyed man explains as though telling his friends two days before break that he paid for their expenses to travel across the world is completely justified and, far worse, normal. He leans over to point at the dates listed below the email confirmation on his phone, guiding his friends’ eyes to his finger. “See? Our stay starts Saturday, so we have to leave tomorrow.”

Suguru’s lips part in shock, eyes widening. “Wh- tomorrow?”

“It’s a twelve hour flight and we’ll be jet-lagged. Gotta plan ahead.”

The black haired man thinks he can just about wring out Satoru’s neck when that sentence falls from his mouth, for everything he is suddenly presenting is hardly something that has been planned ahead. 

Shoko looks over to Suguru to see what he is thinking and finds the agitation mixed with sheer awe at Satoru’s audacity will likely lead into yet another argument between the two that she is forced to witness from nearby. 

“Satoru, please tell me you’re joking,” Suguru scoffs. “We can’t just up and hop on a plane to America tomorrow- we have class, and none of us are packed for a week’s trip in a completely different country,” he reasons. “And America? Why the hell would you want to go there of all places?”

“Yeah, why not the beach?” Shoko chimes in monotonously, handing over Satoru’s phone to its owner. “There’s so many other options outside of the country. Like Bali, Greece, the Bahamas-”

“Or staying home and not springing a full trip out of nowhere onto your friends a day in advance?” Suguru interjects.

Satoru takes his phone back and pouts. “The Hamptons is on a beach, you guys. Didn’t you see the pictures? Our villa is like two seconds from the water,” he says. “Besides, who’s never wanted to go to the U.S.? Don’t you think it’ll be fun?”

“No, I don’t,” Suguru deadpans. “The Hamptons is in New York, Satoru. Don’t you know what New York is like? It’s disgusting.”

“How would you know? It’s not like you’ve ever been,” Satoru pokes out his tongue. “And what you’re thinking of is New York City. Where we’re staying is two hours away,” Satoru corrects. “It’s perfect. We can spend most of our time lounging in our big house and on the beach, and whenever we feel like it, we can drive down to the city to explore! It’ll be good to get a change of pace for us to embrace tourism.”

“I’m not going into that city,” Suguru frowns, and Satoru sighs loudly.

“Don’t be so reclusive, Suguru. You may like it.”

“I won’t.”

“Have a little faith!” Satoru groans, eyes peering dramatically over the frames of his round glasses. “We’re juniors. We shouldn’t just sit around at home all break doing nothing.”

“That’s not the point, Satoru.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, you don’t like America,” Satoru waves his hand. “But you’ll get over it once you actually get there.”

“Do you think they’ll be friendly?” Shoko asks, lifting her chin in thought. It’s clear that she is already mentally preparing to indulge Satoru by going on this trip, for she had nothing better to do than to spend it away with her friends. After all, there are worse fates than shacking up in an outrageously expensive villa in the states. 

“Who, Americans or New Yorkers?” Satoru questions. “Either way, no, not at all,” he concludes, answering his own question. “But it’ll still be fun!”

Shoko shrugs, leaning back into her chair and propping her feet atop her desk. “As long as there’s water and food, I’m set.”

Satoru grins. “See? Look at that, Suguru, Shoko’s on board. So stop complaining and just go with the flow.”

Suguru clenches his jaw, astonished by the things he is hearing. He does not understand it. Not one bit. Satoru, though constantly flaunting his privilege to travel around, has never expressed direct interest in going to America. While he has toyed with the idea playfully in the past, Suguru had never taken his comments seriously because, to be perfectly frank, who would?

He knows something was up by the glint in Satoru’s eyes alone. Suguru knows his best friend very well, like the back of his hand, and knows entirely too well when there is an alternate angle to his seemingly random madness. After all, Suguru always found himself directly in the center of his spontaneous proposals. 

Therefore, when Suguru’s glare on Satoru hardens as if he is trying to physically see past his thick skull and into his mind’s contents, and Satoru stares back with a frozen smile, he knows that his gut instinct is correct. “What are you up to?” the hazel eyed man asks, furrowing his brows. 

Satoru’s smile stretches but does not quite reach his eyes. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking,” he replies coolly. “I simply want to treat my friends to a nice vacation. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes, it is.”

The albino slumps, rolling his chin over the rim of his seat grumpily. “You think so little of me, Suguru.”

“If it makes you feel better, I wouldn’t if I didn’t know you so well.”

Satoru’s bottom lip juts out and brows angle as he ponders the comment. “I’m not sure I know how to respond to that one.”

“Just cut the bullshit, okay?” Geto shifts in his seat, raising a brow at his sulking buffoon of a friend. “You’ve always got a reason for doing something, and this is no exception. So spill.”

Gojo’s eyes wander beneath his dim lenses, bouncing over every object of the room as his playfulness diminishes with Suguru’s accusation. “God, when did you get that stick shoved up your ass?”

“Since I’m twenty-one with a future career to think about. And so are you,” Suguru bites. “Stop stalling. Out with it.”

Satoru exhales again, closing his eyes. “I don’t know what to tell you. I hate to disappoint, but I’m only doing this out of the kindness of my heart and my hunger for exploration. You should be ashamed, throwing around these accusations and insinuating that there’s something more I want other than to have a once in a lifetime experience with the people I hold dearest to my heart-”

“You think, maybe, this has something to do with (Y/n) mentioning that she was going to New York for spring break the other day?” Shoko jumps in, her words droning on as if she were bored and her attention now elsewhere on her own phone, but her presented notion striking realization and dismay in the boys beside her.

Suguru’s eye twitches as everything pieces together in his mind. It was you. How hadn’t he understood sooner?

Satoru had taken a particular interest in you ever since freshman year orientation. 

While he, Shoko, and Suguru entered university having known each other all throughout high school, you were the new addition into their lives that Satoru had been rather insistent upon acquiring. 

It started with the freshman presentation in the auditorium. You happened to sit next to Suguru at the end of the row while Satoru sat on his other side and Shoko on his. You caught the blue eyed man’s eye immediately without even having to speak. But when you did, it was not to him but to Geto, leaning over and asking quietly if he knew where one of the dorm rooms was located, for you had yet to adjust to the size of the campus.

Satoru watched intensely out of the corner of his eye as Geto explained to you that he lived in the same building and would gladly show you around after the presentation. You thanked him kindly, a sweet smile rising to your face to match the charm in your light tone. Satoru nudged his friend harshly in the side when you turned away, ignoring the glare he tossed into his direction and leaning to whisper that he thought you were hot. 

Geto was quick to shove him away and hiss a warning, for he didn’t want Satoru scaring you off just after he made your acquaintance. Nevertheless, Satoru was determined from then on to learn who you were. And learned, he had.

You were attending University to study art and history, your hometown about five hours away from the campus by car. You were an only child, but came from an incredibly academically pressured environment. You were an honors student, here on scholarship, and you were so very talented. Your parents had wanted you to pursue something more practical, something that would show for the hours of mathematics and science practices that had been forced onto you while you were in high school, but the strenuous impact of high expectations and terribly little breathing room had pushed you into a different direction. 

You adored learning. You had a skill for it. You liked understanding the lens through which history has been told, how artists have come to detail the past, how history takes a hand in not only your daily society but the way in which daily society remembers it through art. You wanted to travel, to create, to fill your head with knowledge of past and present worlds, and though you could have been anything, this school and this path was what you chose. 

Your parents, of course, had not approved, so you were forced to work for your position at the university because they refused to fund you financially. You applied to numerous scholarship applications until you were accepted by over three, wrote hundreds of drafted college essays that eventually crafted your best piece of writing yet, and worked two jobs during school and the summer whilst simultaneously maintaining straight As. You worked damn hard, and all of that work had led you to where you were today.

You had only mentioned about a quarter of that information to the friend group as they led you to the co-ed dorms that they coincidentally all resided in and asked you questions to get to know you, but Satoru had learned the rest over the months and years. 

Despite Suguru’s warning for Satoru to back off, he did just the opposite and crowded your space as the four of you walked to the dorms after orientation. He was chatty, buzzing with an aura of privilege that you just could not seem to acclimate yourself to, at least not at first. Even so, Satoru was quick to welcome you into the group, inviting you to lunches and over to his shared room with Suguru within the span of barely two days. You were overwhelmed, to say the least, but grateful to have made friends so quickly. 

Satoru found himself intruding into your life just as he did with anyone else. No matter where you went, he had always found a way to turn up unexpectedly. Sometimes, he was alone, and other times, he was with Suguru or Shoko or both. 

As time went by, Satoru knew that he had gotten on your nerves the more comfortable you became. Gojo had blinked, and you went from a timid, kind stranger to the loud, bubbly, brazen woman you are today, who told him to leave you alone when you were trying to study and he was buzzing around your room like a nagging fly, and man, did he adore it. He adored your attention, whether it was positive or negative. He adored how your reactions to his lack of personal space proved that you were acutely aware of his presence, of his space, of his body near yours. He adored how, though you considered yourself to be friends with all three of them, he remained the only one that you would constantly bicker back and forth with when he did something to agitate you. 

He adored everything about his interactions with you, for half the time they were the only thing motivating him to trudge out of bed and take on the day.

You, on the other hand, had very different opinions of Satoru Gojo. The first time he spoke to you, he reeked of privilege and presented himself as a position in such subconsciously. He was the stark opposite of you, having been handed a place in school, a legacy, an estate, and money that could last him, his children, his children’s children, and so on, for centuries to come. He was in a clear position of power, holding his head high and strutting about campus as if he owned the place. 

Your first impression of him was that he was an arrogant, pompous brat.

As you got to know him, Suguru, and Shoko better, however, your disinterest in him faltered and you truly did begin to view him as a friend and as someone you loved spending time with. Though he was still spoiled as all hell, he was funny, he was intelligent, he was smart, and he was hardworking when he wanted to be. He wasn’t a bad guy at all though he was preposterously clingy and bothersome, but in an endearing, playful kind of way.

Nevertheless, Satoru Gojo would always be someone who viewed himself as above you. Someone who toyed with you for fun, who said and did things solely to get a rise out of you, who flirted with practically the entire population of girls on the campus, and who found it funny when professors berated him because they were just too “uptight.” Satoru was a brat, through and through, and you knew that he’d only hover around you if it served well for his entertainment. 

This fact hadn’t bothered you before because you thought you understood the dynamic that Satoru had built with you and with many others, but when you started feeling pangs in your chest when he grinned at you or envy bubbling in your gut when another girl approached him to ask for his number, your stomach sank with fear because you knew that your feelings were shifting against your better judgment. 

Consequently, you began distancing yourself from Satoru as best as you possibly could. Your texts went from all caps to lowercase as your tone dried, you stopped by his apartment with Suguru less throughout the week, and when he tracked you down, throwing an arm around you and asking what you were doing for the night, you would tell him you were busy studying with people who didn’t exist. 

It hurt you to behave in such a way, for you could tell that Suguru and Shoko were beginning to notice not only your shift in demeanor, but Satoru’s obsessive panic over why you were talking to him less. You tried to keep your friendships with the two separate from your feelings for Gojo, but the task proved quite impossible due to how attached the three of them were to each other. No matter how far you tried to pull away subtly, Satoru was there. Everywhere. 

This is what led you to decide that a trip out of the country would do you some good. You had always wanted to go abroad and your professor had presented an opportunity to you in New York to do research with a colleague on a selection of artifacts presented in the MET gallery. You scraped up the money for a ticket and an AirBnB in SoHo, along with the generous help of your university’s study abroad funding, and set the date. You had mentioned that you were going away to Shoko a few nights ago over the phone, but were unaware that your voice was on speaker as Shoko got ready for the bar with Suguru and Satoru catching wind of your brief conversation in the background. 

Gojo must have seen the opportunity to catch up with you, and snatched it.

Suguru groans, rubbing his hands over his face as he takes it all in. The only reason Satoru is so set on this trip is because he will be hijacking yours.

Satoru rolls his eyes, sitting back up and crossing his arms stubbornly over his chest, displeased with the general reaction to Shoko’s observation. “Like it’s a crime to be in the same place as her for spring break. That could be purely coincidental,” he tsks, casting his gaze to the ceiling.

“Satoru, oh my god,” Suguru grumbles.

“What?! It’s not a big deal! We’ll be two hours away from her and we can hypothetically visit her in the city if we decide to one day.”

“Are you seriously staking this entire trip on the chance of seeing (Y/n)? Satoru, I’m pretty sure she’s not staying home for a reason.”

“Duh, because she has a research thing.”

“No- I mean, she’s trying to get some space,” he urges. “From us.”

The notion does not sit well in Satoru’s chest, so he decides to ignore it. “Impossible. She loves us.”

“I don’t doubt that, but I also can tell that she’s been distant and wants a break. A break… far away,” Suguru emphasizes the last few words with earnest. “Come on, you had to have noticed too.”

Had he noticed? 

It’s all Satoru can think about, day in and day out. He looks at your text messages, reading back over your loud responses from months ago that have resorted to short words with periods, and at times nothing at all. He wonders why you don’t visit him often anymore, why you blow him off every single time he tries to hang out, and his heart hurts at the thoughts.

He doesn’t know what he has done wrong or if he has upset you in any way. For a moment, he thought it was a mutual distance that you were putting between all three of you, but the night you had called Shoko telling her about your trip and not him really put things into perspective. You were avoiding him. Not Suguru, not Shoko, but him, and he has no way of knowing why or how he could fix it. 

He misses you, and he’s not ready for you to decide that you want nothing to do with him anymore, so he’s following you, chasing after the chance that perhaps there is something he can do to make you laugh with him, smile at him, whack the back of his head again like you used to. 

“I don’t know, Suguru… maybe it’s you she’s trying to distance herself from,” Satoru hisses through his teeth, purposely deflecting blame from him as a coping mechanism. “I mean, after all, you do get in a crabby mood after certain classes. You probably said something mean to her one day and didn’t realize.”

“Shut up, you idiot, we both know that didn’t happen,” Suguru denies confidently, for he knows exactly why you have been stepping away. 

He has seen it in your eyes when you look at Satoru, the way you unintentionally cast annoyed glances Suguru and Shoko’s way when the four of you are out and Gojo is stopped by an enamored pretty girl, looking to drag him home with her. 

He sees the love all too well, in the both of you. He and Shoko both do, but they can not for the life of them understand how the two of you have been so blind to it. If you had opened your eyes for one second to see the reason why Satoru would wake up every morning to text you random, insignificant thoughts or followed you around like a lost puppy, you wouldn’t have been distancing yourself the way you are now. 

Nevertheless, Suguru supposes he understands. Satoru can be a lot to handle, and when you are trying to look up at him from the bottom of the pedestal that the world has placed him upon, it is terribly difficult to meet him eye level and see the truth in his gaze. 

“You need to be honest with yourself,” the black haired man proceeds. “And you can’t just intrude on (Y/n)’s privacy because you want to. It’s not fair to her.”

“What do you know about what she wants,” Satoru mumbles bitterly under his breath, turning to look outside the window in hopes of the scenery outdoors drifting him away from this enclosed conversation. 

Suguru shakes his head to himself, watching as Suguru pouts. “She’s not just your friend. She’s a friend to all of us,” he says, voice growing softer as he knows this is a sensitive topic. “Yes, it’s sad that we don’t see her as much anymore, but you have to respect her wishes. We shouldn’t go on this trip. Not if it’s to see her.”

Satoru is stubborn. Incredibly stubborn. He was raised receiving everything he asked for and more, therefore, he did not understand the concept of not doing something if he wanted to do it. And of course, when it comes to you, Satoru is willing to challenge all barriers in order to get to you. 

So he shakes his head in retort and allows a smile to return to his face. “Even if I were bringing us to America for her, which I’m not, the trip is already fully booked and paid for,” he grins, and Suguru feels the color drain from his face. Shoko chuckles quietly to herself in amusement, all too familiar with the shenanigans that Satoru pulls. Only she finds it far funnier and less agitating than Suguru. “So either way, we’re going. No ifs, ands, or buts. And as a matter of fact, I'm feeling extra touristy this year. I say we hit the MET while we’re in New York too. You know what they say… when in Rome,” Satoru nods, entirely too satisfied with himself. 

Suguru pinches the bridge of his nose, reluctantly accepting his fate. “I hate you.”

“Tell me about it,” the white haired man smirks.

“Even so,” Suguru starts, picking up his pencil once more in a half-attempt to conclude his closing paragraph. “We still have class tomorrow. Don’t we, Shoko?”

The said brunette hums. “True, but we’re not really going, are we? It’s the last day before break. No one will be there.”

Satoru stands abruptly, rekindled pride bursting in his chest. “Exactly. You’re gonna have to skip class just this once, Suguru. We’ve got a flight to catch,” he grins and Suguru grips his pencil so hard it almost snaps.

_______________________________

You huff as you slam your suitcase onto the hard floor of your temporary residence for the next week. The door shuts gently behind you, and you are finally gifted your first moments of isolated peace within your room. You step around your bag, exploring the space excitedly. You’re exhausted from your flight, more exhausted than you believed a person could be, but the spark of thrill buzzing in your body from making it overseas after a long journey is fresh in your mind. 

The space is far bigger than you thought after having been told of horror stories about New York’s cramped style of living. You have a cute kitchen that connects directly to your living space, which leads to a small balcony that overlooks the bustling streets and crowded stores of SoHo, New York. You see the corner that rounds to your bedroom and bathroom with a full shower, but rush to the balcony first. You throw the door open and step out, the muffled sounds of the city instantly hitting your ears with crisp clarity. You are seven floors up, looking down with wide eyes and a large smile, taking in the smoggy air and rows of brick buildings. You think to yourself that it is absolutely perfect. 

And what is best of all is that there is no Satoru in sight, no reminder of the heavy weight that weighs on your chest each time he is near, no image of his perfect face and haunting blue eyes, or that messy hair white as a cloud, or those glossy lips that always curl into a sinister smile. 

No, none of that here. You are free of him, of this burden of love for the next week, and you feel you can finally breathe. 

You settle in, unpacking your things and tucking your clothes away in the drawers, claiming the sunlit space as your own. You have a meeting early tomorrow morning with your professor’s research colleague at Central Park before heading into the museum, so you figure you could take the rest of the day to grab some food and rest, far too tired to explore a good chunk of the city due to the flight.

You go to sleep peacefully that night, the view of the city and busy noise surprisingly calming you into your slumber. Unbeknownst to you, however, while you drift off into a dreamless sleep, Suguru, Satoru, and Shoko are lugging their bags through the East Hampton airport.

-

You’re up bright and early the next morning. The first thing you do is check your phone subconsciously for messages from Satoru before recalling that your once steady text communication had come to a slow halt because of you, and that you two are in separate parts of the world. You pause, heart panging suddenly at the thought of Satoru, before shaking your head and pushing the thoughts away. This trip is not for you to sit around and think about that moron. You have work to do, sights to see, research to accomplish- and a meeting in an hour.

You rush out of your AirBnB after a half an hour, waving your hand aggressively on the sidewalk to hail your first cab. One eventually comes along after three have passed, and you set your destination for the South Side of Central Park. You dig into the cash fare you set aside specifically for cab rides and step out into the path leading into the plethora of greenery and liveliness of the park upon arriving. 

You are instantly filled with childlike wonder when you catch sight of street performers, vendors, horse drawn carriages, and artists. You look around, teeth biting into your lip harshly to suppress your smile. Though it is early morning, it’s already loud and busy as people rush to work or take morning jogs down the street.

Your phone rings before you can wander off to where you are not supposed to be, and you see the name of the colleague you are supposed to meet pop up. You quickly answer and trek off into the park, following his directions and finding him sitting at a bench atop a large rock. 

He is much younger than you expected when you approach him. He may be a few years older than you are now, stubble shading his face and brown hair cut short. You smile when he catches your eye, and he’s standing, reaching out to shake your hand with a warm grin. 

The two of you talk about your education, your experience with art history, and the goal of the research you would be helping him accomplish for your professor back at home. The two of you walk and talk as you head to the east side of the park to reach the MET gallery. 

He, who you learn to be named Aoto, is a grad student in his mid twenties attending a school in the city, an alum to your current college. Aoto is helping your art history professor collect data on how certain artifacts on display in the MET gallery have been discovered and acquired over the years, and to categorize them by culture and country of origin. Your job is to assist by essentially organizing the data and taking note of his findings by following him around galleries, lectures, and meetings, and you can not be more excited to start.

You then ask the dark haired man about his experience in the city, curious to know what New York is like from an insider’s perspective. He almost laughs and tells you that living there has changed his life for the better. He admits that it takes some getting used to at first, but once you have spent enough time here, there’s no going back. New York is a melding pot, he tells you, where anyone can work toward anything. It is a tough city to attempt to conquer, but it rewards you with so many connections and experiences that you can not find anywhere else. 

You take his words to heart, already admittedly inspired by the atmosphere around you. It is nothing like home, so boisterous and hectic, but lively, eclectic, and artful. It intrigues you.

You're snapping pictures left and right when you reach the MET, a wide, tan building with large banners cascading over the walls, advertising wonderful areas of exploration and collections within the museum. Aoto, far more casual than your professor had led on, chuckles at your excitement and offers to take pictures of you in front of the building with your camera. The two of you are standing on the steps of the museum for at least fifteen minutes, distracted by capturing images on your phone, before trekking inside.

And inside, your heart bursts as this building is where you are meant to be. Ancient Greek sculptures, fragments of middle eastern fabrics, plates collected from the Byzantine Era, works capturing prominent artists of the Harlem Renaissance, and more captivate your eyes, your heart, and your mind; the museum is a melding pot of history, new worlds different from the last lurking around each corner. You jump between signs, unsure of where to go next as you take it all in. 

Today, Aoto spends by giving you a tour and familiarizing you with the environment. He works there part-time with a membership and is able to give you an in-depth analysis of as many galleries as you can conquer within the few hours of time you have set for the day. 

When the tour concludes, he gives you a brief assignment to write down a list of the galleries you would be interested in focusing on for your short participation in his project as well as what you observed about certain artifacts that are on display. It isn’t much, but he wants to get your mind pumping with something before he puts you to real work throughout the rest of the week. You accept your task happily, moved by the pieces of history that you have already seen in the span of less than one day. 

For the rest of the afternoon, you find a nearby cafe and get to work, fixated completely on the works that have caught your eye in the museum. You type away the hours, jotting down observations, things that moved you, things that confused you, things you want to see. The sun is setting again before you even notice, and you get a buzz from your phone that brings you back up for air and concludes the dive into a rabbit hole that you have traveled through for a good chunk of the day. 

Aoto’s name pops up again, this time in a text. 

Dinner? I can show you a good spot near where you’re staying. We can talk work : )

You don’t see any reason for you not to accept, so you text back and agree. He sends an address instantly, and you’re packing your laptop and rushing out of the cafe to hail a taxi to head back to your place and put away your belongings before walking to your destination. 

You conclude that this is a nice change in pace from the constant harassment of Satoru as you sit across from your research partner at a bar and grill down the block from where you’re staying. It’s casual and friendly, refreshing, new. 

You talk about tomorrow's plans, your interest in the Arms and Armor gallery and the Islamic artifacts that you have analyzed earlier in the day. You also discuss your observation of missing fragments of Syrian tile or the preservation of torn carpet from centuries past. Many of the artifacts kept in the MET are still missing parts of itself that may likely never be recovered.

Once you finish discussing the day, Aoto tells you that tomorrow, you’ll be meeting up with him and a historian who will walk you through the findings of the Islamic Art collection. 

It is late when the two of you finish up. You step outside of the dim restaurant onto the sidewalk and into the cool air, facing each other to kindly bid farewell until the following day.

You smile to yourself as he walks away, heart fulfilled with the promise of a new week abundant with all the things you find joy in doing. You think to yourself that you are so very lucky to have been granted this opportunity, to travel, to learn, to experience, and that your spring break will be absolutely amazing. You grow excited even at the prospect of telling Shoko and Suguru about it when you return home.

You turn over your shoulder and prepare to walk home, eyes to the dark sky above before you lower them to look ahead…

And your face drops.

You squint, stopping dead in your tracks. Are you dreaming? Hallucinating? You must be, because there is no reality in which your eyes have caught a glimpse of that porcelain glow of silky hair in the midst of people walking by.

You scrunch your brows, a sudden aggressive sense of anxiety taking over you. Your heartbeat rises, the notion alone of seeing what you think you see makes your palms run cold with sweat and your body hot all over. No, you must be seeing things. Your mind is playing tricks on you, because there is no way in all hell that you just saw Satoru Gojo on the streets of SoHo, New York.

But then a path clears when people scatter to the sides, revealing two tall figures and a shorter  one ahead, and your jaw hangs wide open.

You have got to be fucking kidding. 

You wish someone was, that a prank is being played on you in poor taste, but your eyes have unfortunately not mistaken you. You could recognize your three friends anywhere. You watch in awe as Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, and Shoko Leiri saunter their way up the sidewalk into your direction. 

Satoru is looking around him with a childlike smile, flashing pictures of random people and alleys that hold no significance. He busies himself with the exaggerated pictures, looking everywhere but ahead of him, which tells you that he knows full well that you are standing nearby. 

Shoko stands behind him on his left with a cigarette propped between her lips, looking off across the street at an ice cream shop that catches her eye, and Suguru looks the most miserable of them all. Clad in dark, baggy sweats, he slumps on Satoru’s right, glaring in judgment at the people that brush by him, too close for his taste.

You don’t know what to say or do. You have half the mind to just turn around and walk off into a different direction, but Satoru’s eyes meet yours behind those damned glasses that he never took off of his face before you can even think about it 

He lowers his phone and parts his lips in feigned shock, cupping a hand over his forehead and leaning over to catch a better glimpse. He opens his arms wide upon detecting your face and his posture straightens. 

“(Y/n)! What a surprise, is that you?!”

His voice carries, turning heads as his tall form practically skips over to you and glomps you in a hug. You grunt, eyes wide and body frozen as the feeling of his body embracing yours fails to register very quickly. You stare off through wisps of white hair, tormented confusion written all over your face. Satoru is rocking your body side to side suddenly, acting as though you have not seen him in years, and for the blue eyed man, it may feel like just that. 

“It’s so good to see you!” he sings, pulling back with his large hands gripping your shoulders. You look up at him with a blank stare as he beams, pearly whites shining and fair skin tinged with a hint of pink on his cheeks. He chuckles when he looks at your expression, the bubbly sound making your head spin on your neck. “You look so shocked! Did you miss me?” he asks smugly, voice dipping lower as he leans his head in with a smirk.

You're speechless, stunned by his presence and distracted by his gut wrenching beauty. 

How the hell is he here? 

“Wh-” you stammer. “How- why are you-?”

“Why am I here?” he asks your unfinished question for you, and you nod stiffly. “Wanted to do some sight seeing for spring break, and I heard New York is great for tourists,” he grins, whipping out his phone camera once more to swiftly rush to your side and wrap an arm over your shoulders and snap a selfie of the two of you. You blink, the motion too quick for you to keep up with. Satoru steps back and looks down at his screen with a smile. “Aww, how cute! This one’s a keeper, for sure.”

A tinge of irritation captures you in the midst of your stupor when Satoru makes the picture of him smiling happily next to your ‘deer-in-headlights’ expression his new lockscreen. He’s messing with you, just as he always does, and for a moment you ponder whether this is truly a coincidence meeting him here or not. 

Suguru and Shoko slowly make their way over to the two of you. “Oh, guys! Look who I ran into,” Gojo gestures proudly to you. “Isn’t that funny?”

His friends do not look in the least bit surprised. When Suguru’s eyes swipe over you apologetically then back to Satoru with lingering annoyance, your suspicions are confirmed within seconds. “So funny,” Geto smiles tightly.

Despite his blatant displeasure in being here, Suguru is quick to mask his irritation and make his way over to you to hug you in greeting. “Sorry about this,” he murmurs to you before pulling away, and you’re reeling, overwhelmed. 

Shoko comes to you next with a soft smile, eyes lighting as she nudges your shoulder playfully. “Long time no see, huh? 

“Y-Yeah,” you stutter, flashing her a quick smile before glowering angrily up at Satoru. “What are the odds that we all find each other in America?” you hiss. 

“I know, right?” Satory shakes his head as if marveling at a joke. “The universe has a funny way of bringing us all together.”

Your eye twitches and your cheeks burn. You’re flustered, having been caught off guard by the one person you were trying your hardest to get away from. Now he’s here, after following you around in your heart, mind, and back home on campus, he has followed you overseas into another continent. 

You can’t escape him.

“So what are you up to? It’s dangerous to walk out here at night alone,” he says.

God, he is so insufferable. The very sound of his voice makes you want to slap him across the face in hopes that it will buffer whatever simulation you have been plopped into that has forced you to face Satoru Gojo of all people.

“Have you started your research yet?” Shoko inquires.

“Um… yeah, I got started with some stuff today. I actually just finished meeting with my research partner…”

“Oh, you were with someone then?” Satoru asks, pretending not to care. You can tell simply by the way he shoves his hands into his pockets and lifts his brows as though clueless. One thing you have learned about Satoru over the years is that his vision is eerily impressive and he observes things from miles away. In fact, he brags about his keen observational skills all the time, therefore, if he was able to see you from afar, he would have been able to see Aoto bid you farewell and walk away too.

“She just said she was with her research partner, Satoru,” Suguru adds, voice monotone. 

“I know, but I didn’t see any woman near (Y/n) before I saw her.”

You clench your jaw. “It’s a he,” you clarify flatly, eyes sharp on his face.

He nods slowly. “Ohhh, really now?” he hums, and you fight the urge to strangle him. “That’s interesting. Cool, good for you.”

“I’m sorry- what- I mean, how are you guys even here?” you change the subject to get clarification. “I didn’t think any of you were traveling for break. Shoko, you just told me the other night that you would be home.”

You don’t miss the exhale that Suguru breathes and the way Shoko’s eyes dart instantly to Gojo. “That’s a great question,” Suguru says. “Why don’t you ask Satoru? He’s the one who wanted to travel so bad.”

Satoru looks over at his best friend out of the corner of his eye, eyes hard as if warning him not to give him away. 

“Is that so?”

“You know me, (Y/n),” he turns to you giddily. “I love to go outside the box.”

“Clearly,” you bite, and he only grins that same stupid grin. You understand now. It was all his idea, as always. “So then, where are you guys staying? Here in the city?”

“Actually, no,” Suguru grumbles.

“Satoru’s rented a place up in the Hamptons.”

“The Hamptons?” you reel at Shoko’s revelation. “That’s a two hour drive from here!”

“We know,” she and Suguru say in unison, and you look at Satoru accusingly.

“Why would you make that drive at this time of night?”

The white haired man rolls his eyes. “As if it’s so crazy to want to rent a car to drive down to the city.”

“On our first full day on vacation, yes. It is,” Suguru says.

“Well, I wanted to see Times Square.”

“Times Square is on the other side of the city.”

“Okay, and? We can’t make detours along the way?” Satoru argues sassily. “Plus, my decision to make a detour and stop in the closest neighborhood led us to our friend! You guys should really be thanking me for reuniting us all like this.”

You almost wish you can’t believe this, but sadly, you do. 

Satoru Gojo is the only person you know who has not only the means, but the funds, and the audacity to book a last minute trip to New York solely to disrupt your peace. You can tell by Suguru’s face that he is not keen on spending time in the city, for he had always told you about his pet peeve of large crowded areas with unsanitary conditions. New York is the last place he would want to be, and the only reason he would even find himself here is if his nuisance of a best friend forced him to be. 

While Shoko does not look bothered to be in the city at all, you know her very well. Shoko is low maintenance, but she likes to relax, to unwind, and she most likely much prefers the Hamptons and the beach over an impromptu drive into a city with no water or signs of relaxation.

And then there was Satoru, arrogant, hardly ever serious, and all too pleased with himself. He knows exactly what he is doing, showing up in the same part of the city you told your brown haired friend you would be residing in for the entirety of your stay. The pictures you have posted on social media hours ago likely led Satoru to this very spot, where he stands with an air of satisfaction and delight around him. 

You witness the way girls’ eyes linger as they walk by, his presence giving off that of a model’s. He clearly is not native to the city, for you all stand out like a sore thumb, but Satoru specifically gives off a vibe of untouchable refinement and value that not many have seen before. 

You hate him, how much attention he gets anywhere he goes, how he is so painfully aware of it. You hate how smug he looks, how pleased he appears to be in your presence after having shown up so unexpected. You hate him and those captivating round eyes complemented by snowy lashes glimpsing over round frames. You hate his irritating smile that prods into subtle indents of dimples in his lower chin and the stretch of pink lips that you catch yourself ogling at during the worst of times. You hate the way he dresses so well, how he stands confidently adorned in a loose, linen shirt and jeans, and how his clothing smells of him hand in hand with his intoxicating cologne.

You hate him. You hate him so much. You hate how he won’t leave you alone, not even for a second, not even when you think you’re safe. He returns to haunt you, to flaunt himself all around you with no regard for how he makes you feel. He’s a brat. A spoiled, self-concerned, childish brat who you love with all of your being and you hate him. 

“Since we’re all here,” Satoru begins slyly, interrupting your train of thought with a shrug. “Why don’t you show us where you’re staying, (Y/n)? For old time’s sake.”

You try to regulate your breathing before you actually find yourself punching the white haired bastard beside you in the face. First, he springs himself onto you in the middle of the street, and now, he’s asking to intrude on your space. What gives him the right?

“I don’t think (Y/n) would want us marching into her space like that,” Suguru says pensively, doing his best not to further agitate you. He must have already seen the look on your face and determined that it is time for him to drag Satoru away from you and give you some breathing room. “After all, you’re working here, aren’t you (Y/n)? We wouldn’t want to distract you anymore than we already have.”

“Nah, (Y/n) would love to have us! Right?” Satoru speaks for you, moving behind you to cup your shoulders into his palms again.

You tense, his scent consuming you and his body heat radiating into yours. He’s so tall, you can feel his body dwarfing yours from where he stands so close. 

You want to kill him. 

“Come on,” he probes, grip on your shoulders tightening. “Just this once and we’ll be out of your hair.”

You know it's a lie the moment he speaks it into existence. Never once has Satoru come and gone so easily when you were involved. He always ensures to make a show of his pestering, sticking around you for as long as possible until he finally decides that he is happy with himself. You know that if you agree to letting him in, he won’t leave. At least, not for a long while. 

“Leave her be, Satoru,” Shoko waves at him. “She’s sick of your face already.”

“No one could be sick of my face, Shoko. It’s a work of art.”

“For real, Satoru. Let’s get out of this city already. It smells horrible,” Suguru adds.

“Hold on a minute, would you? We’re not going anywhere until we hear a yes or no from (Y/n).. Don’t be so impatient.”

Satoru happily places the spotlight onto you as your friends await a response.

Your first instinct is to tell them that it is getting late, that they should probably start heading back soon so that they are not driving past an unreasonable hour. You want to rid yourself of the thought of Gojo, of his eyes, his smile, his smell, his presence. You want to tell him off, to tell him that you want him gone, to go about your week as if nothing has happened.

You want to find the strength to do so badly, but you can’t.

As you stand there with your friends surrounding you, looking at their faces, you realize that you have missed them despite your desire to avoid Gojo for selfish reasons. You miss late night study sessions with Suguru in his apartment while you exchange laughs as well as answers for problems you were unsure about. You miss sneaking off into secluded areas of the campus to spark a flame in the dusk with Shoko, smoking until you were inebriated enough to bang on Suguru and Satoru’s door and demand food. And most of all, you miss Satoru. You miss the way he pestered you, the way he showed up outside of your classes, the way he took your phone to sneak a few pictures into your camera roll, the way he lounged on your bed and ranted to you about his father for hours while you listened as you painted your nails at your desk. 

You miss his company. You miss the way he makes you laugh. You even miss the way he makes you frown. 

You hadn’t realized before how difficult it had been to keep your distance from these people until seeing them here with you, and a wave of guilt sinks over your body. Suguru and Shoko are clearly attempting to do damage control before damage is inflicted by urging Satoru to leave you be, and them along with him, but despite your eagerness to stay away from Satoru, you find you don’t want him to leave you be. You don’t want any of them to leave you be. You miss your friends, and to turn them away now would be like rejecting them forever.

The four of you are out of the country together for the first time. You would be cruel to waste this opportunity to spend time with them after weeks of trying to step away.

So you sigh and give in, knowing that it is exactly what Satoru wants. “It wouldn’t hurt to have you guys over,” you say shyly, and Suguru and Shoko perk up. “Hell, we’re in America. Why not? I missed you guys.”

Shoko smiles, and against Suguru’s distaste for the city, he smiles tiredly with the shake of his head. He can only imagine that this trip will go into a far more chaotic direction that he had already believed. 

Satoru rejoices loudly, linking his arm around yours and yanking you to him. “Alright, (Y/n)! Lead the way!” he projects, marching forward and pulling you along with him. You stumble to catch up with his large strides.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming! Just slow down, you idiot!” you bark as he drags you past Shoko and Suguru.

The two exchange glances, sharing the same knowing look, before following suit. 

The four of you stop to grab pizza and a few beers on the way before entering your AirBnB. After Satoru familiarizes himself with the entire space, nosily peering into every nook and cranny, the four of you settle in the living room to eat with the balcony door open, allowing the spring breeze and ambiance of the city to drift into the space while you all keeled over in laughter, reminiscing over the past few years you have spent in each other’s company. Hours fly by until two empty pizza boxes sit in the middle of the floor, forgotten by your boisterousness. 

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on,” Shoko wheezes with laughter, leaning over in her seat on the sofa she shares with Geto to put out the ashes of her cigarette into the mug on that table. “What about that time Satoru got plastered and tried to scale the side of the science building?”

You and Suguru burst out cackling. You crane over your lap and Suguru throws his head back, amusement overcoming your bodies. Satoru rolls his eyes, tilting back the beer in his hand to prevent you all from seeing his smile.

 “Oh my god,” you cry. “He- He was yelling at us- for trying to tell him that the bricks- were too flat for him to grab!” 

“And then he made it up like five inches before falling flat on his ass!”

The three of you howl at the memory, stomachs aching from how hard you are laughing. “And his face after,” Suguru adds, swiping his hand over his face. “He was pissed at us like we did something wrong.”

“Because it was your lack of faith that fucked up my concentration,” Satoru butts in after lowering the bottle from his lips, thumb smoothing away drops of alcohol from his mouth. “I bet you I can climb that old ass building now. I know what to expect this time. I’ll be prepared.” 

“Sure, and you’ll break a hip this time around too.”

Satoru flips Suguru off from across the room, to which the dark haired man smiles with feigned politeness. 

“God, we used to get drunk like every weekend,” you say, placing your empty bottle on the floor next to the pizza boxes. You sit sprawled out between the couch and the chair that Satoru occupies, legs crossed before you. “How the hell did we get anything done?”

“Beats me,” Shoko chuckles, cooling down from her fit of giggles. “I don’t think I went to one class sober back in freshman year.”

“That sounds to me like you have a problem,” Satoru smirks.

“And you don’t? You’re a lightweight who actively chooses to get wrecked off three shots then makes it everyone else’s problem.”

“Wouldn’t me being a lightweight mean I’m less addicted?” he leans over his spread legs, sitting his elbows on his knees as he cradles his beer in his large palms. 

“No, it means you’re worse than any of us,” you tease, looking over to find Satoru’s eyes already on you.

He raises a brow. “Oh yeah? What about you, miss ‘emotional drunk?’”

You can hear Suguru snort, and you’re whipping your head between the two, offended. “Shut up! I don’t get that emotional.”

“(Y/n), you are so sappy when you’re drunk,” Suguru snickers. “One minute you’re taking a shot, the next you’re crying about how much you appreciate our friendship.”

Your face goes red. “I do not!” you deny.

“Oh, yes you do,” Shoko agrees.

“‘You guys, I just don’t know what I’d do without you!’” Satoru imitates your voice by scaling his own up a pitch, pressing a hand to his chest to encapsulate a touched emotion. “‘You all make me so happy! I love you all so much!’”

“Shut up!” you demand, fighting a laugh as Shoko and Suguru stifle their own. 

“‘Satoru, I know I’m mean to you all the time, but I don’t mean it! I love having you around! You make me smile!’” he sighs dreamily, batting his eyelashes, and your friends are laughing loudly again.

You crawl over to where Satoru sits and slap his shin hard, to which he looks down at you and grins snarkily. “Ow.”

“I do not sound like that,” you argue.

“Sure you do. I should know, I'm the one you always ended up babbling to.”

“Liar,” you groan.

“Whatever you say,” Satoru taps your nose lightly with his finger and you quickly swat his hand away.

“Oh! Suguru, do you remember that time (Y/n) cried over your hair?” Shoko brings up. 

It’s their turn to make fun of you now as you cross your arms stubbornly and listen. 

“She told me that she was crying because she was happy for me that my hair is so long,” the hazel eyed man recalls. 

“I mean, who wouldn’t?” Satoru chimes in. “Suguru was blessed with such beautiful, luscious hair, who wouldn’t cry over it? Isn’t that right, (Y/n)?” 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” you murmur. “At least I’m kind when I’m drunk.”

All eyes immediately turn to Suguru, and he freezes, laughter dying in his throat. “What?”

“You’re a fucking asshole when you’re drunk, Sugu, that’s what,” Shoko says. 

“Oh please, I’m not that bad.” 

“Tell that to those girls you made cry at the bar last year.”

Suguru grunts, pursing his lips in embarrassment. “I told them I was sorry.”

“Doesn’t make you any less of a monster off vodka,” Satoru says, and Geto throws an arm pillow at the blue eyed man’s face. 

You smile to yourself, leaning back on your hands and looking out the window at the city lights. “This is nice,” you say aloud.

Suguru and Shoko hum in agreement while Satoru stands to his feet after putting his bottle on the floor. “Isn’t it?” he announces loudly in content. “Aren’t you glad you ran into us and invited us here?”

“You invited yourself here,” you correct with a roll of your eyes. “But yes, Satoru. Yes I am.”

“We’ve missed spending time with you, (Y/n),” Shoko says. “You left me alone to deal with these two idiots and all they do is fight.”

“Because Satoru doesn’t take anything seriously,” Geto adds.

“It’s only ‘cause I love ya, Suguru.”

“Shut the hell up.”

You chuckle, bringing your knees to your chest. You glance at your phone beside you and see that the time reads 1:34 am. You cringe, unsure of where the hell the time went. “Damn, it’s late,” you say.

Suguru glances at his own phone and his brows jump. “Oh shit, yeah,” he observes. “Sorry, (Y/n). Didn’t mean to take up your entire night.”

“No, no. It's fine, I’m actually really glad you did.”

Shoko stands, stretching her arms behind her back with a sigh. “So, we hittin’ the road or what?” 

You can feel Satoru’s eyes on you in an instant, and you already know what he is going to suggest before he even opens his mouth to ask. You curse yourself internally because you know that you will regret proposing what you are about to propose, but you can’t bring yourself to watch your friends head out so late and drive two hours out to where they are staying.

Once again, Satoru’s decisions have become your problem. 

“Why don’t you guys just sleep over here for the night?” you suggest.

“...Are you sure?” Suguru questions. “I’m sure you’re busy tomorrow… and you’ve only been here one night.”

“It’s not a big deal. I meet with Aoto at ten tomorrow, so I’ll have plenty of time to get ready and see you guys off. Please, I wouldn’t forgive myself if I let Satoru drive you all back this late.”

“Aoto?”

“My research partner.”

“Ah,” Suguru nods, eyes flickering up swiftly to Satoru’s face before landing back on yours. “Well, if it’s not any trouble for you, we’d appreciate it.”

“Not at all. The four of us have had hundreds of sleepovers, this isn’t any different.”

“Alright, then. Thanks.”

The moment you stand up, Satoru is leaning himself against you, resting his heavy head on yours and squishing against your cheek. “You take such good care of us,” he coos, giggling when you try to push him away but struggle under his weight.

“Satoru, get off!”

The next twenty minutes fly as you spend them setting up the pullout in the living room (that you have only just discovered) and moving the coffee table to lay extra blankets and pillows next to the pullout. Suguru and Shoko take the bed while Satoru teases you about letting him sleep in the bed with you. You tell him to fuck off and he winks. 

Suguru and Shoko pass out within minutes, likely exhausted from Satoru pulling them along with him all day. You see Satoru setting himself up on the floor, taking off his glasses and setting them aside, when you sneak past quietly to step out onto the balcony.

You aren’t tired. Your mind is racing and your nerves are jumping with their awareness of Satoru sitting in your living room. You exhale softly, leaning over the railing and looking down at the still busy streets, watching taxis round corners aggressively and pedestrians chat loudly. You close your eyes, setting your arms on the rail and your cheek atop them, listening to the sounds and savoring the feeling of the cool night breeze against your flustered skin.

You soak in at least five minutes of silence before you hear feet padding behind you and the door opens and closes again. You lift your head and turn to find Satoru joining you. He walks up quietly and stands beside you, peering over the ledge in the same fashion you had as you avert your gaze. 

He does not say much, shockingly. Sleepiness is finally catching up to him as he looks down lazily, peacefully, unshaded blue eyes glossy beneath his long lashes. The soft distant lights of the street lamps illuminate his face with a dim glow while he hunches over, watching calmly. 

It is quiet between the two of you for a moment before he’s talking, a deep voice sending chills down your spine. “Do you like it here so far?” he asks softly, voice low.

You nod, pursing your lips and keeping your gaze down. “Yeah, it’s nice,” you tell him gently. “Really different from home, but nice. I like it.”

“I can see the appeal,” he agrees. “It’s busy like Tokyo.”

“Yeah, it is,” you nod. “I don’t think it’s Suguru’s style.”

A huff of amusement breathlessly leaves Satoru’s lips, the corners of his mouth curling. “It definitely isn’t. I had to practically drag him out of his room to get him to come with.”

“You know Suguru. He’s picky.”

“Very.”

“Shoko seems to be cool with the city though.”

“Mhm. There’s not much she doesn’t adapt to.”

“That’s true…” you mumble as a lull in the conversation arises. “...Satoru, why are you-“

“So what’s your research partner like?” he interjects, turning to look at you now. You furrow your brows, meeting his eyes when you face him. His face is serene, still, yet his eyes tell a different story. They’re alive with an eagerness for his question to be answered, a curiosity, a hint of frustration. You grow confused.

“…Why?”

He tilts his head. “I can’t ask about the person my friend is working with?”

“I- no, it’s just an abrupt question.”

“I don’t think it is,” he disagrees. “What’s his name again? Ayano?”

“Aoto,” you correct sharply.

“Right. So? How is he?”

His eyes don’t waver, and you pucker your lips with befuddlement. “I mean, he’s nice. I only just met him today, but I like him so far.”

“Yeah?” he says. “You must. I mean, you just met him and he’s already taking you to dinner.”

“…For work, Satoru. Dinner for work,” you say firmly, put off by his comment. “And he was being nice because I’ve never been in the city before.”

He nods and hums nonchalantly. “That makes sense,” he says, though you doubt he’s very understanding.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No, of course not,” he answered quickly. “It’s just, we haven’t talked in so long and you’re already…”

You leaned over on your elbow and turned to face him fully. “Already what?”

He smiles to himself and lowers his head, picking at his fingernails. “I don’t know,” he mumbles. “It’s just been weird, that’s all. I had to find you in America to get you to talk to me.”

A still silence settles in the air again as you stare at him, attempting to comprehend what is going through his mind. “Satoru,” you begin, and you almost think you see him jump when you say his name. “Why are you here?”

His eyes glance up ahead of him before back down at his hands over the railing. “I told you, already. For spring break.”

“You expect me to believe that of all places in the world, you chose to come to the same place that I told Shoko I was going?” you question and he only shrugs. “I’m not dumb, Satoru. You’ve always done this.”

“Done what?” his brows angle. 

“This,” you emphasize to yourself. “You always find ways to- to-“

“To what?” 

His eyes are on you again, vibrant, intense. You struggle to respond under the isolation of his gaze. “You know what I mean. It’s just what you do. You push your boundaries with people,” you say eventually. 

“Am I pushing a boundary with you by being here now?”

“I don’t know, Satoru, I just don’t think it’s a coincidence that you show up down the street from me in a completely different country.”

“But what if it is?”

“It’s not, though.”

“But if it is a coincidence, would you still be upset? Would you still be asking me why I’m here?” he questions. “Because I think you would.”

“The point here, Satoru, is that it’s not a coincidence and we both know it. That’s the only reason why I’m reacting this way.”

“So what I don’t understand, right,” Satoru starts and you can sense a tone of hostility creeping into his voice, though it remains mellow,” …is why it’s all of a sudden strange for me to want to spend time with you.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you’re so busy focusing on why I’m here instead of just the fact that I’m here.”

“Yeah, because I know you.”

“Do you?” 

You straighten yourself, trying to act as if his words did not sting. “What’s going on, huh? What’s the issue?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, (Y/n). You stopped answering my calls and texts, you don’t hang out with me anymore, you leave the country without telling me…” he stops himself before he can go any further and turns to look down at you head on again. “Help me understand, did I do something wrong?”

You sigh and lower your gaze. “Satoru…”

“I just need to understand what happened between us. We’re friends, and all of a sudden you’re acting like we’re not. Even Suguru and Shoko see it, but you still talk to them more than you talk to me these days.”

“It’s not-“ you pause, trying to figure out what you want to say. You don’t want to talk about this right now. Not here, not with him. It’s too much for you to get into, especially so without revealing how you feel about him. “I’ve just been-“

“Busy?” he interjects, and you deflate.

“Yes, actually.”

“Okay,” he nods, ripping his eyes from you as if the sight of you temporarily blinded him. “I can handle you being busy, (Y/n), but I can’t handle being ignored. And you can’t tell me that you haven’t been doing just that.”

“I haven’t been ignoring you.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not,” you argue. “I’ve been giving myself space. It’s different.”

“But why do you need space from me? What did I do?”

“It’s nothing you did, per say, Satoru.”

“Okay, then why?” he pleads. “Why won’t you talk to me anymore? Why aren’t you happy to see me? If I haven’t done anything wrong, why have you pushed me away? If there’s nothing, then that would just mean that you chose to step away from me for no reason, and I refuse to believe that’s true.”

You can tell by the way he speaks that you have truly affected him by stepping away, affected him in a way you did not realize you had. 

You honestly didn’t think he would have cared either way if you had waned off your contact, but you were clearly very wrong. After all, like Satoru said, you’re his friend above anything else. 

He’s looking at you again, desperation swirling in his crystal irises. “So just tell me, (Y/n). Tell me what it is. What did I do? What can I do?”

You sigh, hardened exterior softening, because how could it not when he’s giving you those huge puppy dog eyes.

“If I hurt your feelings, I didn’t mean to,” you tell him. “That wasn’t why… I’m sorry.”

“I’m not trying to get you to apologize for something you knew you were doing, I just want to understand why,” he says gently. “But if you don’t want to tell me… I guess that’s fine. I can’t force it out of you. I just thought you should know that I’ve missed you.”

You feel your heart do that thing it does every time Satoru is around, and you melt slightly. “I missed you too.”

Then, he’s smiling again, as though he wasn’t just upset. Eyes bright and cheeks warm as he turns to you with a newfound warmth returning in his composure. “Did you really?” he inquires, bending over slightly and craning his neck down to you with a low lidded eyes and cheeky grin.

You scoff, pushing his head away and turning your head to the side. “Don’t push it.”

“Yes ma’am,” he teases. “But seriously though.”

He steps closer to you, eyes peering down at you with a soft gleam. You look up and stiffen as he nears further into your personal space, his hand gripping the rail as the other tucks into his pocket. 

“Don’t ignore me again,” he mutters, gaze piercing into yours. “Please.”

You stare at each other wordlessly, air bristling through your hair as an intensity swelters between you. You blink, swallowing nervously. “O-Okay. Sorry.”

He hums, a smile stretching over his face once more, and ducks down to wraps his arms tightly around your waist, hoisting you up in the air as he embraces you. You squeak, your arms grasping at his shoulder blades to steady yourself once you're off balance. “It’s okay, munchkin,” he squeezes you tightly. “I could never stay upset with you!” 

“Satoru, put me down!” you hiss, face flustering. 

He chuckles, setting you gently back down onto your feet. You put bashfully, straightening out your shirt as he looks at you sweetly. “Man, am I glad we made up. I would have done something crazy if this went on much longer.”

“Oh, you mean crazier than flying all the way to fucking New York?” you quip and he grins.

“I told you, I’m here for vacation. Not everything’s about you, you narcissist,” he says, and you can feel a vein bulging in your forehead. 

“Sure,” you grumble.

“Anyways, since we’re all already here, I think we’ll stay in the city one more day before heading back up to our place.”

You quirk a brow. “Um, you think Suguru is gonna be okay with that?”

“Not at all, but I’m the one driving, so he’ll have to be fine.”

You shake your head to yourself, laughing quietly. “He’s gonna kill you one of these days.”

“I’d like to see him try,” Satoru says, making his way over to the patio door. “Oh,” he stops and turns over his shoulder. “What’s your schedule like tomorrow?”

“Well, I told you, I have a meeting at ten.”

“Oh yeah, with Aromo.”

“Aoto.”

“Same thing,” he sighs loudly, turning his eyes up. “Whatever, either way, we should all hang when you’re done. You know, before we head back.”

“While that sounds fun, Satoru, I’m here for research. I’m not sure I'll have much free time.”

“Right, like you’ll be doing work all day,” he says sarcastically.

“...Yeah. I might be,” you repeat with a straight face. 

“Uh huh. So, we’ll see you at one?”

“Wh- Satoru, I have to check with-”

“Great! Text us and we’ll meet you wherever you are when you’re finished,” he cuts in, not even allowing the word no to hit his ears. 

“No! Satoru-”

“Good night, beautiful,” he blows a dramatic kiss, swinging the door open. He reduces his voice to a whisper, mindful of his sleeping friends on the pullout behind him. “See you in the morning~” he wiggles his fingers in a dainty wave before leaving the balcony and shutting the door behind him, plopping himself down on his makeshift bed after making his way around the couch. 

You look after him in agitation, finding yourself alone and processing what Satoru has just said to you, the way he looked at you as he begged to understand why you took steps away from your friendship, the warmth of his arms as you held you tight, the gleam in his eye when he asked you not to ignore him. You shiver as the moments replay in your head, making you wonder how things have come to this. 

You sigh and turn back around to look out at the city one last time before turning into bed. It’s going to be a long week. 

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part three

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Three - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 2k

My legs feel numb, something cold and metallic digging into my back—chains, pinching at my skin. I try to shift, but the restraints hold me tight. There’s a warmth surrounding me, and I glance up to see Johnny's face, our noses inches apart. “Welcome back, Pumpkin!” Deadpool’s voice calls out from behind, dripping with that annoying cheerfulness that makes me groan and drop my head.

Johnny twists us around, the chains binding the two of us together keeping us suspended above the ground. Now, I’m facing Logan and Deadpool. Deadpool’s staring at me, and while it’s hard to tell through the mask, the tilt of his head makes me think he’s smiling.

He turns to Logan and asks, “How long was I asleep?”

Logan’s response is gruff, “Not all of you was asleep.”

I cringe. “That’s so—"

“Hot?” Deadpool interrupts, his tone mockingly hopeful.

“I was going to say disgusting.”

Deadpool pouts, his voice taking on a playful edge. “I sense a little closeted anger there.”

I squint at him, feeling the absurd need to defend myself. “I’m pretty comfortable with my sexuality, thank you very much.”

“Don’t clench those cheeks of yours too tight, Pumpkin. I see the way you look at Wolvie here.” He tilts his head towards Logan, who finally meets my gaze.

I quickly look away, shame creeping in. He must hate me for what I did. Or for what I couldn’t do.

Deadpool starts rummaging around, searching for something. “Don’t bother. They’re very thorough,” Johnny tells him, a slight edge to his voice.

Logan cuts in, his tone demanding, “You know where we are, start talking.”

Johnny’s voice is calm but serious. “You’re in The Void. Think of it as purgatory. Reed called it a metaphysical junkyard where anything useless goes before it gets annihilated forever, and where the TVA sends people that don’t play nice with the rest of the multiverse.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “Like you?”

Johnny nods. “And you. Or her.”

Logan’s voice hardens. “What does the annihilating?”

“Alioth,” Johnny answers, his voice low.

Deadpool’s eyes widen behind his mask. “Alioth is in this thing? From Loki, season 1, episode 5? You know she wrote a fanfic about Loki. I’m talking to you, reader.” He suddenly turns to face the empty space, as if he’s breaking the fourth wall again. 

I squint at him, my voice dripping with annoyance. “What are you doing?”

Deadpool gives me that familiar little head tilt, and I can almost see the grin beneath his mask. “Just keeping things meta, Pumpkin.”

Johnny continues, “Everyone here is on the run from Alioth. Most don’t make it. But there’s a resistance. Other people like us that manage to survive. We’re hiding out in the borderlands, trying to find a way to fuck outta here.”

Logan nods, his voice resolute. “Then that’s where we go.”

Deadpool's eyes light up with excitement. “We? Us? A team? The answer is yes. Shake on it.”

Logan unsheathes his claws, the metal gleaming menacingly.

“Fuck! You nicked it,” Deadpool yelps, pulling his hand back quickly. “Just got the tip with your little steak knife.”

Logan ignores him, turning back to Johnny. “These others can help us get back to the TVA. They can fix things.”

Johnny lets out a dark laugh, and I nudge him, trying to keep him focused.

Logan’s eyes narrow. “Something funny, Bub?”

Johnny’s expression grows serious. “She might have something to say about that.”

Logan’s brow furrows in confusion. “Who’s she?”

Johnny's voice lowers ominously. “In The Void, you’re either food for Alioth, or you work for her.”

The words hang heavy in the air as we approach the gates—or rather, the colossal, decaying corpse of Ant-Man. His gigantic hands, now reduced to skeletal remains, are locked together to form the entrance. As they creak open, a cold shiver runs down my spine, a foreboding sense of doom settling over me. Johnny’s body flares with heat, a stark contrast to the icy dread filling my veins, betraying his own spike of anxiety.

We’re unceremoniously dumped out of the cage, rolling onto the hard, unforgiving ground of the courtyard. The atmosphere here is bleak, desolate—a wasteland filled with the lost and the damned. Variants and mutants alike mill about, their eyes hollow, their spirits crushed by the relentless despair of this place.

From behind, I feel Pyro’s glare burn into my back. I turn slightly, catching sight of Toad, still nursing his wound. With a spiteful smirk, I stick my tongue out at him, my eyes glinting with a momentary spark of defiance.

The air around us shimmers, rippling with unseen energy as Cassandra’s presence draws near. In my sleep, I had only glimpses of her, vague and haunting. But now, as her silhouette emerges, a pang of grief stabs at my heart—she reminds me too much of Charles.

Deadpool breaks the tension with his usual irreverence. “Oh, you must be this year’s Juggernaut.”

“Please be quiet,” I mutter, but my voice lacks conviction.

“Keep your voices down,” Juggernaut rumbles. “She don’t like the chatter.”

Logan casts a sidelong glance at Deadpool. “She’s gonna love you.”

Deadpool, never one to heed warnings, continues, “Is it Charles? Hey, hey, Chuck, it’s us!”

Logan and I exchange a grim look. “That’s not Charles,” we say in unison.

Cassandra steps from her wheelchair, moving with a graceful menace as the sunlight catches her bald head. The air around her seems to crackle with latent power.

“Ah, shit. Oh, ableism great. That’s not gonna go over well with the woke mob,” Deadpool quips, earning a scowl from Logan.

Cassandra’s eyes settle on Logan first, cold and calculating. “A Wolverine. I wondered when I’d get one of you.” Then she turns to me, her gaze piercing through my defenses. “You’re one of Xavier’s.”

Deadpool, ever the disruptor, cuts in. “You know him, you know Chuck?”

Cassandra’s smile is thin, almost serpentine. “Oh, I knew him. We shared a womb. Tried to strangle the sly little fellow with my umbilical cord.”

“Amen,” Deadpool responds, almost gleeful. “I’ve never loved roommates. Mine’s blind, except she could see cocaine for some reason.” He turns to Logan, searching for an ally. “You wanna chime in, Your Majesty? I’m dying here.”

“Who are you?” Logan growls, his patience wearing thin.

“Charles Xavier’s twin,” Cassandra says, her voice dripping with venom. “Cassandra Nova.”

Deadpool’s eyes widen in mock horror. “Oh, shit. Is it anal birth?”

Cassandra’s expression remains unreadable as she assesses us, her tone almost playful. “You two are cute. I have a good feeling about this.”

Her gaze sharpens as she shifts back to Johnny, a predatory gleam in her eye. “And I’ve been trying to catch this little firefly for years, haven’t I, Johnny? You picked the wrong time to make new friends.” She spares me a brief, dismissive glance. “I’ll get to you later,” she adds, her voice like ice. “—pumpkin.”

A shiver runs through me at the nickname, the way it slithers off her tongue far more menacingly than it ever did from Deadpool.

Deadpool, undeterred, presses on. “Oh, Johnny told us all about you.”

Logan’s warning is low and dangerous. “Maybe shut up now.”

“Yeah, maybe don’t,” I echo, my nerves fraying.

But Deadpool barrels ahead. “We were just talking here. Yeah, Johnny told us you’re a psychotic, megalomaniacal asshole. His words, not mine. Hell-bent on domination and pain.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrow. “You said all that about me?”

Johnny stammers, panic clear in his voice. “No, no! How do you— I didn’t say anything!”

“Sticks and stones, Johnny!” Deadpool laughs, his tone mocking. “Don’t let her intimidate you. Like you said in the convoy. This finger-licking, dead inside, pixie slab of third-rate dime store nut milk can eat your delicious cinnamon ring and kick rocks all the way to bald-hell.”

Johnny looks horrified. “I have never said any of those words in my entire life!”

My muscles tense, knowing Deadpool is pushing too far. “That’s enough, Deadpool,” I warn, preparing to act if necessary.

But Deadpool continues, seemingly oblivious. “Ah! The modesty! People think I’m a shit-talker, but this guy, next level.”

“What? This- I- wait- I don’t even know what half of that means!” Johnny protests, his confusion growing.

In a flash, I manage to blip Johnny back a few hours, replacing him with a decoy just as Cassandra’s wrath descends. She tears into the decoy with brutal efficiency, ripping its skin clean off. I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing Johnny is safe, even if the others are none the wiser.

Deadpool gasps in mock horror. “Not my favorite Chris.”

Logan’s fury is palpable. “You stupid piece of shit, you just got him fucking killed!”

I feign distress, staring at the decoy’s lifeless form, playing my part.

“Hey, we’re all grieving!” Deadpool adds, his tone too flippant. “PS, do you know what he was doing to the budget?”

Cassandra’s voice cuts through the tension. “Alioth is hungry.”

“There’s been some kind of mistake,” Deadpool protests, his bravado faltering. “Big Yellow is a backup Anchor Being, and I’m Marvel Jesus, MJ if you’re nasty. This may be hard to hear, but there’s another British villain. He’s gonna destroy my universe, and I’m gonna stop him.”

Cassandra’s smile is chilling. “Oh, honey, you don’t really strike me as a world-saving type.” Deadpool flinches. “Did I hit a nerve?”

He tries to regain his footing. “I didn’t want it to come to this. Either you help us, or my friend here is gonna sing the entire second act of Music Man, with zero warm-up.”

Logan tries to change the subject. “Where’d you get the chair?” 

“Once in a while, I do get a Charles through here,” Cassandra muses, her voice distant, almost nostalgic. “Never mind, though. No. He didn’t care to find me.”

Deadpool rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Ah, Gen-Z and their trauma-bragging! Can’t you just stuff it down, turn it into accomplishment or cancer like the rest of us?”

Cassandra’s eyes gleam with dark amusement. “But I’m not like the rest of you. Except maybe the Wolverine. Now, we could be truly terrifying together.”

Logan sneers, his claws itching for a fight. “You’re that scary, huh?”

“The TVA certainly thought so,” Cassandra replies, her tone dripping with satisfaction. “They sent me here before I could walk. And you know, it’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I love it here.”

“You live in a garbage dump,” Deadpool retorts, unimpressed.

Cassandra’s smile widens, a cold, cruel thing. “I think we both know who lives in the garbage dump. The Void is a paradise. I can wield my power here without shame. Unfortunately, I had no Charles Xavier to teach me temperance.”

Her eyes lock onto mine, sharp and predatory. I’m still coated in the thick, warm blood of Johnny’s decoy, and the sight only seems to excite her. “I told you I would get to you. I’ve been waiting to crack into that mind of yours.” She steps forward, her finger outstretched, and I stumble back, my heart pounding in my chest.

But she’s too fast, closing the distance in an instant. Her long, cold fingers seize my face, digging into my temples with a vice-like grip. The pain is excruciating, a white-hot lance that stabs through my skull as she roots around in my mind. Flashes of my past flood my vision—my dead friends, my failures, my desperate search for Logan. And then, the happier memories, from a time long gone, when Charles and Erik were younger, when hope still felt within reach.

With a sudden, brutal yank, Cassandra rips her fingers free, leaving me crumpled on the ground, gasping for breath.

I hear Logan shout something, but the words are muffled, lost in the haze of agony clouding my thoughts.

“Interesting,” Cassandra murmurs, almost to herself. “But boring. Your Charles, he protected you, made you feel safe?”

Logan’s growl is low, feral. “We’re done talking.”

“No,” Cassandra whispers, her voice a silken thread of menace. “We’re just getting started.”

Next Part

A/N: Guys, I’m on a roll and I was originally going to write this chapter as a recap but with Logan’s POV, instead, those will be added later as bonus chapters! I’ll try get a masterlist up and running.

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw

comment if you want to be added!

[threepandas]

Bad End: After The War (Next ->)

The click of a button in a mostly quiet room. Machines humming as they churn an endless stream of data. Listening. Receiving. Filtering through the noise, for those bits of intelligence that might win us the war. The outpost was quite. As much as it could be, at least, on this god forsaken moon.

"Perimeter Check?"

More specifically, 'did you get your ass eaten by those horrifying eel-snakes? Because you promised not too, and I WILL be mad.' 'Cept, you know, these channels are technically recorded. Rather not have my snark On Record, thanks. So SUBTEXT.

The familiar, oh so melodious, demonic death screeching of abomination eels and blaster fire comes on comm. A symphony straight out of some sci-fi horror movie, act 3. The part where everybody's getting eaten. Except NOT, because this? This is just my life.

Though the eaten part is still a Very Real Risk.

Which Is FUN.

I wait. Hope I just caught Headshot at just a bad time. Not, you know, in his final moments. Ha ha... Nope! Not! Thinking 'bout that! He's immortal, I'm immortal, and we both live in a happy fun time fairy land of FUCKING WONDERS. Denial? Fuck yeah I know her! Best friend, that one. Gonna be my future kids godparent. Walk me down the aisle. We BESTIES.

There is finally, at long last, ominous silence. Dead or dying? Dead or dying? Which side, eels or Headshot, is Dead or-?

Click.

"Perimeter looks good. Bit of a mess near the east gate, though. We'll need to get the droids to shove some mess over the ledge. They tried to climb again."

Oh thank FUCK. Tension bleeds out of me. This post is hell on my anxiety. I send back the confirm. Slump back on my seat as I keep an eye on his tracker's dot, on the patrol read out. I fucking HATE perimeter checks. They aren't safe. But... well...

This universe? I'm pretty sure, it's an "all the serial numbers filed off" blatant rip off of Star Wars. Might be a fan fiction? Cause, while the troupes are familiar, the "characters", no one is where or WHO they should be. There are also other "totally not X" bits here and there, all of which confuses the fuck out me.

But what I DO know? Is that making a fuss about the safety and well-being of us peons? During this, the "totally not the Clone Wars"? While Evil Dick, Sith-y Pants the Obvious is in charge? GREAT way for our entire outpost to get "tragic casualties of war"-'d. So yeah, no thanks.

Keeping my mouth shut.

And, hey! At least they ate our complete asshole of a commander. Technically we SHOULD be getting a new one... but we were told to make do. Same with all the OTHER critical roles currently empty.

The DICK.

Like? I know he wants to drag out the war and maximize suffering for Evil Not-Sith, Off Brand Space Wizards Of EVIL Powers? But like? Fffffuck yoooou, dude. What the hell. Hope he stubs EVERY toe, always.

The Clones deserve better then this. The SECOND the war is over? I'm stealing Headshot. Fuck this "property of the state" bullshit. Just me 'n him, man. We could go explore the wilds. Or get him a beard and fake glasses. Clone? What clone! This is my BROTHER, Headshot. Our parents were gun-toting hippies. My names Moonrock. Fuck off, maybe. Keep walking.

The second I see him cross the base threshold, I switch over to Droid command. They can't hold my shift forever, but for a bit? Should be fine.

Jogging down the hall and sliding down a few ladders, I finally catch sight of Headshot as he leaves the staging area. Oof. That is a LOT of eel blood. The cleaning bots are cursing up a storm as they follow him. Even from the other end of the hallway... he smells... ripe.

I give him a second to lead the way and for the bots to work behind him. Then join in the little parade. Ah, eel goo. The third worst thing that could come out of going outside. Right behind losing a limb or dying. But hey! I restocked the soaps for ya!

"Doesn't change that it's on my everywhere, Commander."

Oooooh~ breaking out the COMMANDER are we? Is that SASS I hear? Snark perhaps? Why HEADSHOT! Such insubordination~! What EVER shall I do?

He snorts and suggest something anatomically impossible as he gestures to the shower rooms door. I tap it open for him. Goo boy that he is. Grinning I follow and find a bench where I can sit so my back is to him. It... used to be weird, to be honest, this level of living in each others pockets. But time and isolation has eroded a lot.

Clones don't really see boundaries like everyone else. Don't have the same taboos or unspoken social rules. After all... they're all the same gender. Were forced to live basicly in a breadbox with each other. The culture that developed reflects that. And I? Am more of a follower then a "type A". Not passive by any stretch of the imagination, just... eh.

I don't have the social outgoing-ness? I guess? To drag the culture of our base towards MY social norms as opposed towards his. It made him comfortable. I shrugged and went okay. Rinse and repeat. To be honest I was just glad he trusted me enough to SHARE.

Booting up my definitely-not-a-tablet, (which is of course, STUFFED full of various bits of sci-fi technology that only half makes sense) I once again try and connect to the wider army's mainframe. Nothing. I've BEEN trying for weeks now. But for some reason? We're cut off.

No new commands. No new forms to fill. No demands for information.

No UPDATES on what the FUCK is HAPPENING out there.

I'm... not gonna lie, getting nervous. We're a listening outpost. Some of our information is time sensitive. And our SUPPLIES are not infinite. Forget food, if we run out of AMMO? Those nightmare snake-eel THINGS will... Look, long and short of it? I've got an "empty" blaster shoved under my bunk. Two shots left. And compared to the slow, SLOW digestion and meat threshing teeth those horrors have?

At least it's FAST.

But I would REALLY prefer we NOT fucking come to that, you know? That someone would fucking PICK UP. Or? I don't know!? Notice we're offline? Whatever the problem is! The fact that we've gone dark is SPOOKING the fuck out of me.

Not to mention? That even BEFORE communication went down? The chat rooms and update boards weren't making a whole lot of sense. Lot of clone specific references that I didn't get. Memes, maybe? I don't KNOW and that's the part that's killing me. I had no way to CHECK. It all just... went dark.

We're still GETTING data. But? We can't seem to SEND it. Headshot and I checked. I checked the droids while he got the dish and other external devices. Clambering around the roof with his sniper rifle like a well armed, circus trained, mechanic. Nothing was wrong with the droids. And according to Headshot? Nothing was wrong with the dish.

After a while I gave up. Again.

Reminded myself to practice my meditative breathing. In... out... IN... OUT... do NOT trough your only Data Tablet. You'll break it. You can't REPLACE it. It might FEEL satisfying in the moment... but it's Not Worth It. Just listen to the sound of the running water. The quite of the room. Breathe... unclench your jaw, make your muscles relax, c'mon you can do this.

Fuck, I needed my anti-anxiety meds. But we were starting to ween me off them so I didn't go cold turkey when we ran out. It was fucking with my head. But, hey! At least I wouldn't run the risk of seizures! Or any suicidal ideation! No, just slowly building anxiety, in this, History's Most Stressful Outpost.

The shower shut off behind me. Leaning forward to grab a towel from the stack, I tossed it blindly over my shoulder. Heard him catch it. Wet feet slapping quietly against tiles as he walked forward, drying himself. From the feel of droplets and heat, looming just behind me? He was leaning over my shoulder. The man always did like to damn near boil himself in the shower.

"Still nothing? We've run out of D6 bolts. Not to mention your meds..." He commented, still drying off. I could feel the occasional brush of a towel. A bare arm reached over my shoulder to tap at the screen. "Have you tried...? Shit."

He tried several commands. Leaning over me, damn near cradling the back of my head against his bare chest. But nothing worked. Plopping his chin down on the top of my head, he casually wrapped his arm around my shoulders, leaning his weight on me as he considered the problem. The fans kicked in overhead, dehumidifing and hopefully preventing any sort of alien molds.

I told him to go put on some fuckin pants, before he frozen something he might miss off.

With an amused snort he stood and wandered over to the armor cleaner. Grabbing a new undersuit. Blacks went on, armor freshly de-goo-d, he called that he was presentable once more. I swung my legs over the bench. No need to stand, after all, if we're not leaving yet. Besides, exhaustion was a symptom of the withdrawals. Med changes are a BITCH.

Just as I was about to suggest anough brainstorming session, though?

Our comms both ping. LOUDLY.

That's the emergency signal from the control room. SHIT. I'm up and running before the sound even fades. Headshot right behind me. Not so much because he can't out run me, as he'd stop to grab his weapons as was bringing up the rear. Guarding my back. I prayed, PRAYED, this wasn't an attack. We were supposed to be a fourteen person team.

There were TWO OF US.

We'd never be able to hold the line. Would DIE here. Fuck, I didn't even have time to get that gun! I should have been carrying it. It had been too morbid. But... but...!

I slam into the control room. Headshot a half step behind. The droids frantically churning away. Okay. Okay! What's happening? A ship, big one, in orbit. Oooooh fuck. How Big? I ask. Am informed? "Wipe us from the face of the galaxy" Big. Ha ha! FUCKING FANTASTIC. Great! Merry fucking Christmas to me, I guess! Okay. Okay!

Let's DO this.

Get on the short range ship comm, (never thought I'd USE it but here we fucking ARE) and ask, politely, for them to Fucking Identify Themselves. (Because we have Big Guns and are NOT afraid to use um!)

There is a long tense moment. Then? Oh thank merciful FUCK. A Clone's voice comes on the line. General Spark of the 153rd, in pursuit, they're here to catch traitors and resupply if we need anything. Permission to land a few ships?

I. Could. WEEP.

Yes! Oh, ABSOLUTELY yes! Whoever they're chasing picked a REALLY stupid planet to hide out on, not gonna lie. They'll be picking their traitors up in PIECES. But? Never has a voice been more beautiful. Send Techs! You have FULL use of the outpost General! Welcome!

Setting the droids to navigating the incoming ships safely through landing, I all but DRAG Headshot towards the landing pad. People! Actual, real, PEOPLE! Supplies! Oh thank FUCK! We might be able to figure out what wrong with our relays! Get NEWS! And? That was a CLONE GENERAL!!!

That NEVER happens!

I can practically feel my self vibrating with excitement. Bouncing slightly on the balls of my feet, as the ships come in for a landing. The officers that roll out are all clones. Their armor more personalized then I've ever seen it. It's BEAUTIFUL. I can't help but lean over and whisper to Headshot, saying as much. Wondering if we can get him some of the supplies they must of used.

You know, assuming he WANTS any of um.

If not? Dibs.

His shoulders are shaking. Why are-? One of the officers thanks me for the compliment. Headshot you SON OF A SUBSTANDARD VAT. Was your SHORT RANGE MIC ON!? Why would you not-!? Bastard! Dead to me! Sorry general, I've never met this man before in my LIFE. Couldn't introduce if I TRIED.

Still! High ranking clones? We love to see it. I am THRILLED. It's been long over due.

Dooooesn't mean we should hang out in Eel Country though. Everybody INSIDE! Let's goooo. Nice and safe, where no ones getting eaten, m'kay? Thank you! And yes! I DO have a list of resupply needs! A LONG list. Starting with my meds, followed by ammo. Though honestly they're tied at first...

As me and the, now rather concerned, medic chat about the collapsing state of our highly rationed medical supplies? Headshot and the General are off to the side... talking about... something. Not sure. Probably not important, or he'd include me. I show the medic our "infirmary" and medical charts. Then get pulled away by the mechanic.

I barely get to SEE Headshot over the next two days. Forget sitting down. The only breaks I get? Meals and lights out. It's kinda awesome. Exhausting, yes, but? After so long isolated? It's a good type of exhausted. The sort where you feel like? For ONCE? You're actually being productive.

There are SO MANY eel burrows to scan? Potential landing sites? And all the MAINTENANCE? Dear merciful FUCK. Literally everything is out of date and cheap as BALLS. Held together with shoe strings and a prayer. But finally! FINALLY! Someone in budgeting GIVES A SHIT!!! Better equipment! Actual medical supplies! Real bedding! And best of ALL?

AIs! As in Actual, information sorting, artificial intelligences!

Because there literally hasn't been a REASON for humanoids to do this job for CENTURIES aside from a misplaced sense of superiority and distrust of droids! All WE need to do? Is stay on base and make sure THEY don't go rogue or break down from the extended isolation! Woooo desk job!

I'm gonna name um. They shall be my BABIES.

That said? None of this? Is very... Off Brand Sith-y. Little too "cares about their fellow man"-ish, you know? And... I'm not stupid. Excited as FUCK, for all the supplies and new changes... but not? Stupid. Blind.

They're keeping me away from the control room.

Keeping me out of important discussions. Sending me off on errands. All of which? SEEM important. ARE important, on the surface, but hide the fact that they are intentionally scheduled? Just as Certain Things Are Discussed. I am being... handled. Like a child. A fool.

When I confront Headshot? In our bunkroom, which we've shared for YEARS at this point. Slept just across from each other, so this lonely hell might feel just a little less empty? So when the dark thoughts creep in? That we might die in this God forsaken place, forgotten by the universe, left to ROT here, and wouldn't it just be easier to-? Someone there, so we won't. So we still matter.

He stands across from me. In OUR place. OUR room.

And FUCKING LIES.

......I guess I know where I stand, huh? And I know... I KNOW, I shouldn't feel betrayed. Clones come first, always. That's the party line. How they survived. I'm a Nat. There was always a power imbalance between us. I would always have been held just that bit further away then one of the brothers. Guess... guess it just finally happened.

I shouldn't feel betrayed. I have no RIGHT to feel betrayed.

But I do.

Headshot looks alarmed, hands twitching at his side, even as he tries to maintain his facade. Nothing's happing. They aren't doing anything. Right. Uh huh. His lie sits between us like a field of broken glass. The words, the arguments, I'd been looking for now seeming so useless. What's the point? He's made his decision.

I feel like crying. Don't want to talk anymore.

Good NIGHT, Headshot.

In the morning, I don't bother asking. I know he notices. Is waiting, restless, for us to continue on as we always have. We always check schedules after all. But what's the point? He'll lie. Instead I pull my armor on and go. Go to your brothers, Headshot. Whatever's happening here, I'm clearly not trusted enough to be part of it.

I just get out of your way.

There's a lot of busy work on my schedule, but honestly? The new AIs are learning to handle it. Instead, I head down to the new supply crates. Grab some bedding. A cart. Then head back. Pack up my shit. I just... can't.

Moving it all to a different bunk, I still have most of the day left to go. Could...? Probably? Check out if we actually DO have space rats? The droids have been reporting dust and noise in the basement, near the food stores. So likely vermin of some kind. Gonna be horrifying to find out what kind of vermin exsist HERE, but better then nothing, I guess.

Grabbing one of the better ration bars to shove in my face on the way to the gun locker, I count it a breakfast. Everyone's busy with a clone only meeting. Good for them, I guess. Not upset with General Spark or his men, I realize, as I check over the gun, no... just Headshot. Because he hurt me.

All he had to say was "I can't tell you." Or "trust me" and I WOULD have. But no. He LIED. To my FACE. And now? Now I feel like I'm waking around with shards of glass where my heart should be. Like I want to hit something. I need a distraction. So down to long term storage I go.

Normally? It's only droids down here. I have to ride a cramped little maintenance elevator lined with blast doors. You know, incase Satan's favorite pet somehow burrows in. The fuckers. It's also freezing. Which, I mean? Great for food storage, not so much for thermal regulation.

The level is eerie quiet.

Which.... huh. That's? Not right.

I reach for my comm before pausing. The hurt in my chest throbbing. I know I shouldn't let it get in the way of professionalism. Of protocol. The rules are there for a reason. To keep us alive and safe. But... God, I don't want to hear his fucking voice right now. I might cry. Say something I don't mean and regret later. You don't LAST long, isolated out in Hellpit, Nowhere, without doing a little soul searching.

Mortifying ordeal of being known and all that.

My hand drops. It's fine. I'm FINE. There's nothing down here. Or, well, should be nothing down here. We'll find out.

Slowly moving forward, I begin to check the stacks. I don't see any of the droids. Don't HEAR any of them. There should be at least thirty down here. But all I hear? Is the circulation fans. The sound of my foot steps. Something isn't right.

It's a loose, half melted screw in the path that saves me. At first I think it's a bug. But the quite clink when my foot nudges it is unmistakable. It makes me look sideways. There, a cleaning droid, cut down from behind. Tiny little mechanical claws still reaching out to claw itself to safety. Wheels shredded. The marks of a lazer blade are unmistakable.

The hiss-hum even more so.

I BARELY dodge.

Half my gun, simply sheared away. Molten slag dripping from the cut point, the battery already violently destabilizing ask it's nicked. I throw it, before I have the chance to lose a limb. The blast takes out a crate. I'm thrown. Barely roll in time to dodge the downward stab of the hissing blade. A brutal, magic-enhanced, kick sends me flying.

Straight through a stack of ration crates, into a wall mounted medical case. I land among the corpses of the droids. Each, a picture of terror and betrayal. I don't understand what's happening. The blades not red or black! It's blue! That's a not-jedi! Right?! Why are they!? Crates are lifted into the air. Threatening to smash down and bury me alive.

Can't move. Something twisted, badly, in my leg. My chest burning. Something cracked, I could feel it. I'm gonna die. Oh good, I'm gonna DIE.

"Wait! She's not a clone!"

I stare up into the face of the so called "good guys" and feel nothing but terror. Around me, the pieces of thirty droids I'd named and known, dead and dumped like trash upon the ground. Flower with his fussy need to have everything just so, Chirp who loved to sing, Mouse with the wheel I could never get to stop squeeking.

Nothing but Cannon fodder.

They died so afraid.

"Oh! You're right! Sorry! I thought you were one of those 'peating bastards. Are you okay? How long have they held you?" The Knight said. His Apprentice nodding eagerly.

My brain was static. Empty. Held? Slurs? W-what in God's name? I stayed down. Feeling small, lost, and confused. Pain rocking my body from being thrown around. The Apprentice, at least, seemed to pick up on the fact that I had no idea what the fuck they were on about.

"Ah. You don't know what's happened." She said sympathetically. It would be nicer, if she hadn't stood back while I was hurt, before they got around to asking who's side I was on. "The Clones betrayed the Republic. Took it over by force. They've made an empire. They killed the old Chancellor, who was Fallen, but then instead of handing the Republic back to the people? Kept it! Said we couldn't be trusted with it."

The last part was said mockingly. As though everyone and their brother hadn't been aware the Republic was on the brink of collapse. Corruption at an all time high. As though that same Republic hadn't been using the Clones as a SLAVE ARMY.

Slaves do tend to take exception to their chains, historically.

I wasn't really sure why the fuck they were surprised.

"Now come on, you can join the Rebellion. You must know all sort of information, from sitting out here, right? You can-!"

Click.

My helmet went full dark and internal audio only. Which was interesting because I still could barely move. But then bright light and sound, popped and cracked not to far away from my head. A flash grenade. And I finally, FINALLY? Remembered that all standardized armor? Comes with in built life support feeds.

Headshot's mystery meeting was in the command room... where my life sign readout would be. The life support feedback. Real time monitoring from me getting my ass kicked and WHERE.

A hand grabs the drag handle built into each armor, for EXACTLY this reason, and I feel my self pulled out of the danger zone. Can hear heavy, open fire. Shit. There goes our supplies. My helmet clears and I recognize the shoulder I've been careful thrown over. Headshot. He came.

He falls back at some signal I can't see. Straight to the elevator.

The shoulder under me is shaking, just slightly. Adrenaline, fear, anger. I can't tell. But... I... I'm...

"Don't." His voice is rough. Choked out through gritted teeth. His grip just carefully loose enough not to bruise. It seems to be taking everything he has. "You don't get to die. Do you understand me? You're not ALLOWED to die. Not now. Not ever. We didn't survive this long for you to leave me now."

He barely waits long enough for the door to open. Stride smooth and desperate as he races us towards the medic. I rest my head against his shoulder and breathe. Let myself be manhandled. Ha ha... a-at least? I know what he's keeping from me now. So there's that. Ow. Oh god.

The medic has to put me under. Bone fragments.

I drift.

Wake up, bandaged to hell and back, in ou-... in Headshot's bunkroom. Across from the empty bunk that used to be mine. Bed's softer then it should be, still smelling like Headshot. We haven't had the new sheets long enough. Knowing him, he probably stacked um.

The door opens. Headshot stalks in, dragging a cart behind him. His usual "pleasantly amused by life" expression nowhere to be seen. Instead? His expression is... blank. A determined, almost violent, edge to the set of his shoulders.

In silence, I watch as he unloads the cart. Bedding, knickknacks, the various bit of cobbled together wall art. All carefully stuck right back where it had been before. As though he had memorized the proper location of each and every piece. Even as he worked, with his back to me, every line of his body was daring me to be dumb enough to argue.

I didn't want too. I was just... just fucking tired.

Didn't like that we were arguing. If that was even what we were doing.

"Why?" I asked. Summing up everything and distilling it. Why didn't you just fucking TELL me? Why didn't you TRUST me? Why did you think I'd turn on you? Why would you lie? Why were we cut off? Was it REALLY a technical error? Why take the Republic? Why ANY of this?

Just... WHY, Headshot? Please...

"I refuse to lose you. When the war ended, you were going to leave. You said you'd take me with you... but honestly? That was naive. There would be no where safe we could ever go. We all knew that. We all had favorites." He finally stopped organizing my bed. Instead, smoothing down the sheet. Running both hands across it as he stared down, unseeing. "It was all so unorganized. Filthy. They treated us like DIRT. But we were... we ARE better. Designed to be superior. Stronger, smarter, faster. More durable. Why were we listening to them?"

"Then we found out why. Control chips in the brain. The nervous system. Carefully hidden, yes. But not carefully enough. You weren't authorized, you know. I'm glad. If you had been? I'd never have forgiven you. You'd never know you were dead before you died. But... I promise."

"I would have made it fast." His smile was a terrible thing. All broken edges and betrayal. Teeth upon teeth. A mania finally set free.

"Never thought those hypocrites would run here. Expect us to die for them. The happy little slaves. For the glory of THEIR Republic. You'll be okay, Commander. The General's agreed to stay until your back on your feet, just in case."

Headshot slides onto the bunk, sitting at my side, sweetly brushing hair from my face as though he hasn't lost his god damned mind. He's the picture of relief, now that there's no more secrets between us. Now that I'm injured and dependent on his help. Yet... it's teetering.

As though at any minute...

He could slide into some... unhinged state of mind. How LONG has he been on his last thread? Barely holding together? He leans forward and my mind goes utterly still. His lips pressed gently against mine. Chaste. Sweet. A warm, calloused hand, cradling my poor bruised cheek.

"I promise we'll stay together." He whispers against my stunned mouth. Eyes intent and mad, utterly loving. Like a strangers. "I won't let them seperate us. Not for anything. Now that it's done? We can be assigned anywhere. I'll take you with me. War's over, love. We're finally free."

Were we?

[marlynnofmany]

Early Efforts

 I was keeping Wio company in the cockpit, because piloting can be boring in empty space, when an alert dinged. Wio paused her story about an underwater race she’d won on her home planet. I held my questions while she tapped the controls, tentacles dancing across the console. Finally she sat back and relaxed.

 “Nothing big,” she told me. “Just a bit of metal junk among the rock.” One of the smaller screens zoomed in on a patch of space that turned out to hold a tumbling asteroid. “It doesn’t register as any known weapon, so it’s probably not a lost mine or what-have-you.”

 Surprised, I looked around the cockpit as if it would give me a view through the walls. “Is this area known for those?”

 “Nope,” said Wio. “But space is big and time is long. It wouldn’t be the first time idiots fighting each other didn’t give a flip about the rest of the universe.”

 “Yeah, or the last,” I agreed. “So what is it, if it’s not dangerous? Can we tell?”

 Wio turned a few knobs and flicked a switch. “Not from this distance. The readings I’m getting are of common ship-building materials.”

 “So it’s from a crash? Do you think it was that crash?” I pointed over my shoulder, again as if we could simply look back to see the wreck I meant. I probably wasn’t even pointing in the right direction. We hadn’t seen the joyriding accident in person, just heard about it when we picked up our latest cargo.

 “Ehh,” Wio said, studying a complicated set of imagery. “Don’t think so. Pretty sure the angle’s wrong. Possible, but unlikely.”

 “If it is, do you think they’ll want their part back?”

 “Depends on what shape it’s in,” Wio said with a wrinkle of her octopuslike forehead. “We’d have better odds selling it for scrap at the next station with a good mechanic’s sector.”

 I scanned the many screens and readouts, trying to get a feel for how much of a detour it was. “Do you think that’s worth checking?”

 “Sure do,” Wio said cheerily, tapping buttons and touchscreens, adjusting dials and fiddling with a couple odd bits on the console that I’m pretty sure were there just for fidgeting purposes. Wio was rarely still.

 “Should we — oh, you already pinged her.” I spotted the little red light that said the captain had been called. I expected a comm call as soon as Captain Sunlight got a spare moment, but she must have been nearby, because she just showed up at the door.

 “Yes?” asked Captain Sunlight, posture as regal as ever and scales a slightly brighter yellow than usual. I still hadn’t found a polite way to ask if the Heatseekers on the ship polished their scales or shed them in privacy for that occasional fresh look. Now certainly wasn’t the time.

 Wio spun in her chair. “Permission to make a minor detour for potential salvage?”

 “Show me.” The captain walked over for a better look, about head height since I was sitting down. She peered at the various readings and gave permission.

 And, since it really was a very minor detour, she just stood there and waited while we closed in on the lump of rock and metal. Soon enough we could see it on the main screen: turning end over end, traveling in roughly the same direction we were, just much slower.

 “No radioactivity,” Wio reported. “No air pockets either, and the chance of germs is near-zero.”

 “The components seem relatively straightforward for a bit of simple machinery,” said the captain, reading a chart that I’d thought listed something else.

 While they went over the analysis, I reflected that I really should ask Wio to teach me the basics of the controls in here. Not enough to fly — I was fully aware of how much training went into that — but just enough so I didn’t feel like an idiot Earthling who’d never been to space before when more than one screen was active.

 “Let’s use the grabber,” Captain Sunlight said. “I’ll prep the cargo bay.” She made several calls to different parts of the ship while Wio unfolded a portion of the controls that I hadn’t seen yet. It was labeled “Grabbing Arm.”

 “Ooh, how’s that work?” I asked.

 “It’s nice and intuitive for once,” Wio said as she ignored it for long enough to steer us right alongside the spinning lump. She locked the speed in (but didn’t make us spin to match it, thankfully. That would have been a bit much). Then she turned her attention back to the panel. It held several regular-sized buttons and one large black one — oh wait, that was a hole.

 When Wio stuck her tentacle in to manipulate the grabbing arm, I quietly shook my head. Of course it’s that kind of arm, I thought as a mechanical tentacle uncurled into view outside. Why would I expect anything with fingers on a ship made by Strongarms? 

 Captain Sunlight finished talking to whoever was in the cargo bay, and gave Wio the go-ahead. I watched the main screen as the grabber lined up carefully with the spinning mass of rock and metal, then gave it a calculated whack. A piece broke off and it stopped spinning.

 Wio peered at a readout. “Nonvaluable mineral,” she said. “I’ll just get the big part.”

 “How big is it?” I asked belatedly, not sure of the grabber’s size for reference. One of the screens probably said.

 “Small enough to fit!” Wio said. With a look of intense concentration (and several tentacles fidgeting behind her), she wrapped the metal grabbing arm around the asteroid and pulled it in.

 “I’m off to the cargo bay,” announced Captain Sunlight. “Keep it nice and gentle.”

 “Will do. No explosions of dirt on the floor if I can help it.”

 Captain Sunlight nodded, even though Wio was watching the screen, and she left. I looked between the two.

 “I’m going to see if I can help,” I said, getting up.

 “Sure thing. I’ll watch from here.” Wio gestured with another tentacle at a small screen on the side that had a great view of the cargo bay. Several crewmembers were waiting by the airlock.

 I hurried down the hall on my long human legs. I wanted to see what this thing was. Maybe it was important, or valuable, or both. Probably not, but who knew?

 When I got there, the airlock was already closed again, and Eggskin was putting away their hand scanner. Blip and Blop each had a hand on the lumpy rock about the size of a two-person hoverbike. They seemed to be the designated “hold it in place” team, which they were good at, because of all the muscles. The goggles they wore and the pickaxes shoved in their waistbands said that might not be all they hoped to do.

 Eggskin said, “No trace of anything biological,” and moved to stand beside the captain. The two Heatseekers were a healthy distance from the rock, clearly to give the Frillian twins plenty of pickaxing room. I thought I could see a bit of metal among the lumps, but it was hard to make out. The rock looked like several pieces had clumped together around it. I couldn’t say whether they were stuck with glue, welding, or just gravity and time. A smattering of gravel had already fallen to make the floor treacherous.

 Blip and Blop seemed aware of that, since they moved their feet by sliding instead of stepping. At Eggskin’s declaration, the captain nodded a go-ahead, and the Frillians grabbed their pickaxes.

 A voice from behind me complained, “I was going to watch…”

 I turned to see Zhee retreating back into the hallway, all gaudy purple exoskeleton and disapproval.

 He continued, “But I think I’ll wait out here.”

 I asked, “Do you think the chips are going to—” then the first pickaxe hit with a thunderous clang, and I hustled out to join him. Captain Sunlight and Eggskin had also backed up further. I was pretty sure one or both of them were saying words of caution, but I couldn’t make it out for sure.

 Zhee clicked his pincher arms and angled his antennae in disapproval. He probably had opinions about the best way to disassemble the chunk of rocks and nonsense. Zhee always had opinions.

 A concerned voice from down the hall asked, “What’s happening?”

 I called back, “Salvage.”

 Paint trotted up, her expression worried and her mottled orange scales less shiny than the captain’s. I’d definitely have to ask about the polishing sometime. Maybe.

 “What kind of salvage?” she asked.

 I told her, “Rocks and metal.”

 Zhee said, “Loud and messy.”

 Before Paint could press for details, the axe noises were replaced by a minor avalanche of rocks etcetera collapsing onto the cargo bay floor. The silence afterward made me rub my ears.

 Paint looked around the corner, then dart forward. Zhee and I followed.

 The pickaxes were already set down in favor of hands for picking through the mess. Blip and Blop pulled out something long and angular, each grabbing a different end and having a split-second tug of war like two puppies with the same stick. Then they held it up for the captain together.

 “Got it!”

 “Look at this!”

 We all looked. It was dented gray metal, long with a couple of joints, and with wires dangling out the bigger end. Straightened out, it would have been a little taller than the Frillians.

 I asked the obvious question. “What is it? Broken antenna?”

 Blip rotated it, peering at the wires, then the bent sections. “I don’t think so. These parts seem supposed to move.”

 “Yeah, and this end’s serrated!” Blop said, pointing at the narrow end. “It’s almost like…” He grabbed the last two segments and wrenched them together. The metal screeched. The serrations fit together perfectly, in a startling imitation of Zhee’s pincher arms.

 We all looked at him.

 Zhee hissed quietly and angled his antenna into extreme displeasure. “Keep breaking,” he said.

 “What? Why?” I asked.

 Zhee pointed a pincher. “It is old enough to be ugly. An embarrassment to Mesmers everywhere.”

 A few careful questions and one angry rant later, it became clear that this Mesmer at least was certain that every one of his species would be personally offended by the sight of this relic’s lack of vibrant colors and/or gemstone decorations.

 No, it hadn’t lost its decorations; there were no sockets for gems. No, it hadn’t lost its paint; there were no traces, and paint was only for utter peasants who couldn’t anodize metal.

 “Ask Trrili,” Zhee challenged. “She’s from a different moon entirely.”

 Captain Sunlight quietly called Trrili to the cargo bay to give her opinion on something unspecified. Trrili arrived in a storm of shiny black and blood-red, taller than Zhee and curious why she’d been summoned. She caught sight of the relic.

 “Throw that out the airlock immediately,” Trrili hissed.

 Zhee said, “I suggested they break it.”

 “That’s good too.”

 I said, “I can’t believe no Mesmer ever would want to keep this for historical value, if it’s as old as all that. It’s a ship’s grabber arm, right? It might have broken off in some historical battle or something! It could be incredibly important!”

 They said, “It’s not,” in perfect unison.

 Wio’s voice came over the loudspeaker from where she’d been watching on the cameras. “There’s a Mesmer colony not far from here. Public info says it’s relatively new, so not the one that lost that, but it would take some detailed math and a huge map to track how far it could have drifted in that many centuries anyway. It can’t hurt to ask them if they want it for a museum, right?”

 Zhee said that would be deeply embarrassing to even ask.

 Trrili wanted nothing to do with it.

 Captain Sunlight decided it was worth a shot.

 Both Mesmers stalked out of the cargo bay with loud declarations that they would be on the other side of the ship, and not to bother them until the shame was done with.

 The captain asked Blip and Blop to clean the thing up as best they could. Paint volunteered to help, and ran to get brushes.

 I asked permission to be in the cockpit during the phone call. Surely that opinion couldn’t be universal. Surely.

 Or, I learned soon after, maybe it could.

 “A what?” asked the local authority, a pink-and-blue Mesmer with glittering chips of crystal forming intricate whorls on her exoskeleton. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

 Captain Sunlight addressed the screen with dignity. “A historical artifact of Mesmer design. It appears to be a mechanical version of your glorious blade-arms, made of gray metal.”

 “That’s disappointing,” the authority said with a flick of both antennae. “Kindly throw it into the nearest sun.”

 I blurted, “What?”

 Captain Sunlight gave me a look, but didn’t say to be quiet. I took that as permission to keep talking.

 “But this is part of your history! A record of how you got where you are!”

 “Ah, a human,” the Mesmer said with a sigh. “Tell me, when your offspring commit an act of art for the first time, you are proud, yes? And so are they, for a while? You might even put it on display. But then they grow up and never want to see it again out of shame? This does not deserve a place on the fridge. Into the sun it goes.”

 Nothing I could say would sway that decision, not that Captain Sunlight let me try for long. She turned the conversation to business, and ended up convincing the Mesmer authority to pay us a small fee for the inconvenience of going out of our way. (We were on official courier business, after all, and time was money.) (Yes, people say that even in space. The Mesmer didn’t bat an antennae at it.)

 The final agreement also included an escort ship, partly to make sure we really did get rid of the thing, and partly to help us do so. It had a tractor beam thingy that could be set in reverse to punt things across the starfield. Very handy for launching artifacts into the sun. No, I didn’t ask what they normally used it for. That kind of tech could easily have been an accidental discovery, and I wasn’t about to bring up any other possible sources of cultural embarrassment.

 But I was going to quietly give my respects to the ancient bit of machinery before it was atomized. I stood in the cleaned-up cargo hold next to the unassuming piece of dull, dented metal. Crouching, I ran my fingers over it, committing the feel to memory: from the torn wires to the crooked serrations. A couple of those little teeth were bent. I’d never know what bent them.

 Loud conversation approached, and my crewmates entered the room, bustling around to prepare. I stepped back as the captain arrived, and I took up a position by the door. I had a good view of the airlock from there.

 As Blip and Blop in their exo suits hefted it to throw, as Wio angled the ship to get us in line with the escort, as Captain Sunlight gave the command and the relic was launched toward the distant sun, I silently gave my respects. I sent mental appreciation to the ages-ago Mesmers who had made it.

 Great job, you guys. You must have been SO proud. 

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[renthony]

Just curious. How bad has Biden been at controlling COVID-19 in your view?

First: I already responded to a similar question you left on this post.

Second: Biden has been atrocious for COVID-19 safety and management. COVID-19 is still killing people, and our president has done a horribly insufficient job in mitigating that. "Better than the Republicans" is not the same thing as "good" or "effective." Biden's abysmal reaction to COVID-19 is part of why I'm so thrilled that the Uncommitted campaign for the Democratic primary has achieved some success. That particular campaign is focused on ceasefire in Palestine, but the People's CDC explained in a statement how Palestine is also very much a public health issue. We need to scare the bastard and actually do some of that "pushing him left" that people claimed they'd do after getting him elected. Though it seems to me like a lot of people just settled for, "okay, we got rid of Trump, we don't have to worry anymore."

Third: While I'm at it, people have to do more than vote. You have got to get involved. You have got to do more than participate in the presidential election once every four years. Join a union (may I recommend the IWW?), follow the guidance of The People's CDC, volunteer for your local Food Not Bombs, get involved in a tenants union like the Autonomous Tenants Union Network, read Riot Medicine, get trained in first aid and get involved in a street medic group, read up on your local politics and get involved on the small-scale, do something in addition to voting in the presidential election. Even if you're limited in how much you can personally participate, find the people who are talking about these issues and signal boost them, and share the information with others who may be more able to participate more. If you can tell people to go vote in the presidential election, you can also tell them to go do other things, too.

Now, with all of that out of the way, here are some links related to Biden's abysmal COVID-19 response:

During his 2020 campaign, Biden promised immediate $2K stimulus checks. Instead, he delivered $1,400. Sources: [x] [x] [x] [x] [x]

Velena Jones for NBC Bay Area: "‘Too expensive': Bay Area residents shocked over new COVID vaccine prices"

Reuters: "COVID vaccine manufacturers set list price between $120-$130 per dose"

Joseph Choi for The Hill: "Free COVID-19 test program to be suspended for now"

Disability activist Alice Wong writing for TeenVogue: "Covid Isn't Going Anywhere. Masking Up Could Save My Life," and the follow-up article, "COVID and the 2024 Election: What Biden and Democrats Owe High-Risk People."

Laura Weiss writing for The New Republic: "Democrats Can't Keep Ignoring Covid in 2024."

David Cohen and Adam Cancryn for Politico: "Biden on '60 Minutes': 'The Pandemic is Over.'"

Alex Skopic for Current Affairs: "COVID-19 is Still a Threat. So is Biden’s CDC."

Adam Cancryn for Politico: "Biden Appears to be Over Covid Protocols."

Paul Thornton for the Los Angeles Times: "Covid Still Rages, and the Biden Administration Isn't Helping."

Eric J. Topol for the Los Angeles Times: "The U.S. is facing the biggest COVID wave since Omicron. Why are we still playing make-believe?"

We should have free, universal testing. We should have free, universal vaccination. We should have free, universal treatment. We should have financial assistance for those of us who can't work outside the home. We should have mandated work-from-home for any job that can be done remotely. We should be emptying prisons and paying attention to the way disease and abuse proliferate inside their walls. We should have COVID-19 safety PSAs and government support for universal masking. We should have free distribution of N95s. We should have mandated masking in medical settings and public spaces. We should have a higher minimum wage. We should have healthcare reforms. We should have strong worker protections. We should have improved infrastructure. We should have a president who gives a single flying fuck about how many of us are dying.

And we have none of it.

But we sure seem to have money to keep dropping bombs, arming cops, terrorizing the vulnerable, and imprisoning innocent people to use for slave labor.

[mountain-sage]

" On the deepest level, much deeper than atoms or quantums, is NOTHING at all. The crazy thing is that this "NOTHING" creates EVERYTHING from moment to moment.Complete universe is created moment by moment, constantly. All comes out of this "NOTHING", comes from "EMPTINESS", which outside any usual understanding.We are part of an endless " New-creation" in every moment."

Prof. Hans - Peter Dürr

*****

"[T]here is a universal flux that cannot be defined explicitly but which can be known only implicitly, as indicated by the explicitly definable forms and shapes, some stable and some unstable, that can be abstracted from the universal flux. In this flow, mind and matter are not separate substances. Rather, they are different aspects of our whole and unbroken movement."

David Bohm

*****

"Whence come I and whither go I?

That is the great unfathomable question, the same for every one of us. Science has no answer to it."

Max Planck

*****

" What we observe as material bodies and forces are nothing

but shapes and variations in the structure of space."

Erwin Schrödinger

*****

"I want to know how God created this world. I am not interested in this or that phenomenon, in the spectrum of this or that element. I want to know his thoughts.

The rest are details."

"I see a pattern, but my imagination cannot picture the maker of that pattern. I see a clock, but I cannot envision the clockmaker. The human mind is unable to conceive of the four dimensions, so how can it conceive of a God, before whom a thousand years and a thousand dimensions are as one? "

"We know nothing about [God, the world] at all. All our knowledge is but the knowledge of schoolchildren.

Possibly we shall know a little more than we do now. but the real nature of things, that we shall never know, never."

Albert Einstein

*****

"The existing scientific concepts cover always only a very limited part of reality, and the other part that has not yet been understood is infinite. Whenever we proceed from the known into the unknown we may hope to understand, but we may have to learn at the same time a new meaning of the word 'understanding'"

Werner Heisenberg

[guccixstyless]

Intern (Pt. 4)

Author’s Note: My lovies, I want to sincerely apologize for delaying so much. This series started in 2018 then I started getting busy with university and other problems, I didn't know how to continue Part 4 of the series after keeping it hanging for years. I got major writer's block and lost motivation to continue. But I've been getting so many requests to continue this, so the last week I brainstormed a lot and came up with this. I lost my writing charm, so I'm very nervous posting this after these many years. I truly hope you enjoy this, Intern Series will have 2 more chapters before the ending. Thank you for sticking through, I love you all so much. xx

Word Count: 3033 words

Pairing: Harry Styles X Reader

Masterlist

***********************************************************

You reached Manchester by catching the earliest flight with Harry.

The whole plane ride he was panicking and you tried to reassure him everything is gonna be okay.

While in the plane he explained you that he couldn’t have done this alone, he had to bring someone but he cannot bring Camille, since his mum is still pissed at Camille for breaking her son’s heart.

You understood and held his hand in hopes to comfort him.

Gemma had a bad accident and right now she was in coma.

When you reached the airport, Harry looked around as one of Gemma's bestfriend said he's going to pick you both up from the airport.

"Ben," Harry called out weakly and dragged you towards Ben.

"Harry," Ben hugged Harry tightly before saying, "I'm so scared."

You heard Harry sob. You lightly patted on his shoulder.

You both got in Ben's car after Harry briefly introduced both of you.

"How is mum," Harry spoke, sniffing lightly.

"She's been crying non-stop, H, I'm worried about Anne.."

After reaching the hospital, Harry quickly rushed to the floor where his sister was.

He saw his mum, Michal and his grandma waiting in the visitor lounge.

"Harry," his mum quickly got up from his seat and rushed towards her youngest child.

"Mum, it's gonna be okay, alright? Gem's so strong, she will wake up," Harry said hopefully, hugging his mum tightly.

"I'm so scared baby," Anne sniffled.

The doctor came out of Gemma's room and Harry walked towards him, desperately asking him, "how is she? When is she gonna wake up?"

"Unfortunately, it was a serious accident, she lost a lot of blood, she also suffered mild brain stroke, we're trying our best." doctor assured him.

"Harry, take a seat dear," his grandma softly called out to him.

Harry walked towards her and kissed her forehead, his grandma spoke again, "and who is this pretty lady here?"

Harry looked at you before saying, "Y/N, please come here."

You walked towards them, seating in the empty seat beside Harry.

Harry took your hand and his other hand was intertwined with his grandma, "Granny, this is Y/N, my bestfriend, and Y/N, this is my beautiful grandmother," he said before placing a kiss on his grandma's knuckles.

"Also his forever love," his grandma said laughing lowly.

Harry chuckled before saying, "that's true!"

"It's so nice to meet you," you kindly replied, "H, you stay with her, I'm gonna go check on your mum, okay?"

Harry nodded slightly smiling.

You walked up to Anne, she was staring into space, a light frown between her eyebrows, that resembled Harry so much.

"Hello, Anne, may I call you that?"

She seemed to break from her stance and looked at you smiling softly, "of course my dear, you must be Y/N? Ben mentioned you were accompanying Harry."

"Yes I am, I'm so sorry this happened, but I know it'll be alright again, Gemma will be back to being healthy again."

"I so hope so my love, I wish we met under different circumstances, Harry talked so much about you, I was hoping to meet you someday, not like this though," she said sadly.

You hugged her. Also you were flattered, Harry talked about you? He probably talks about all his friends, don't be so dramatic, you thought to yourself.

You looked over at Harry, he was hugging Michal.

You looked back at Anne before saying, "did you eat anything?"

You saw her shaking her head no.

"This is not right, you have to come with me right now to the canteen and have something, alright?"

Anne tried to protest but you cut her off, "no excuses, you have to eat, imagine how bad Gemma will feel if she wakes up and hears you starved yourself."

"You're not going to take no for an answer, are you?"

"Nah-uh," you replied, she chuckled before agreeing with you.

"Hey Harry?" You called out to him, he approached you both, smiling at how you and his mum were hugging each other.

"Yes?"

"I'm gonna take Anne to the canteen, she hasn't ate anything!"

"Mum, that's not right, go eat something, and don't worry we will be here," Harry said.

"Harry, mate you had a long flight, you also go with them and have coffee or something," Michal said.

"But-"

"Yeah go, we will be here, don't worry," Ben assured him.

"Okay then, grandma, will you join us?"

"No dear, you guys go, I'll be here."

"Let's go."

****************************************************

You spotted an empty table and made your way towards it.

You asked Anne what would she like to have, "just coffee and a sandwich will be fine."

"and H, you?"

"Y/N, you sit, I'll bring the food," Harry said.

"No, shut up, you sit here, I got this."

He started to protest again but you sprinted away before saying, "no need, I know what you'll order anyway."

Harry shook his head chuckling.

"Harry, she's wonderful," Anne gushed.

"She is," he agreed.

You brought the tray of food over and passed on to Anne and Harry before taking your coffee cup.

"Thank you dear," Anne smiled at you.

"You're most welcome," you replied smiling.

After eating quickly, you three returned to Gemma's floor.

You saw, Michal talking with the doctor. Seeing his demeanor it seemed stressful.

The doctor returned back to the room, Michal approached you guys before saying, "they're saying she might lose her memories as well," Michal had tears welled up his eyes.

Anne hugged him, Harry slumped before taking a deep breath.

You looked over around the room and your heart broke seeing all of them at this state.

Soon enough it was getting late and Anne suggested you and Harry take his grandma and go back to Harry's childhood home.

You both agreed and once you arrived at his place, you quickly settled the grandma at her room. Then Harry showed you your guestroom. He told you several times to make yourself at home and feel free to grab snacks or beverages from the kitchen whenever you want.

After taking a quick shower, you came downstairs to drink some tea, in the kitchen you saw Harry staring off at space, the kettle's sound confirmed he was making tea.

"Hey H," you said softly, going up to him and putting your head on his shoulder.

"Hi," he replied, "you want some tea?"

"Yes please," you answered.

He quickly made you both cups of tea, he went on to sit beside you.

"She's going to be fine, right?" he asked quietly.

"H, yes, I fully believe she will be fine, it might take some time, but she will be healthy again."

"I-i can't lose her," he sniffled.

"H, hey look at me," you cupped his face to make him look at you.

The low light in the kitchen made his emerald eyes so stunning, but the sadness made you want to hug him and protect him.

You got lost in his eyes, he was so beautiful, so ethereal.

"Y/N?" He spoke, breaking you from your stance.

"Sorry, yeah listen to me mister, your sister will fight and will be back to us real soon, I can't wait to meet her and together we can bully you," you smirked.

Harry chuckled, "yeah you both will get along well."

"Hmm," you slowly let go of his face and started sipping your tea.

You felt so strongly about him and it pained you that you couldn't do anything, he has a girlfriend afterall.

You sighed and told him you're going back to your room.

*************************************************

Ben chuckled at the tour incident that you were telling him.

"That's really funny though," Ben said sipping his coffee.

"Just one of the many stories," you chuckled shrugging.

You guys were at the hospital, just you, Harry and Ben. Anne and Michal went back home to get some rest and freshen up.

The doctor came out of Gemma's room and he looked hopeful, Harry sprinted towards him and the doctor informed him, Gemma is showing a lot of progress, it was a miracle.

You all sighed in relief.

"I'm gonna call mum," Harry said smiling.

Ben looked over to you and asked, "now since the tour is over, I'm guessing so is your internship?"

"Yeah, I wish it lasted forever though, it didn't feel like work."

"Yeah I bet, Harry is a really chill guy," he said.

"He is!"

"Would you be interested working in London? My brother works at a fashion company, I can hook you there?"

"That sounds wonderful, well if it works out then why not?!"

"Great! I'll tell him 'bout you then."

Harry comes back and sees you both chuckling, you both were getting in his nerve, he wished only you and him were here not Ben. You're his bestfriend, he won't let Ben steal you.

"Ben, if you want you can go back home to rest," Harry said politely.

"Nah man, it's okay, beside I got great company." He smiled looking at you.

You shyly smiled back.

Harry felt his blood boil. He saw how well you and Ben got along and it made him upset. He opened his phone and saw Camille's text, she asked about Gemma's condition and Harry started typing a reply.

***************************************************

After few weeks Gemma recovered well. She fortunately didn't lose her memory as doctors feared so now she's in her recovery phase.

In these few weeks Harry rescheduled the tour dates, so your internship will drag on two more months. You also bonded well with Ben. Harry showed you his favourite places in his hometown. Overall it felt nice.

Currently you all were sitting in Gemma's room at Anne's place. You sat beside Ben in the sofa while Gemma sat on her bed, head relaxing on the bed's headboard. Anne was feeding her fruits and Harry sat beside her. Laughter filled the room while you all were talking. You and Gemma got along well, and you were staying in Anne's guestroom, you wanted to book a hotel but ofcourse Harry and Anne didn't let you.

Ben joked about something and Harry rolled his eyes. Harry was pissed nowadays with Ben. Especially seeing you and Ben bonding was something he despised. Normally he wants his loved ones and friends to get along but this one didn't feel right. He was more annoyed with how close you and Ben sat, like personal space please?

"Hey Harry, let's talk?" You asked him.

"Yeah sure," he said getting up from bed and following behind you in the living room.

"What's up?" Harry asked.

"I think I'll catch a flight tomorrow to Paris, Lambert wants me to go over some designs." You said.

"What? No you're going with me, I'll leave in 3 days," Harry protested.

"That's too long! I don't think Lambert will agree, I did some work online, but I have to be present there," you said.

"Okay then I'm coming with you," he decided.

"What? No, you stay here with your family."

"It's fine, I need to go anyway for the show," he shrugged.

"No, stay!"

"I can't leave you alone, you accompanied me, so I need to make sure to be on the same flight as you." He stubbornly said.

Ben interrupted coming into the living room, "I can accompany you Yn."

"You guys need to chill, I can travel alone, been doing it all along" you chuckled at the two men.

"No Yn, it's fine. I was planning a trip anyway," Ben said, "I'll be happy to accompany you, it'll be fun."

"Okay if you insist," you sighed but happily agreed.

Harry was shocked, that easy for Ben?

Later that night when you're packing in you room, Harry entered with two cups of tea.

"Hey," you smiled at him.

"Hi sweets," he smiled back handing you a cup.

"Ah thank you, I needed this," you smiled gratefully.

"So, done packing?"

"Yeah almost."

You sat on your bed, sipping the tea Harry had brought, trying to avoid the tension that hung in the air like a heavy storm cloud. You could feel his eyes on you, the silence thick between you two as the room felt smaller by the second. You’d been avoiding this conversation for days now, but it was inevitable. You knew it, he knew it.

"So, you and Ben, huh?" Harry finally asked, his voice laced with a quiet anger you couldn’t quite place.

You froze mid-sip, setting the cup down slowly on your nightstand. You couldn’t ignore the tightness in your chest, the nervous flutter in your stomach. "What about us?" you asked, looking up at him cautiously. His eyes were already on you, the familiar warmth in them now replaced by something darker.

He shrugged but there was no mistaking the edge in his tone. "I just don’t get it. You two seem… really close lately. It’s just weird."

You tried to laugh it off, but it came out forced. "Harry, we’re just friends, alright? He’s your cousin, for god's sake."

Harry clenched his jaw, stepping further into the room, his eyes never leaving you. "Yeah, well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? He’s always around. And you two are—" He gestured vaguely in the air, clearly frustrated, the words stuck on his tongue.

You raised an eyebrow, irritation creeping in. "What, Harry? You don't want me to get along with your cousin now? What’s the issue?"

He paced a few steps in the small room, running a hand through his hair. "You don’t get it. It’s not just that. It’s how much time you’re spending together. You know, like the way you guys sit so close, how you’re always laughing at each other's stupid jokes—" He stopped and turned to face you. "And then you just let him walk in here and offer to travel with you like it’s no big deal. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?"

Your heart began to race. Was this really about Ben? Or was there something else?

You stood up, the anger bubbling in your chest now too, your voice rising. "I don’t need you to make decisions for me, Harry. I’m not a child. I don’t need you to dictate who I spend time with. Ben’s a good guy, and I’m fine with him being there for me. If I want him there. You’re the one acting like I’m doing something wrong."

Harry’s eyes flashed with frustration, and you could see the hurt in them too. He shook his head, taking a few steps closer, his voice quieter now but still heavy with emotion. "I’m not trying to control you, Yn. I just—I don’t like seeing you so close to him. Don’t you get it? It’s just… it doesn’t sit right with me."

A pit opened up in your stomach, the words you had been holding back for so long suddenly spilling out before you could stop them. "You’re jealous, Harry," you said, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. "You’re jealous because you think something’s going on between me and Ben, when really, it’s just… friendship."

He flinched like you’d slapped him, his face falling. "I’m not jealous. I just care about you. You’re my best friend. You think I don’t want you to be happy? But this whole situation is making me crazy, Yn. And I don’t know how to deal with it."

You stared at him, the hurt and anger mixing in your chest, twisting into something almost unbearable. You didn’t know how to make him understand without sacrificing a part of yourself. "Harry," you said, trying to keep your voice steady, "I am happy. But you need to get over the fact that I’m allowed to be happy with other people too. You’re with Camille. You’re dating her. Why are you so bent out of shape about me and Ben?"

He stepped back, his face going pale. "This is about more than Ben," Harry muttered, his voice breaking slightly. "It’s about you and me, Yn. I’m not ready to lose you. And I don’t think I can just watch you go on without me, like it’s nothing. It hurts."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stared at him, lost. "You think I’m just going to forget about you? Is that what you think? Because you’re dating Camille, you think I’m supposed to just—"

"That’s not what I mean!" Harry cut you off, his frustration boiling over. "I just don’t want you to think that I’m fine with you replacing me with someone else. With Ben." His voice cracked at the end, the emotion raw and unfiltered.

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. You both stood there, words stuck in your throats, unable to bridge the gap that had suddenly opened between you. You felt the tears welling up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. This wasn’t about tears. This was about trust. About needing space and respect for each other’s choices.

"You know what, Harry?" you said, your voice shaking slightly, "I need to go. I need to get away from this for a while." You grabbed your bag from the floor, stuffing it with the last of your things, barely able to keep yourself together. "I can’t stay here and keep dealing with this. I’m going to Paris tomorrow, and I don’t need to be reminded of what’s wrong here every second."

"Yn, please," Harry’s voice was strained, desperate almost, as he stepped toward you. "Don’t do this. I don’t want to lose you."

You shook your head, not trusting your own voice. "You are losing me, Harry," you whispered, fighting back the tears. "But not the way you think."

You walked past him, the door of the room open, your heart aching as you turned back to look at him one last time. His face was a mixture of confusion and pain, but you couldn’t fix it. Not right now.

Without another word, you stepped out of the room and left the house.

And as you made your way to the car, the air felt colder, the distance between you both unbridgeable for the first time.

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

Taglist: @ever-since-the-kilt @pxrrishly @jld20047 @thecraziestcrayon @emma1998sblog @lovrrysworld-ally @jackiehollanderr @sassamanda77

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #34 – Children of Memory by Adrian Tchaikovsky

Overview

I have had this on my list for long enough for my request that the local library get a copy actually result in me getting my hands on it. It’s the third instalment (the last? I’m not sure – the ending here felt like far less of a natural conclusion than the ending to either of the previous two) of what is for my money some of the absolute best space opera (maybe even just science fiction writ large) of the last decade. I actually opened it with a real sense of trepidation; Children of Ruin had ended on an optimistic, open-ended note, with the creation of an interstellar and inter species society that was both deeply aspirational and incredibly alien. I wasn’t sure how a book from their perspective would even work. Thankfully, my fears were basically misplaced – there’s definitely a drift in tone and focus from where the series started, but the thematic heart’s still there, and this was overall a joy to read.

Synopsis

Following the end of Children of Ruin, we have a nomadic society of uplifted spiders and squids, Humans (the capitalization signifies infection by an engineered retrovirus to help with empathy and accepting/valuing the Other), the formerly all-consuming alien microbal parasites of Nod (who have agreed to only assimilate the identities of those who expressly consent to the process), and various instances of Avranda Kern (millennia old upload of a meglomaniacal mad scientist who is by a quirk of history now the OS all computers run on). After making tentative Second Contact with a half-terraformed world now inhabited by a civilization of debatably-sentient crows, an exploration ship takes on a pair of them as ambassadors before finding their way to way what seems to be a struggling but holding on colony founded by one of the last arkships of refugees to escape the ruins of Old Earth. .

Intercut with this is the narrative of that arkship arriving, very much the worse for wear after two thousand years and change hurtling through the void with its crew and cargo in cryo. The world is hardly what they hoped for – only ever half-terraformed, breathable atmosphere and some basic engineered microbal life, but entirely lacking any sort of biosphere – but it’s not like they have another option. They make the best of it they can, using what working technology they have to bootstrap a basic ecosystem of pigs and trees, a few species of bugs and fungi, enough to farm and build with. And the core crew holds out hope that the faint trace of a strange signal buried in the hills near their colony might lead to something more.

Intercut with that is the story of Liff, a young girl in the colony as things take a turn for the worse. That’s when things start to get weird.

Xenophilia

The best way for me to get across the central theme of this whole series is ‘more star trek than star trek’ (or at least, than any star trek produced since I’ve come of age). It believes is absolutely nothing so strongly as it believes in the pure and perfect virtue of curiosity, that the point of existence is to discover, and to share what you have discovered with those around you. It is an oft-repeated point that the overwhelming majority of the universe is cold and empty, and anything different is worth seeking out and treasuring for its own sake – that every shred of diversity is the cosmos is a wonder in its own right.

Which is the entire purpose our protagonist’s civilization has set themselves – the distributed fleet of pathological scientists and novelty-seekers, leaving behind teeming cities and orbital habitats for a life seeking the mysteries of the universe with tiny circles of peers. It’s very Starfleet, in its most idealistic and elevator-pitch form.

And even beyond them, curiosity, discovery and exploration are treated as basically heroic wherever they’re found – Captain Holt and the Enkidu might have been doomed, but they’re still presented as deeply and wholly admirable for trying.

It goes beyond that, too. This is one of vanishingly few space opera settings I can think of with a cast full of distinct and dissimilar species, where none of them are orcs. Or dragons, for that matter. No matter how monstrous and horrifying a species seems – spiders the size of your head, the mad remnant of an ancient demiurge, all-consuming and replicating alien parasites – the answer is diplomacy, outreach, communication. Both sequels in the series have begun with a civilization formed through the total (though not seamless) integration of alien societies from the last book into a greater whole. The parasites from Children of Ruin best exemplify this, I think – convinced that consuming and assimilating everything it can reach will result in nothing but a universe of itself, compared to walking through the world with a soft touch and appreciating all the different dynamics that can develop through so many myriad perspectives. And now one of them is basically the book’s main protagonist (and very guilty about all the nonconsensually-eating-people thing).

Whereas in Memory it’s not exactly subtle that the intolerance and violence against social deviants is presented as basically a symptom of material scarcity and desperation. When Landfall is doing well, the little band of infiltrators – strange, nonverbal artist, discomfortingly informative schoolteacher, standoffish and thoroughly gender nonconforming woodswoman – are affectionately tolerated and appreciated for what they can do. When the harvests are bad and the forests are rotting – well who even needs abstract art or history lessons to begin with? They’re lashed out at, used as just one of a growing set of scapegoats, and when things are dire enough, again and again, they end up on the noose. Intolerance is a self-harming reflex, a wounded animal lashing out because it can neither understand nor change the actual source of its pain. Again, Star Trek but moreso.

The ‘moreso’ does a lot of work in this comparison, to be fair. The series shares Star Trek’s deep love of science just like it shares its pathological liberalism – it’s just consistent about it. The crew explorers are casually transhuman (transarachnid, transcephlopod, etc) - immortal and physically enhanced, capable of sharing and downloading both memories and skills, visibly aging or carrying scars only as a fashion statement. It is treated as a casual fact of life that letting an experiment progress might mean going into cold sleep for decades or centuries, if there is no better way for a group of six on a small ship to while away the time while they wait. Technology has conquered scarcity on anything like a personal scale, and the explorers take full advantage.

Which is probably downstream of the books not being particularly caught up on ‘humanity’. I mean, humans are there – are very important! - but to the extent they’re the axis the universe turns upon, it’s only the ghosts of the old empire. Modern humans are just one part of interstellar civilization, and not even its most numerous or prominent. Humans have a unique way of thinking (as does everyone else) but no monopoly on heroic drive or virtue.

Curious Corvids

Each book in the series feels marketed around a different uplifted animal arising from the ruins of humanity’s imperial glory and galaxy-spanning hubris. This is not wrong, but it definitely becomes less right as the series progresses.

Children of Time is about the spiders. There’s humans too, sure, but I’ve yet to see a single person who read for the Gilgamesh plotline. By wordcount and thematic focus and just what makes it an interesting book, it is about the evolution of Portid intelligence and civilization across the millennia. The real protagonist of the novel is the species.

Children of Ruin is still kind of about the uplifting of the Squids. Senkovi’s efforts and relationship with them gets a decent amount of focus, as does the development of their civilization after the terraformers’ death. They just share top billing with the alien aliens, and rather than just being the climax of the story Second Contact is the real meat of the entire plot.

In Children of Ruin the introduction of the corvids almost feels like a publisher mandate – their history and backstory is basically brushed over in the prologue and one interlude, Second Contact basically a triviality. It’s not that they’re not important to the book or its themes, or that they’re not interesting (in both cases they very much are!), but they feel like a b-plot. Supporting what the book is about, not defining it.

Which to be clear, is from a writing perspective almost certainly the correct choice – ‘Children of Time but with a different species’ would still be fascinating, but it really doesn’t cohere as a continuing and linked series. I just think you could have dug some more meat out of the abbreviated history given there. What fanfic is for, I suppose.

It’s a funny sort of distinction that unlike the others, the corvids aren’t technically uplifts – the considered opinion of the series is that while spiders and squids would require millenia of nanite-assisted directed evolution to develop anything that looks like human-level sapience, in the right environment crows would just Do That (admittedly with the addition of alien radiation scrambling DNA and increasing mutation rate by an order of magnitude or two).

The other trend with the different uplift species as the series has gone on is that with each book they become neurologically and psychologically weird. The spiders had Understandings and a bunch of predator- and cannibal-instincts, but they’re still each an individual intelligence. The squids are a central brain and a bunch of semi-autonomous limbs which are only barely on speaking terms with the conscious mind. And now the crows are not individually intelligent at all – they think and live in pairs, one observing and recalling, the other analyzing and inferring, actual intelligence appearing only in the dialogue and interaction between the two. Which makes chapters from their POV very entertaining, at least.

Sentience and Identity

The book’s very interested in both – it’s probably the most central and explicit theme of the entire thing. Our crows, having given the matter thorough and careful reflection, eventually decided that they weren’t sentient at all (that nothing is, really) – or at least, that’s the series of sounds they make when asked. Our other main characters include:

an alien parasite which has assimilated a copy of a woman’s consciousness and now imitates her so well she often forgets she’s anything else

a copy of a sliver of an instance of an upload of an ancient terraformer, who for a nontrivial period of time was running on hard that was mostly ant colony

an extremely detailed simulation of someone who could have but never did exist

(arguably) the simulation they are running on.

The book comes down pretty solidly on a ‘if it quacks like a duck’ model of personhood – and cheats a bit in terms of giving most of the above POV chapters and obvious internal monologues – but the question of who counts as sentience and as a person, and of what ‘sentient’ and ‘person’ even mean – are ones that various characters spend a lot of time and angst on.

The answer the book arrives at isn’t exactly a surprise – see above, more star trek than star trek – but it’s still an interesting angle to look at everyone from.

Genre Ambiguity

The book is clearly, self-evidently science fiction, but Tchaikovsky still has a lot of fun playing around with some fantasy tropes and imagery in it. Liff is an adolescent who dearly loves her book of ancient fairy-tales, and so our view of Landfall and the world beyond it, which means basically her entire plotline is narrated with a fairy-tale sensibility. In fairness, Kern and the crows do an excellent job accidentally seeming like a witch and her familiars. Landfall’s whole deal seeming a lot more like a fairy curse than anything from the inside doesn’t hurt, either.

While it’s science fiction, Memory is definitely softer science fiction than the previous books in the series. In general, human- and human-descended technology all at least has the convincing appearance of rigour and plausibility, while anything alien falls solidly into the real of space magic plot devices. So we get elaborate narration on the exact details of how the crew of the Enkidu bootstrap a functional ecology around Landfalll before their high technology begins giving out, but the simulator buried in the hills Just Works. Which as neat a way to do the division as any, really, but there’s a real shift in tone from Time where just about everything feels like it’s from the first category. I mean, they have fTL now!

Conclusion

This isn’t really a book I’d call groundbreaking – Children of Time has much more of a claim to novelty in both subject and presentation – but it’s one that I think solidly achieves everything it tries to? The writing’s good, the characters all cohere, the themes are explored intelligently. Plus, Kern is probably one of my favourite characters of all time.

So y’know if you don’t have major issues with spiders, multiple POVs and unclear timelines, or existential angst, would solidly recommend.

[space-blue]

Prometheus as a TV series

Firstly, I want to specify that I only saw Alien, Alien Romulus, and the prequels. I'm due to watch Aliens this weekend. I've not read ANY comic or novel.

From my POV, Prometheus and Covenant are extremely weird because they are clearly excellent premises for TV series.

This was originally written in reply to someone who thought the Prequels undermined the cosmic horror by leaning too much into sci-fi and genomics around the Engineers. I argued that none of the prequels' content goes against horror and that the films are simply in the wrong format!

They're both currently terrible because people are forced into dumb exposition to cram information on the screen and dumb actions in order to make a monster movie happen inside what is otherwise an ambitious and philosophical sci-fi premise.

There's large casts of very skilled people. Fuck, in Prometheus there's one of the richest and most influential people in the human galaxy secretly aboard the ship. You'd think this would be absolutely great stuff to explore. Perfect opportunity to see how warped someone like Peter Weyland is, and also the sort of bonkers power he wields.

His relationship to his children (his daughter and his android "son") was very intriguing to me in the film, and considering how vital David 8 is to the prequels as a whole, this would have been great drama to explore further.

Focusing on Prometheus here:

A TV series would have given us a smart, not hectic Holloway. His turn to despondency could be more gradual. His difference in reaction to Shaw could, given time, explore different ways people of faith react to having that faith shaken. I think he's the main source of idiotic scenes throughout, and making him less of a wanker and more of a driven and soft spoken nerd would go a very long way.

Our extra time could also give us time to flesh out Shaw. She could reveal her infertility in a more reasonable environment, like while testing prior to the original cryo-sleep.

Starting on Earth and staying there longer would also help build the Engineers and the act of going after them as something spookier.

In general, the prequels massively sanitize space. It's also the case in Romulus. Space is treated as this negative area that is a source of hard vacuum and zero G. It's not treated as something inherently scary, but we all know that's perfectly doable.

Going to look after the "Engineers" sounds silly in the film because the team is honest to goodness just following cave paintings. They would benefit from following a lead, like perhaps finding the star system and studying it, only to detect strange emissions from it.

(Just in case you forgot, looking at a star is looking at how it was in the past. You look at a star 30,000 light years away and see how it was 30,000 years ago, when those photons left it. Which means we could reasonably pick up sus stuff that motivates a visit, but also means Holloway would understand the concept of being late to the fucking party lmao).

This entire idea, going on a very distant trip to an unknown system, could use time to have anxiety built around it. People could push with serious argument, highlight in universe disasters that happened during similar blind trips, etc. The emptiness and harshness of space are very easy to capitalise on, and going to an unknown system without sending probes first could help frame this as a risky venture, having us on edge and also showing the depth of faith of Shaw and Holloway. BUT ALSO the depth of wicked corporate slavery Weyland can go to, with the rest of the crew hired without any information that would let them make an informed choice on this job.

The arrival around the planet could be spent scanning and being professional. If we spend actual time scanning the surface and following reasonable protocols, the audience won't be poking fun at your show/film for showcasing scientists doing unsafe/idiotic stuff, and also have time to get attached to the red shirts! So it'll hurt when they begin dying!

I think the fans of alien would also appreciate a show that takes its time with the alien world discovery aspect? I feel like these films have neither the time nor the inclination to lean into the science and discovery aspect. Like it happens, but it's not indulged in or treated seriously. Yet aren't we also fans of Arrival? Of Annihilation? Or JC's Avatar?

There are scifi films out there that expect us to be invested in the discovery process, and we are! But Alien isn't one of those franchises. Every film I've seen so far has the science kept secret (Ash), already ruined (Romulus), aborted or discarded in the face of action, but also entirely handwaved or ignored (Prometheus and Covenant)

Like honest to god, you have an Android who is the only one paying attention to ALIEN WRITING and immediately knows HOW TO USE IT and nobody gives a shit, asks about it, is curious about annotating it or even learning it. It's never even mentioned? Like What the Actual Fuck? And in a film where the main goal is to find the aliens in question to have a chat to them, nobody is interested in decrypting the language??

Going back to our timeline, since we have time for the exploration process, we can begin ramping up the anxiety. We can make up some fun new stuff, like this:

What if we were blocked from communications? We could have the characters make incredible discoveries (that the buildings are made by real aliens would be exciting enough, but writing on the walls??) and promptly our crew realises that all communications are being jammed. Not between them, but between the main ship and anywhere else in the galaxy. Maybe the entire system is shrouded somehow and they have literally no idea how. Can't figure the tech behind it or its source. You can start having the one security/military guy announce they should retreat. After all, the planet is there, the buildings have been there for a very long time, they should go and come back later. It'd be more secure to figure out the range of this jamming and maybe call in reinforcement.

We can start dividing the crew! With all the scientists basically too over the moon to mind, and Weyland a silent driving force who doesn't give a shit!!

I think that Holloway sticking to protocol and not removing his helmet at all would help making the confusion and angst greater if he started showing symptoms like his wormy eyes. When did it happen? Was bringing the head aboard a mistake? Was that all it took? ((David grinning in the background))

We could then enjoy an entire episode of mounting paranoia and terror as the show splits between the geologist and biologist stranded in the building and the Prometheus crew growing paranoid and further divided: what if the team was split between the science crew and the ship crew? The scientists are containing Holloway and getting absolutely horrified by what they see happening to him, while the workers are being kept in the dark and told nothing.

A downtrodden and disrespected Wey-yu worker POV wouldn't hurt!

I personally think that Holloway basically morphing/dissolving/losing himself in front of the scientists while they all fail to understand what's happening to him and are completely incapable of stabilising him would be far more horrifying than his suicide by immolation at the hands of a neurotic billionaire. It would also make David's jab about Shaw's dad dying of Ebola more impactful. Rewatched the movie recently and was like "what, her dad died burnt alive before her too??? Oh..."

By the time David finds an Engineer alive, tensions could be high enough that the ship would be on the cusp of mutiny. A good writer could make us really feel 50-50 on "value of answers from a live engineer" vs. "getting the fuck away from this planet".

Also "the engineers are us, we have the same DNA" bit is flat out stupid and leaves a million more questions than it answers, and zero mystery besides. This concept could be much better explored for angst. There are so many directions we could go!

Their DNA could contain every human genome and then more. It could change while it's observed. It could be related to us without being a perfect match. Better yet: it could refuse observation, making every machine bug out and return invalid results. Just stuff to keep us on our toes while David does his parallel observations on the black goo.

Even if we go in depth in the genomics, explaining the thing doesn't have to destroy the appeal of the thing.

I think in particular that we could explain the engineers themselves as our creators and users of the goo, only to thicken the plot as we realise they have no fucking clue what they're doing with it and we're a stray experiment left to run wild in a forgotten petri dish. The idea that the engineers used but did not understand the goo, that it was a tool they inherited themselves from fucking around darker, deeper corners of the galaxy, would be cool.

WORSE yet, it would be interesting to discover they themselves were made by some other culture/force/entity/creation process, and we are like... a by-product. What if we are the David 8 of the engineers, who are the David 8's of something else yet? Or that the Engineers aren't even "made in the image of" their creators? Maybe the whole likeness (between them, us, and our androids) is just a recent tendency we're showing, but not something the Engineers have to share with their own creators.

We could come seeking answers, and realise the Engineers didn't even have any themselves. We could be left to realise we are just the mold on the rind of a cheese, far from understanding the intricacies of 5-star dining. That's how far removed we are from understanding the forces at play.

This would be plenty cosmic horror.

God is a well polished concept, but we have a very narrow and human centric understanding of it, and it may be meaningless. Imagine if you saw Shaw lose faith only to regain it with a streak of madness? Imagine if we had the time to explore what a cosmic horror on the scale of "At the mountains of madness" would do to a religious modern person who has come searching answers and found more than she could take?

If Shaw were a Lovecraft protag, she'd say stuff like the black goo being the blood of the gods that made the Engineers, all bled dry now. Weird poetic shit should come back xD

Also. Close your eyes for a second and imagine the scene of David speaking to the Engineer. And for the lolz, let's say that the Engineer speaks back, and David adjusts, and they end up having what looks like a meaningful exchange of a few words.

Then the Engineer pats his head and wrenches him apart, and the ending comes around, only for David to staunchly refuse to ever elaborate on what the Engineer told him. Certainly another great reason to keep him around...

I hope I've made my point. If more than 50 people lose their shit on this post, I'll make a Covenant TV show post too, though it's more of a fixer-upper.

Bonus for reaching the end, a happy David:

The ultimate argument, of course, is that given 16-18 episodes of great Prometheus TV, we would have had so much more David...

[crystalsenergy]

Navigating transit Saturn in Pisces: for Piscean natal placements (ASC to Jupiter)

It is important to know and firmly fix in your mind that Saturn is an energy, not a pure consciousness, and as energy, it is manipulated by ourselves, whether we use it for something constructive or negative.

Thus, if the Saturnian energy is used for maturation, the experience will be less burdensome. If your experience with Saturn in Pisces is unconscious, involving escapism, or guilt, with much weight placed upon yourself, Saturn's influence will seem harsh, heavy, hostile. It is us who act, we are the ones who hold the power and influence over our own lives, not simply "the universe."

Some observations for aspects/manifestations of Saturn in your personality at this moment:

Saturn touching, in conjunction...

...Ascendant in Pisces:

a strong moment that will bring various situations regarding yourself. Situations where you may have a more rigid self-view, or others may demand a closed-off stance from you or appear very harsh regarding how you (should) present yourself. Regardless of who you are, Saturn touching Pisces on the Ascendant aims to bring maturity to your personality, making you a Master in the art of what comes in and goes out, of what affects you and what shouldn't.

We say this because the Ascendant in Pisces is like a parabolic antenna constantly in connection and reception with the universe - the universe in the sense of everything that comes into contact with the person.

That being said, it is important for the individual to separate the wheat from the chaff in their life, what nourishes and what drains, what elevates and what reduces vital energy, vibration. It is important for the individual to build maturity regarding the energetic exchanges they engage in and their own functioning. An intuitive being who does not know this side of themselves becomes a slave to their exterior, and therefore, Saturn ends up seeming too harsh, bringing you back to earth, making things heavy.

However, we can look at this moment and ask ourselves: how did I act before everything seemed so harsh in my relationships and exchanges with the world? How is my relationship with myself? Did I pay attention, intuitively but also wisely, to what I felt when I saw and was close to X person, Y environment? How much do I control my own mind?

These are interesting questions that can guide you to a path of greater clarification regarding the somewhat harsh energies that may seem to be surrounding you. It is also important not to punish yourself too much for past mistakes, as guilt is one of the lowest frequencies that exist (the Hawkins Scale demonstrates this very well) and brings self-criticism and a weight that seems to burden us for a long time.

We need to understand, as I have already said, that Saturn is energy, not pure consciousness, and as energy, it is manipulated by ourselves, whether we use it for something constructive or negative. Thus, in an influence like this, if you use Saturn's energy to blame yourself for past "failures," the process will indeed become heavier, and the planet will not be the "guilty" one.

...Sun in Pisces:

Doubts may arise regarding your individuality. Sensitivity may be heightened, quite evident. You may feel something that "hits" very intensely, causing doubt and self-criticism about who you have been. As Saturn and Pisces don't converse so well, the Piscean Saturnian lessons come in a harsh, austere language, where it may seem like the problem lies within, when in reality the issue is how much Piscean vibrations have been integrated into life - especially the life around you (society). The lack of Piscean energy and the integration of what Pisces represents in collective life brings us this feeling of emptiness and that there is no space for our existence here. But of course there is!

...Moon in Pisces:

Here, Saturn's harshness over Pisces touches on internal and emotional issues.

Internally, you may be very rigid, not quite understanding your emotional demands. You may feel a need to emotionally respond to life, to yourself, and to emotional matters in a rigid, closed-off, overly practical manner. But that's not the best way of dealing with Saturn.

With Pisces, Saturn brings us an earthly energy that is put on the table in a practical way, but the things brought to the table for us to face are immaterial, psychic, abstract. Therefore, even in aspect with the Moon, we see a possible emotional difficulty in navigating Piscean matters without a feeling of self-censorship.

The advice for those with the Moon in Pisces is to try to navigate Saturn's need for closure with wisdom, seeking emotional maturity and improvement, seeking to structure their internal lives rather than falling into the traps of avoiding the unconscious and emotional issues, thus ending up building more debts with oneself.

...Mercury in Pisces:

Mercury in Pisces in the natal chart represents much of the search for what the environment and people around us have to say. Even if you don't realize it, a person with this placement has immense ease in reading the environments and the people around them. When Saturn touches this aspect of your personality, it brings the importance of grounding what you read from others.

Because it has an energy of seeking utility and practicality, Saturn tries to tell us that all the sensitivity felt by the mind, which by the way, is not easy to handle (Mercury in Pisces is an exiled position), can indeed be very useful and practical.

However, because it is a language that Mercury in Pisces is not very accustomed to - it is more abstract, intuitive, and indirect - it can be a bit challenging to understand what to do and, ultimately, that you are being led to do something with all the intuition felt.

An example of practical action for a highly intuitive Mercury in Pisces, impacted by others: noticing how much the energy of the environment dictates the energy of your day while you are there [and sometimes even after you leave the environment]. From there, you can take actions to avoid such an environment if it harms you and is possible, or start looking for ways to protect yourself so that only your energy remains with you.

...Venus in Pisces:

Venus in Pisces can be likened to a manifestation of sacrifices within relationships. It can also be seen, in some cases, as a reflection of a person who lives very much in their unconscious in relationships - reflecting fears and traumas in friendship and romantic choices. Yes, this can happen to anyone, but some people bring certain patterns more strongly with them because they live in constant contact with their unconscious, but not in a present manner. Venus in Pisces can have various facets, be beneficial or detrimental, as everything will always depend on the individual and their level of self-awareness and consciousness.

Either way, I see that when Venus meets with Saturn, both in Pisces, they bring a search for relationships that reflect your unconscious in a conscious manner (it sounds ambiguous, doesn't it? but it is very possible to look at what our unconscious brings us in a clear and present manner, that is, conscious of what affects us).

This importance of seeking clearer relationships and less "unconscious" ones will appear in different ways, depending on each being, chart, and life story. But I see that relationships will certainly require more concrete actions and less distance from each individual's consciousness, thus it may shake up the relationship area a bit, whether romantic or friendly, as it will bring you back to earth until you develop an awareness that you are rich in contact with your unconscious mind. However, the contact needs to be wise and transformative.

...Mars in Pisces:

Saturn with Mars can signify the limitation of Piscean energy, the limitation of Mars energy that would come through actions and reactions. However, it can also signify a moment of greater responsibility and maturity regarding how much your actions and reactions have been based on consciousness and something beneficial - to you and to those around you.

Saturn limits, makes things practical, complicates things a bit when we deal with him and Pisces together, for the reasons we've discussed before, but still, we see in this transit an immense potential to learn to act wisely with your own intuition and energy.

Learning to see, responsibly, your needs that were previously unconscious and starting to heal them or indeed attend to them, within what is important and healthy.

Mars is action, seeking self-satisfaction, independence, survival instinct, and reaction. When we see Mars in Pisces, we see unconscious instincts very much governing this being's life - be it the unconscious of others, our own, both... Saturn can be an important catalyst for changes and for using your intuition/energy/empathy in a wise and constructive way, instead of wasting it in any situation, person, or environment.

...Jupiter in Pisces:

Saturn brings to those with Jupiter in Pisces the importance of centering and focusing energies, having a healthy action, and not simply expressing empathy, the search for connection, and something immaterial without limits or consciousness.

Saturn represents focus, centering, materialization, and practicality. In this sense, it brings the energy that Jupiter needs to understand that not everything is just about experimenting and experiencing; we also need objectives, focuses, and a search for results. And that the value of things cannot only come from experience but also from analysis and organization.

Because when we plan and organize ourselves, we direct energy towards it and little by little, plans are built and succeed. In terms of what Jupiter in Pisces tends to deal with, Saturn will bring some "brakes," which may come in different ways. Brakes through difficulties, or through limitations.

An example: brakes on intuitive, energetic, or spiritual experiences (whether conscious or not), which may be done excessively or even without the native realizing they are doing them.

Brakes on how much you overly engage (Jupiter) with others' energies (Pisces). Saturn will bring the importance of reflecting before acting, of measuring where you are directing your immense empathy and giving, and at the same time, it will seek to bring you the energy to act and transform what you want to do, rather than at the first opportunity show what you have, without seeing if that is the right time.

Finally, in the case of beings with Jupiter in Pisces representing immense victimization, manipulation, or other more negative nuances, Saturn brings a certain harshness, unfortunately, because it is a way for the native to realize that this is not the best way to proceed with the strong energy of Jupiter in Pisces. This will happen in a movement of action and effect.

[crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf]

Disgrace Chapter 4 : Crosshair x F!OC

How does one ignore the inevitable? You already know it's useless to try to avoid it, but how do you ignore its presence at your peripherals? The way it taunts you. There is absolutely nothing challenging about being stuck together on an isolated moon completely alone and cut off from the outside universe for an undisclosed amount of time. There should be plenty of wholesome ways to distract oneself... right?

Chapter Specific Warnings: Nudity, Unprotected Piv, brief angst

Authors Notes: Crosshair and Tah'Nyem are like those cats who hiss and yowl at each other through a glass door but have no idea what to do once it's been opened. They chat a little about Tahny's life, love lives, and the things they refuse to talk about. Paging Medic Crosshair.

Word Count: 6700

Dynamic: Princess x Guard, Speed running Co-dependancy, A Mangy Cat and his Aggressive little Chihuahua. She's a damsel, she's in distress- she can handle it.

<-Previous Chapter - Read On Ao3 {START HERE}

Music Inspo- Aliens Tawk by Taw Listen on Spotify - Listen on Youtube

Chapter 4 : Aliens Talk

Unbelievable.

I looked into my empty pack and the giant tear along one of its seams. 

This was designer…

I huffed and slouched back into the co-pilot chair. 

So this means everything but the inner pocket of credits was lost in the factory. Fantastic.

We had already made the jump to hyperspace, though we weren't headed straight to Ga’hah. 

Crosshair had taken a data device from a pouch and popped it into the navigation with a click. An encrypted code set a scrambled coordinate, a safe house, possibly a moon. We won't know till we get there. 

Our ship wasn't making for an extravagant trip, the partially stripped vehicle lacked any food stores and we had limited water. There were cleaning rags piled in the corners. Some crusty, tattered jackets, and a dusty pair of knee boots in the door less storage closet. The life support system was fine, but once again, freezing. 

Still. 

I got up and searched a pile of rags, picking one out that had the least amount of stains, and headed to the small sink. I wet the cloth conservatively and wiped at the dust on my face and arms, hissing as the rag passed over the scrape on my jaw where the intruder's boot had broken skin. I pulled the cloth away to eye the dark bruise that had come in. Seemed like that happened weeks ago now but it had only been about half a day. 

No medical supplies. I'll just have to tough it a while. 

The damp cloth left me more vulnerable to the cold and I would kill for a hot shower. 

And a snack. 

We had avoided saying anything for a bit now. Hunger was making us both snippy and it was safer to just avoid pushing each other's buttons in the small space. Though, I may be blaming hunger where withdrawal was a likely culprit; felt very alone with my thoughts suddenly…

I ran a little more water and rinsed my face, catching eyes watching me in the mirror when I looked up again. 

“What is it?”

I turned at his puzzled expression.

“Is that ink too?”

He gestures at the red markings and shadows around my eyes. I guess he expected it to fade like my arms. 

“A more permanent variety, yes, tattoos but it's cultural. Means I'm of age.”

He paused, but not at the insinuation.

“You have tattoos on your eyes?”

I looked at him for a moment. I admit the tats were subtle, the lines much finer than what used to be traditional. Most just assumed it was dramatic makeup. 

“...as do you?”

The air was awkward now, and I sighed. We need some food. I hope the safe house is fully stocked. 

And has running, hot water. 

I eased myself back into the co-pilot chair across from him, careful with the torn split of the tattered gown and my manifesto of growing aches and pains. I was physically active but not ‘running around blowing up factories,’ active and the extra wear and tear was catching up to me despite my conditioning. There was no spice to dull the aches and throbs and stings that plagued me. 

“Sorry.”

“Hmm.”

I looked up. 

“For what?”

“I should have let you change.”

He was eyeing my bare, scratched up thigh, though that might have been to avoid staring at the stiffened peaks beneath the thin fabric over my chest. It was always so cold on these ships.

“You're right… You should have.”

I shifted, lifting my knee to rest my foot on the cushion of the chair, letting the skirt fall away exposing the curve of my ass against the seat. 

He cleared his throat and turned back to the racing field of hyperspace, shifting in his chair uncomfortably. 

Serves you right.

It was only fair he lived with the consequences. I looked over at him, pristine besides the streaks of dust here and there and contemplated getting my own set of armor. 

And I'd never leave home without it. 

The thought was glib, and mostly an attempt at amusing myself. My mind drifted to other ways to torment my captive audience. An empty can, hurtling through space. Nothing but two chairs, us, and time to kill.

… I'm just hungry. And bored. Behave. 

“So… spice?”

He broke the silence, seemingly desperate for something else to think about besides my shivering, exposed form.  

“I'm not an authority but… what about it?”

“You, uh, like it?”

“Oh, Yeah, can't deny that… it feels nice,”

“You do it a lot?”

“Not that often, The burnout is no joke, but ‘you can't run the underworld in broad daylight without knowing how to do things safely.’... so, it's fine… I know what I'm doing,”

I put on a mock tone of my father for a bit that seemed to amuse the man across from me. 

“Is that what you're doing? Cleaning up the underworld?”

“It's what my Vah’hadarr says he's doing, cleaning up the dirty side of dirty business,”

There was a little venom in that last part as I thought about the recording and the possibilities of my willful ignorance.

“It's his show…I just manage some of the actual business, It’s club and hotel and theater all in one, and it's a chore making sure it all stays legal and without political incidents,”

“Just that, huh?”

“It's a complicated trade! Mostly flimsiwork honestly, but the workers can be absolute divas when they get in a mood,”

I was on a roll now, the irritability of an empty stomach and an unhealthy amount of disassociation had me focused on the mundane topic. 

“they think because they own shares they can petition me to let them drink away all the booze and blow our spice, And Kahtzi needs to learn to not abuse her authority! The shyte she gets me into, Kriffen workplace relationships…You know, it's actually refreshing having a new set of people trying to kill me!”

I threw my hands up before resting on an arm and rubbing my forehead. 

“Who's Kahtzi?”

I was brought out of the foray into my everyday life and back to the bare cockpit.

I thought for a moment, trying to quantify Kahtzi.

“Mm, Assistant, best friend, on and off lover,”

That would have to do, it was more nuanced than that but hard to summarize. 

He made a noise that I couldn't really interpret, eventually asking:

“On?...or off?”

“Currently?”

…

“Guess I simplified too much. We're never really a… couple, Just… two people who take care of each other? There's not really an ‘on’ or ‘off’, we love each other but don’t really work like that… together, long term,”

A beat of silence and him patting his belt, looking for something and then giving up.

“Why not?”

I smirked a little, shooting him a look. 

“Missing the right parts,”

“There's tools for that you know,”

“Oh but those don't satisfy like flesh and blood,”

He smirked back and we fell silent again. 

“How bout you, tough guy?”

“Me what?”

“Ever been in love?”

A pause as he chewed on that…

“I thought so… maybe, once or twice,”

He finally admitted. 

Cute. 

“Not at one of our houses, right? The girls can be convincing but they are paid to act like that,”

He chuckled. 

“And the boys?”

“Less convincing, that… more your thing?”

“Ah… uh, not really,”

“‘Not really’, what's that supposed to mean? Just like to look?”

“Sort of, just… some clones seem to, I just… haven't,” 

“Fascinating,”

I held my hand like it was holding a holo recorder,

“The courtship rituals of clones seems to be one of varied taste and values, furthering evidence of their individuality,”

He looked at me sideways and I felt like maybe I had gone too far.

“Sorry… I had a professor who did field studies, it's kind of a running joke between Kahtzi and I,”

I had let my guard down, and that was probably a little insensitive. I’m not too sure about clone… culture?

“Don’t be… just, seemed familiar,”

The mood had passed though and I leaned back, letting my eyes flutter shut. 

“I hope we get there soon… it's too cold to relax,”

The quiet air hung around us, thicker than before. 

~~~

I woke up, having dozed off eventually, curled up uncomfortably in the large chair. A tarp or drop cloth of some sort had been draped over me as a makeshift blanket. 

My stomach growled and a pang hit me as the acid started to flow. 

I eased my sore legs down, stretching them carefully; glad to see the fatigue hadn't grown into full on pain, and cast about for my unlikely companion.

He was bent over the console where our encryption chip was plugged in, now projecting data and instructions for our arrival. 

I padded over, my slippered feet not making much noise on the metal flooring. My hand slid to the small of his back, signaling I was there, and I leaned to look around him to the projection. 

Stifling a jump, he shifted so I could see.

We were headed to a red sun system, uninhabited. There were warnings about how much tech we used outside of the bunker, apparently any signals picked up by passerby's would be suspect. Keep the beacon on us, but abandon the ship till it's needed again. 

“So just… sit and wait?”

“Mm,”

“This seems a waste of your talents,”

“It is,”

“I once again ask…Why send you?”

“An impeccable record of self control,”

I laughed at that,

“What's so funny?”

I wasn't sure, that just seemed… wildly inaccurate. No reason to think so though, he had in fact been quiet in control of himself. 

“Is it really all that important? It can't be real that you were ordered not to sleep with me, literally…”

He shrugged giving me a look like he wasn't sure what else could be said about it.  

I scoffed at that, irritated at the confusing perimeters of the situation. 

“and to think, if they stuck me with a Reg it wouldn't have been an issue,”

“What do you mean by that?”

The question wasn't accusing, just a hint perplexed at my wording.

… Maybe I said too much. 

I sobered and straightened, trying to think of a way to side step the topic. 

“I tease, I flirt, but it's all an act… it's my job in fact, to seem available but not be, but I don't push things very far… usually, my actual cravings are…”

An enigma? Rare? A reflection of my inflated ego? Either way this is different…

I trailed off, once again too close to the truth, and retreated slightly. He was raising an eyebrow, waiting for me to finish the explanation and not realizing how dangerous it made him look to me, or perhaps, maybe he did. I deflected,

“Isn't it annoying, to have to follow such petty commands?”

Turning, I wandered back towards him, lifting my arms to rest against his chest plate and leaned in close, remembering the darkness that swirled in him, in me…

How much did he see?

“You were in here, what do you think?”

He seemed to know where my mind had went, but my question appeared to bother him more than intended. There's definitely something hiding in there.  

“I think ignoring direct orders has never been an issue for you… what changed?”

We can't keep this up, without any eyes on us it seemed idiotic to keep denying ourselves. I continued, pressed to him as I was, I had to look up to catch his eyes. 

“Is the Empire really such a loving mistress?”

“...I need to be trusted,”

It was the truth, but vague enough to not answer anything. He did something… I saw it, and he's been in that swirling storm ever since. 

Was it worth it?

There was a harsh beep from the encryption chip warning that we would be dropping out of warp. 

I snapped out of the spell that had begun to fall over us and went back to sit in my chair, strapping in.  He followed shortly.

~~~

The moon under the red sun was eerily quiet. Most of the surface was water besides a few flat islands covered with coniferous pines and ferns. All that could be heard was a gentle lap of water, there were no animals, no insects… no breeze.  

The sky was a deep purple and my skin looked red under the dark filter of the alien sun. Everything else was black. The trees, the ground, the beach of smooth flat stones. 

We had been walking a while, having set down on the opposite side of the designated island as instructed, and were making our way to the bunker that should be waiting for us. Our footsteps made small shuffles and clatters as we moved down the beach, Crosshair holding the beacon out as it flashed quicker and quicker as we found our way. 

I held my tattered slippers in my hand as we picked our way along. The moon was temperate. The sun, large in the sky, cast a moderate amount of heat making the stones comfortably warm beneath my feet. 

“I wonder if it's safe to swim…”

“Should be, but I wouldn't trust it,”

I looked over the smooth expanse of water to our left. The waves were so gentle the horizon looked flat and reflective, the red ring of the sun reflecting in the inky sea. 

The beacon chirped as we came even to a path cut into the ferns and turned to follow it, eventually coming to a large metal alcove jutting from the ground. Crosshair tapped the device to a panel on the door triggering a loud mechanical whine that cracked the otherwise pristine soundscape, and the door was opening. 

The first chamber was dark, the walls thick and insulating. We walked a ramp downward, about twenty paces, before coming to another barrier. 

This door clicked and a blue light illuminated the space, scanning us from floor to ceiling. 

“Welcome. Tah’nyem Ra. And. Companion.”

There was a loud swish and we were let into a small, furnished apartment. The kitchenette and living area were equipped with the usual amenities. Thick ventilation and a bank of carbon scrubbers were recessed by the door, explaining the thickness of the walls.

How well can that actually scrub all the emissions? Where do they go?

With a small electric hum, the lights came on warm and low, and a screen flashed over the couch projecting a feed of the surface. It was all rather lush, despite its size, fine fabric and intricate metal work everywhere you looked. 

A low whistle came from beside me and I turned to look at the soldier, not seeming too out of place against the black tones and shadowy aesthetic of the safe house furnishings.

“This’ll do,”

I dropped my tattered bag to the floor where it hit with a clunk, the credits and old boots from the shuttle landing hard on the tile, and made for the kitchen. 

Please please please

Popping the pantry I laughed in relief as I took in the rows of food stores. Nothing too fancy but it was more than enough for two people to live fat and happy for a while. 

I grabbed two packages and headed to the rehydrator tucked on the wall, catching Crosshair's profile still standing awkwardly by the couch. 

“Relax, Commander, Mission accomplished,”

“Not yet, we still have to get you home,”

He looked at the data stick in his hand, now quiet and dark. It would blink again once new arrangements have been made for me. Which, if my parents left the same day using civilian travel plans…

“We could have days before Vah’hadarr lands on Ga’hah,”

And who knows how long he wants me underground…

“Go on, take a shower or something, you earned it… and probably need it,”

Turning back to prepping food, I popped the packages open and tossed them into the machine, hitting the appropriate buttons so that it started humming softly. 

Crosshair hadn't made much progress, now casting his eyes about the clean, black living room and down to his guns and armor dusted in brilliant red sand. I rolled my eyes, wondering what had him so… of kilter.

“Just put it by the door, someone will probably clean and restock this place later,”

He jerked into motion and started stacking his things by the door frame, pieces of armor plating coming off in loud clacks against the hum of the cooking food. 

I leaned against the counter and eyed the sleek under suit that was emerging from beneath the plates. 

Doesn't take much imagination from there does it…

He moved to remove the belt and codpiece and I turned swiftly to look at the humming rehydrator instead. 

Well that was unlike me…

What is this? Blossoming respect?

Ugh, gotta get rid of that…

Out of the corner of my eye I traced his movements as he crossed my peripheral and into the back room of the bunker. 

I checked the timer on the food and followed, waiting a moment to hear the water start in the fresher before leaning against the door. 

“Hey, pass me your body suit, I'm sure there's a washer in here,”

There wasn't a reply but it wasn't because he didn't hear me.

“It's okay, I'll find a robe or something while you wash,”

A few seconds and the door opened, him in a towel, avoiding my gaze and holding out the black suit.

I took it and the door zipped shut again, quickly. 

There was a closet next to the refresher door and I clicked it open. More towels. Next cabinet had two robes hung inside and I grabbed them both turning back to the fresher and hung one on a hook near the frame, taking the other for myself as I padded back into the short hall. 

There were two bunks opposite the door to the room and another thin door. I opened it to find the expected utilities, tossing the body suit in. Listening to make sure the shower was still running I stripped out of my tattered nightgown and tossed it in as well. 

Wishing I hadn't let him go first, I slipped the robe on, committed to filling my belly anyways. Which,

A beep could be heard from the kitchenette and I wandered back to retrieve my much needed calories, taking the two rolls from the machine and finding a plate to leave one out for Crosshair. I took a bite out of mine and savored the protein and grains, though they could use a bit more seasoning, I was starving. I eyed Cross’s portion and grabbed two more packs from the cupboard. 

That is not gonna be enough.

The faint sound of running water stopped and I scarfed down the rest of my food, eager to shower myself. 

My pace towards the bedroom faltered as the door opened and the tall clone hesitantly emerged, the gray waffle knit doing about as much to hide his frame as the tight black under suit. 

I glanced down at his exposed calves and marveled at their definition for a moment.

“Uh, there's food on the table, more cooking if you're still hungry,”

I pushed past him into the room, wedging him out and shut the door. 

Days shut in alone together and I'm supposed to behave myself. Be’llahl, what did I do to deserve this?

I knew what I did. 

I looked through the rest of the storage and found some silk button ups and trousers. Nothing my size. I checked a few more drawers, but the only female clothing I found were skimpy lingerie pieces. Sighing, I grabbed one of the large shirts and made for the fresher. 

Kriffs sake Vah'hadarr, you sure you don't want me shacking up with soldiers?

Be'llahl or not, I wanted nothing to do with thoughts on why my father's safe house was stocked with such sundries.

The water was already warm, and I stepped into the spray with a relieved groan.

My scrapes and scratches stung as the water flowed over them and I liberally coated myself with soap, feeling like the dust and sweat might never come off. 

At least it's decent stuff. 

My mind drifted as the creamy suds rinsed off of me. Mostly to the brief flash of Crosshair, framed in the door in nothing but a towel. I hadn't really processed the visual but now that I was clean and undistracted by hunger it came back in a vivid assault. 

Two days?... At least. Does today count?

I turned the handle, cutting off the warm stream and stood in the stall, letting the water bead and run down my skin, enjoying the feeling of it a moment before reaching for the towel. 

Finally dry, I carefully slipped on the black dress shirt. It was the style my father wore, the slim cut almost framing my torso, and fell to about mid thigh, reminding me how short I was compared to most Ga’haiians. I thought about rolling up the sleeves but the material fought me on it so they stayed long.

I hung my towel next to the other damp cloth already drying next to the door and stepped back out into the bedroom, catching my reflection in the mirror. 

I'd say the look was seductive, if it wasn't for the bruises and scratches that patterned my exposed legs, the oversized article hanging off my hips in a way that complimented my slim build.

Well, better than lingerie…

Wandering out to the living area I found Cross at the counter on one of the stools, halfway through the third roll and cleaning the smaller of his guns. 

He looked up from his task, eyes traveling from exposed knees to my dripping hair as he took another bite.  

What the kriff now?

I rocked from heel to toe a few times in the awkward seconds, but he was pushing away the cloth his work was organized on and tapped the stool closest to him before finishing the rest of his food. 

Closing the distance at an unsure pace, I slid onto the bar stool indicated and he pulled over another box. He had found the medical kit, popping it open now to retrieve a canister of bacta spray. 

“Oh, I can do that myse-”

He shot me a look and I shut up as he cupped my chin to examine the bruised abrasion on my jawline. 

A warm sensation spread over the wound as he carefully applied the slimy substance. 

“How did you manage to take such a beating…”

The wonder came under his breath as he moved the fabric from my shoulder, pinching a gash together and applying more spray. 

“I can handle a little pain… enjoy it even-” 

I winced, letting free a small whimper as he lifted my sore leg and assessed the damage there. 

“That I can believe,”

A sigh, more spray. 

“Some escort I turned out to be…”

“Don't sweat it, I'm breathing, even have both arms still in the sockets…”

Our eyes met briefly before he finished and set my leg back onto the foot rest of the stool. 

“Those should be healed by morning,”

“Well, thanks doc, what would I do without you,”

He snorted dryly and pulled his gun back, patting at his waist, making a face like he forgot he was in a bathrobe. 

Oh!

I got up and started opening drawers in the kitchen. Finding a little box by the cutlery marked in Ga'haiian.

I triumphantly pulled out a couple travel vials of toothpicks, and rolled them across the counter where he was still perched. They were gratefully snatched up, one quickly finding its way between his teeth. He leaned into his work with more enthusiasm now that he could concentrate and I slipped a few more vials into my bag's inner pocket, moving it from where it was still discarded on the floor.

Wonder when he managed to lose them.

At least he was keeping himself busy; it was my turn to figure out how to spend the time now that my creature comforts had been met. Well, most of them.

Finally free to really roam about the space I realized there wasn't a lot to look at. The living area was made up of a low, deep couch made of a soft black leather, a console with speakers beneath the false window, and another screen housing facing the couch. The kitchenette was barely a hallway, separated from the rest of the space by the thin island counter Crosshair was leaning over. Then the short passage with bunks and utilities to one side and the proper room with the refresher on the other. 

The bunker had no access to the outside holonet, its system self contained and concealed from any scans or probing. This meant all entertainment was limited to whatever was preloaded into the base's memory. 

I scrolled through the holopad, reading through the meager selection of games, films, and music. There… wasn't much. 

Wonderful, we can spend our time playing cards.

I selected an old Diva Shaliqua track and the hypnotic tones of the Theelin’s voice poured from the speakers, making the space more familiar and inviting. 

I turned to Crosshair gesturing to the speakers, and he nodded approval. 

“You a fan of the Divas?” 

“Not really a fan of anything,”

“Mm… Kahtzi’s related you know, not that that's saying much, I think all Theelin are related at this point,”

Kahtzi was a human Theelin hybrid, and would have been rather difficult to meet if I hadn't attended such a prestigious university. There were only about a million or so left in the galaxy. 

There were nested cabinets all around the room and I popped them open systematically, checking their contents. Most were empty, but one contained a few soft knit blankets. I carried one back to the couch and sank into it, pulling the knit tight around me. 

Exhaustion was catching up to me quickly, the nap on the tiny shuttle didn't do much in the way of rest. The warm living room and soft music were lulling me into a state of true relaxation.

It wasn't long till my eyes grew too heavy to keep open, and I fell into a deep sleep. 

~~~

Where's that cultural dress I had made for the meeting, Tah’nyem? 

…

No it's not revealing

…

That's the style, li’ha, the clients appreciate the care we pay to their customs.

… 

Wear. It. 

…

It was dark when I opened my eyes again, the stereo and most of the lights turned off. 

I couldn't see Crosshair, but I could hear his breathing in the direction of the bunks. It didn't take long for me to figure that that was what woke me. The breathing was labored, almost panting, irregular. I got up with my blanket and tip-toed over to the hall to check on him. 

As suspected, his eyelids were twitching rapidly and a sheen of sweat glinted in the remaining light spilling over from the kitchen. I thought about waking him, but the brown eyes fluttered open on their own. He looked disoriented for a moment, but quickly refocused on me standing near the foot of the bunk. 

“What are you doing?”

I sat next to his knees. 

“Just seeing what the fuss is about, you remember what you were dreaming?”

He was quiet for a while. 

“No,”

It was a lie. 

“You know, if you were to talk about the shadows that swim behind those eyes… who would be safer than someone you'll know so briefly?”

That didn't seem to placate him, but he forced himself into something resembling ease. 

“It’s… I'm fine,”

I reached over and took his hand, turning it to massage the palm as I had on the transport only a day or so ago and the ease seeped into him, becoming real. 

“You want to go back to sleep?”

“No,”

Genuine this time. 

“Me neither…”

I cast my eyes about the space, now feeling stiflingly small. 

“Come on,”

I tugged his arm, getting up from the bunk and letting my blanket fall to the floor. 

“Where, exactly?”

“Let's get some fresh air,”

“Prince-... Tah’Nyem, we have to stay within the walls,”

It was the first time he had used my name rather than the more derogatory form of endearment and it sounded wrong in its formality. 

“Tahny,”

“What?”

“Call me Tahny… my full honorific feels… too heavy on your lips,”

No one really called me that anymore other than my mother, but…

“We have to stay inside… Tahny,”

My heart fluttered. The childhood nickname sounded different, colored by his voice, and it only spurred my resolve. 

“Anything a scanner can pick up has to stay down here, empty your pockets and it'll be fine,”

He still resisted. 

“They can scan for life forms…”

“The trees will throw them off,”

I turned, still holding his hand, to be even with him sitting up on the bunk. 

“Please, Crosshair?”

Since we're on a first name basis now…

A little tremor went through him and he sighed, moving to get up but pulling his hand from mine to close the robe that had come undone while he slept. 

Together, we left the mechanical hums and whines of the bunker doors, making our way back out into the dark, red stained landscape. 

The sun was positioned differently, but nothing else had changed since we had passed through hours ago. The rocks were warm on my bare feet, and the water lapped softly against the surreal, black backdrop of stones and trees. 

I could feel his wary presence, calm but untrusting, scanning the horizon. He had grabbed his rifle, and now held it lazily to his side while he took in the alien moon. 

Turning back to the sea, I breathed deeply, expecting to smell salt, but all that came to me was the vaguely green scent of ferns. How good it felt to be outside. 

“I've never seen a world like this, have you?”

“Red suns I've seen, but like this? Not… exactly,”

“New for both of us then?”

A noise of affirmation. 

I stood a moment, taking it in, breathing the fresh air and toying with the buttons of the shirt I was draped in. 

“I wonder what else we have in common…”

I didn't need to use much imagination, having been forcibly dragged through each other's minds. We're both filled with dark, swirling thoughts of people not their own. An ever growing resentment for being perceived, thoughts racing in an ever tightening circle of how to be free of… well, everything.

Death wish?

It seemed like an accurate label, and its hold was on both of us. We flirt with danger in different ways… but we were just begging for one instance, one moment, where maybe the danger will win. End the torture, the loneliness. Give us our freedom. All it took was once. Was one bad decision really better than another?

“Put your gun down.”

“No,”

A pause of consideration,

“Why?”

“You won't need it.”

A moment passed as he fought with abandoning his physical sense of security. Eventually, I heard him put the stock on the ground, apparently leaning it against one of the trees at the edge of the narrow beach. 

With a deft hand, I worked the buttons down my shirt free of their clasps and let the fabric fall with a slither onto the warm stones. 

“Tahny!”

Alarm in his voice. 

“Quiet.”

The command made him rock back from whatever action he meant to take to end this. 

I turned to look over my shoulder. He was only a few paces away, transfixed in a sort of befuddled way. 

“Why do we give them everything?”

“W-what?”

“Everyone else. Those who control us, own us as you will, just… accepting that if they decide to change our lives, abandon us, use us, it's in their power to do so, and yet- what do they let us have for ourselves? What do they think of us?… they don't even see us,”

He didn't answer, I didn't need him to. 

“Listen… you can walk away, go inside, forget this and me the moment we part ways,”

A long moment of nothing but the lap of water…

“..or?”

It was so quiet. I turned and slowly closed the distance, pressing against him, feeling how tense he suddenly was. 

“You can help me remember this beautiful night in a way that would always be ours,”

His breath was carefully even. 

I looked into his eyes, pleading. 

“How many times will you throw yourself at death till it finally snags you? Would you really go off to die without having me? Never knowing…”

He still teetered on the edge of duty and reason but had run out of excuses. His eyes darkened as I reminded him of our grim realities, stoking an anger that reflected what was burning through my core. I kept pushing,

“I don't know how you work but for me… it would be torture to never know you,”

I had my answer when his arms snaked around me, crushing me to him as his mouth found mine, clamping to me with a sudden, desperate hunger; Ravenous to take, to have, to fight back in a way that would bring a smile to Be'llahl.

Hands running over his chest in return, I slipped the robe from his shoulders helping him to catch up to my nudity. 

His fingers roved down my hips, giving my ass a firm squeeze before he carefully lowered himself to the ground pulling me into his lap, never breaking the kiss that was slowly consuming us in flames of lust and hidden rage. 

I moaned into his mouth in need as I felt his cock stiffening against my thighs. Taking him in hand, I felt the weight of him, the length against my wrist as I gripped the base. I couldn't wait much longer. 

“Please, Crosshair…”

My flesh was on fire, his hands on me sending waves of tingles to my brain churning me into a sensitive mess. He stroked his fingers up my spine and I arched against him with a gasp. Using my free hand to cup his neck, thumb caressing the edge of the ragged scar over his ear, he took the opportunity to bite at a nipple that had come in range. 

This earned him another pitiful moan and I stroked his length wanting it inside of me. 

With a low growl he gathered my arms and held them behind my back easily with one hand. The other slid over my hip and down between my legs, gently caressing the tender petals he found there making me tremble as he coaxed the slickness of my arousal to drip onto his waiting member. 

He moaned low, the same need consuming him, and he guided himself to my entrance. There was no resistance as he lowered me down to take him fully, pulling me into him till he was sheathed in me, grinding against my slick and swollen lips. 

We both sighed in relief before our mouths met again, less frantic now. Taking the time to explore the sensation of us, pulling back only to look at each other, bodies now interlocked. He was beautiful beneath me, naked and drenched in red light…

I squeezed my thighs. Rocking myself on his lap, desperate for some friction, he tightened his grip on my wrists. His other arm wrapped around me firmly but he was letting me take the lead. Cross’s lips gently brushed my forehead creating a strange juxtaposition with the rough, dominant hold around my bucking hips. 

The stones under my knees shifted with me as I rode him, his hands guiding my bouncing body. He was trembling, but focused, not wanting this to end too soon. I could feel the pleasure shifting into something more wild as I reached the first threshold. He pulled me down onto him suddenly, slamming into me, driving me over the waiting edge. 

The climax took me quickly, days of tension making me easy quarry, and my knees squeezed his hips as I let out a strangled cry, any other thoughts forcibly scrubbed from my brain as I shook in his hold. My desire was only deepening. I was starting to fear the physical contact wasn't going to be enough any more. I wanted him in my mind again, clawing against my soul. 

“Look at me,”

My eyes fluttered open, not realizing I had closed them. I drank in his face, the rapture in it, the red sun reflected in his eyes. 

This will have to do…

He let go of my arms, letting his left hand drift to my hip while his right trailed up to my neck, holding it gently as he laid back onto the stones. He thrusted up, increasing the power from below. 

The scoop of my hips became violent as I met each of his strokes, arms now free to use his chest  for balance. I dug my fingertips into the firm pecs as pleasure pushed the sense from me; It escaped in wispy moans that carried across the rippling water. It didn't take long for another orgasm to rip through me, harder this time. My muscles clamped down on him threatening to push him free as I cried out, echoing into the quiet, alien night.

I didn't dare look away. With him holding my neck, I couldn't if I wanted to. It was all intensity rolling off of him and a rumbling through his breastbone, pleased with my writhing form holding his eyes so desperately.

“Oh Cross… li’nen, you feel so good,”

The world was spinning, he shifted us, skillfully flipping to be on top of me. My back pressed into the warm stones and I adjusted, wrapping my legs around his hips as he continued with careful, measured humping. 

No… that's not right.

“Don't, ah! hold back,”

His rhythm faltered but he didn't change pace. 

“I don't want to, ha-hurt you,”

“It's okay… I can take it, just… I want it all Cross-hah, give me everything,”

He took a deep, shaking breath… then roughly thrust into me. His chest pinned me as he scooped forward in a full bodied motion taking up a slower, harder rhythm.

I hadn't realized how much he had been restraining himself and I groaned at the new force. It took a moment to acclimate before becoming comfortable. I remembered what was said about his enhanced strength…

I'll have more bruises tomorrow for sure,

The thought was wiped clean as my body shuddered with each hammering thrust, any jolt of pain becoming pleasure as it was lost in the labyrinth of my quivering nerves. All I could do was wrap my arms and legs tighter about him. 

I was getting close again. Listening to his soft grunts as he ravaged me was just as erotic as the physical sensation. It felt like I was floating, eyes glazed, no longer capable of much sound at all. I clung to him, his breath, his heartbeat, the only thing that was real anymore. 

A gasp finally escaped me as everything became brighter. I claimed his lips again as I came, nails biting into his back and legs locking about his hips as my muscles flexed against him wanting him as deep as possible.

It was finally too much for him and his breath caught as he lost the battle with his own pleasure. He pressed back against me, letting my knees pull him deeper as he twitched inside, wracked in his own orgasm, a soft groan against my lips,

“Tahny…”

Before he collapsed over me. The hormones fled, leaving him spent and panting. 

I stroked his back as he rested his forehead against mine and we breathed heavily… together, reduced to our most vulnerable forms. 

Two frightened children, lost and adrift on the edge of the galaxy, grasping for a friend in the dark. 

Shhh... *ushers you away*

[lialacleaf]

The Chief And The Intern

Chief x Reader

Was Waiting All Along

It had been months since you had heard from John. Life hadn’t been the same since you’d gone back to finish your last semester of your master degree. University used to excite you, but after having run around the galaxy with the UNSC, being in actual danger, you felt bored.

Your friends noticed the difference when suddenly you were unavailable to go to the mall, and more interested in visiting the firing range.

Your mother almost fainted when she learned you’d taken up a martial arts class in your spare time. Your grades weren’t suffering, so you didn’t exactly see the problem.

Your father had pestered you every day to submit your application to his company, but the only place you’d sent your application was the UNSC’s board of communications.

You were going to find John, and the rest of Blue Team. You couldn’t just submit to the life your parents wanted for you, even if you’d be monumentally disappointing them.

You were scrolling through your laptop in your little dormitory when you saw it. You’d been scrolling through emails for hours, each rejection letter making your heart sink further and further when you saw it.

“We would like to receive your application for our recently opened clerical assistant position.”

It wasn’t exactly what you wanted to be doing but there was one little phrase that caught your eye.

“Reporting to Spartan Lieutenant 104”

There was no way. Fred had found you? How in the world had he managed that? You took a quick glance over the email before following the provided link to submit your application and cover letter.

“You did what?” your father asked as you silently cut into your steak.

“I applied to the UNSC, and I got in. I’m leaving after the graduation ceremony,” you stated firmly.

“But what about the job your father lined up for you at his company! You’re just going to throw that away? I can’t imagine the UNSC is going to pay someone very much for communications work,” your mother rambled frantically as she set her fork down.

Family diners in your parent’s penthouse were always tense, but this was another ball park entirely.

“It’s clerical work actually,” you muttered.

“Yn! What are you thinking!” your mother asked.

I’m thinking there’s a very handsome space soldier up there waiting for me. I’m thinking I’m tired of being coddled at thirty two years old.

“It’s a good opportunity. Free travel, important connections-“

“It’s unsafe!”

“Nowhere is safe Mom!” You said, slamming your knife on the table. “I’m tired of pretending that Sydney is safe just because it makes you feel better to have me at arm's length,” you said, standing from your place at the table.

“You’re not going to survive out there, yn,” your father scoffed.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have before, but things are different now. I’m not changing my mind on this.”

Your parents didn’t come to your graduation ceremony. You noticed that their chairs were empty as you lined up to walk across the stage.

It left a bitter taste in your mouth. You were being punished for not doing what you were told. Despite having argued with them, you’d at least wanted them to attend.

You tried to smile for the pictures as you walked across the stage, but it didn’t feel real. After the ceremony you packed your suitcases and left your dorm for the shuttles.

What if John wasn’t waiting for you anymore? What if you got up there and he’d moved on entirely?

You felt your throat tighten as you neared the pickup and your legs began to shake.

Were you making a mistake? Could you still turn around? Your parents would never respect you if you did.

You shook your head, silencing these thoughts as you loaded onto the shuttle. This wasn’t just about John. You were doing this for yourself as well.

“Wasn’t she supposed to be here already?”

Fred didn’t bother answering the question, knowing full well that if he told John the cargo ship was running late he’d probably grab a rifle and a ship and go out looking for you himself.

Six months wasn’t a long time, but it was long enough to make the Master Chief miss you so much he could hardly breathe.

“She’ll get here when she gets here,” Fred said with a shrug as they waited in the cargo hold.

“She’ll probably be hungry, we should take her to the mess. She’s probably forgotten how to get there,” Kelly said, admittedly excited to see you again.

When the intercom finally announced the arrival of your ship, Blue Team sprung into action. John searched the faces of deboarding passengers for you, feeling a sense of panic until your smaller figure appeared, hauling two large suitcases.

He froze all of a sudden, willing his feet to move but unable to do so. He’d never felt this way before. Never had to hesitate, and yet he felt as if his stomach was doing summersaults.

Your eyes finally settled on him, and your feet halted.

Six months. Had anything changed?

You moved first, your hands abandoning their grip on your bags as you ran to him. Time seemed to catch up with the Spartan all of a sudden, and he barely registered that you had flung yourself towards him in time to bend forward and wrap his arms around your waist, hauling you in for a tight hug that squeezed the breath right out of you.

You buried your face in the Chief’s shoulder and sighed, the smell of gunpowder and cinnamon a sure sign that you were home.

“How’d you find me?” You murmured into his shoulder.

“Wasn’t that hard. Had some connections keeping an eye out for you. Ready to get back to work?”

He asked, setting you down as Fred and Kelly retrieved your bags. Linda gave you a firm pay on the shoulder in greeting.

This was exactly what you needed. Blue Team’s support, the promise of adventure on the horizon, and the Chief’s arms around you.

“As I’ll ever be,” you declared with a grin and the Spartan smiled softly at you. He had you back, and this time he wasn’t letting you go anywhere.

Tag List: @discowizard88 @laurenstacy610 @amaraohara @starchaser-the-prophet @embarrassedauthornerd @117s-girl

[paradoxoftrees]

GUYS WTF

A mini rant before I actually go to bed:

*inhales* So I just watched the Dragon Prince season 6 and all I can say is wtf. Actually wtf. I am still up to this moment thinking about Leola I’m not even kidding. What happened here was a disgrace to the freaking universe itself (while providing Aaravos a very generous dose of my sympathy, affirming my reasons for obsessing over this elf).

i know I have this thing where I like analyzing stuff to death, so I’m gonna take a good moment to put our short time with Leola under a microscope…

To me, I see this innocent character as an embodiment of individuality and the uncertainty and fear society associates with it. Our society itself is very saturated with this stigma and disgust regarding self expression, as those who defy what people define as “normal” always seem to be the subject of hatred. Being odd, or unconventional is twisted into something negative, with people interpreting it as something to gain attention or something to purposely defy norms for the sake of doing so. Leola very much symbolizes this treatment. She is even defined as being “quirky”, a word used to scrutinize and criminalize the act of expressing oneself in modern society. This particular word confirms to me that Leola is supposed to represent the battle between normalcy and individualism that exists here on this earth. I cant help but feel so horrible for this elf child. No, she is not attention seeking, insecure, inferior, and most of all, she is NOT a criminal. She is a child who is simply in tune with herself and accepting of herself, and therefore, has the capacity to extend this beyond herself into the literal universe. How powerful is that? Her acceptance and sheer self expression are contagious. And that is interpreted as something toxic, from the perspective of those who cannot possibly find that sort of love within their empty and hateful souls. So they, and many those in our own little society, decide to exterminate it. This fictional cosmic balance is our real life societal balance. And the show’s portrayal of her during her final moments made this even more devastating. At the very end, she was a scared child. A scared child who wanted nothing more to live within the world that she loved so much. I can say that this flashback was horrendously and beautifully well done at the same time.

And I don’t even want to talk about Aaravos… but I will. Honestly the idea of this snarky af space-themed elf being an actual parent was odd at first, but I instantly felt a kind of gut wrenching sorrow for this fictional character that I haven’t felt for anything else in a LONG time. Hes so freaking skrunkly, overwhelmingly so. Seeing this elf being capable of love really hit hard like nothing else, knowing that his alarmingly heinous acts were driven by this all-consuming grief. Knowing that this villainous blue elf had such a soft past, and such a torturous present, made me want to unwrite those damn cosmic court (whatever it’s called) elves out of the very script itself. Seeing the very moment when Aaravos’s face just snapped as his daughter was literally murdered just… yeah no words.

I genuinely hope Aaravos gets to talk to Leola just one last time… I just want to see this poor elf happy to be honest. For closure.

There shouldn’t be a price for individuality. But yet we pay it. Making this sweet and scared character pay this price made our own societal ignorance even more wrenching and real.

*i don’t feel getter now. Guess I got to make a fanfic where things are better.*

[dewitty1]

Fic Recs Wrap Up October 2024ꐑ(ꐌ◡ꐌꐐ)࿐࿔࿓ཥ•̬͡•ོཤ(((༼•̫͡•༽)))←～（o ｀▽´ )oΨ

In Another Life (I Would Make You Stay) by aboutmalfoy

Seven years out from the war, Hermione comes to Harry with a way to undo the lasting damage done to the Wizarding World, and save those once lost. The catch is, only Harry will remember anything differently. When Harry wakes up in the world where Voldemort never came to be, he’ll have to navigate the life he never lived as if he’d been there all along. Except, a version of Harry was there all along—and he may not be so easily overridden. (Rec Post)

White Horses by JStevens

They say there are no white horses—those that we think of as white are really just a faded deceitful gray. And if there are no white horses, certainly there are no true heroes who will come riding in on one to save us from all our pain. After learning of the prophecy that will change his future, Harry returns to Hogwarts School for sixth year and finds that not everyone is who he thought they were. It seems that he is not. Definitely Draco Malfoy is not. As he tries to find a path to the end of his time at Hogwarts, he will have to grapple with questions of who to trust and who to love while navigating a world full of threats. This is a story of how we sometimes deceive ourselves and others, but hopefully find something true in the end. (Rec Post)

Recursion by Tessa Crowley (tessacrowley) @tessacrowley

A process is recursive when it defines or contains itself; e.g., the Fibonacci sequence, which determines the next number as the sum of the previous two. But not all recursive processes are mathematical. Recursion can happen in a temporal context when, for instance, the powerful magical force that is true love drags you back in time so it can create itself, endangering the fate of the Wizarding World—not to mention the very fabric of space and time—along the way. ( Rec Post)

To have a Home by Aulophobia

Not quite a decade after the war, Draco Malfoy was happy with his quiet little Muggle life in Oxford. He had a small group of friends from the university he’d attended, and colleagues from the law firm where he worked as a solicitor. He played folk music on his violin around the city. And he volunteered to provide legal services getting mostly idiot teenagers out of trouble with the law. His life was full. He had no contact with the magical world, and all was the way he liked it. And the feeling of emptiness in his chest, the feeling some part of him was missing, was at least better than the alternative. Or at least it was until the last few months when he kept getting called down to the police station to get Harry Potter out of trouble. Indecent exposure and possession was one thing, but the latest charge was for murder. OR Harry and Draco find each other again after the war in Oxford, a completely non-magical city. Together they solve the mystery of the city which hates all wizards but them. (Rec Post)

Here are a few more fics I've read recently that y'all might like to check out as well!(ノﾟ∀ﾟ)ノ━☆ﾟ･*:.｡. .｡.:*･.*･｡ﾟ*:・ﾟ✧

Trade My Heart For Honey by MyNameIsThunder @thunderfiction

A witch who thinks she’s a Seer, a Seer who thinks she’s a witch, a former nemesis-turned-something-turned-acquaintance who thinks they could be friends, and a Scottish village full of Muggles who think this is as much their business as the fair folk in the woods. Draco is going to prove them all wrong. (So so good, and it's for me?!?!? ♡✧( ु•⌄• )💜💙💚💛❤💗💕💖)

Change the Ending by Anonymous for @hd-fan-fair H/D Muggle Fair 2024

When Draco gets hit by a curse that makes him essentially allergic to magic, Harry takes him in as a favour to Ron and Kingsley to teach him how to survive without it while they wait for a cure.

In the Fight for Someone's Heart, the Best Armour is Armani by Anonymous for @hd-fan-fair H/D Muggle Fair 2024

Harry is a famous actor. Draco is his stylist, who can't help but fall in love with him.

[ART & FIC] Starry, Silver Anchor by Anonymous for @hd-fan-fair H/D Muggle Fair 2024

Although no one can see it, Harry’s struggling and barely holding on. When he's given a chance, he asks for his deepest desire: for the war to never happen.

( •ॢ◡-ॢ)-♡ HI! I'm back! I hope y'all didn't miss me too much! Please enjoy these fics as much as I have! Happy reading! xoxo Carey  (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*💜💙💚💛❤💗💕💖

[marlynnofmany]

Just a Rock

For all the time I’ve spent traveling through space, I haven’t spend much of it actually out in space. It’s unsettling. Inside the ship, I can forget how close the airless void is, how small our precious bubble of air. But outside, everything is black like some vast creature ate all the color in the universe first, then the air, and is now hungering for life forms too.

Sometimes those distant stars look like teeth.

These are the thoughts that tend to pop up when I’m in my exo suit, hoping that my thruster pack doesn’t run out of fuel before I make it back to the ship. But then an empty pack of chips will float by my visor, and I can refocus on business.

That’s how it happened today, at any rate. (And yes, “day” is a silly concept in the blackness of space.) We’d made a detour to see if we could pick up some extra funds by gathering salvage from a museum ship that had gone kablooey, but so far all we were finding was trash.

Paint jetted past in her own exo suit, upside-down to my frame of reference, then stopped to pull apart a jumble of carpet fragments. “They really did clear out the good stuff already,” she said over the radio. She swatted aside a drink cup with her tail, looking like a little space-suited dinosaur, a thought that kept me entertained for a good few seconds.

Captain Sunlight’s voice said, “Keep an eye out for scrap metal. That may already be gone too, but it’s worth a shot.” She was somewhere else in the drifting junk pile, or maybe back near the ship; I couldn’t tell. There was too much stuff in the way. This was a mildly alarming thought — out of sight meant out of safety — but I caught a glimpse of the Frillian twins posted as safety guards at the edge of the cloud, and my heartbeat settled a bit.

“Do you think anyone will buy some mildly used carpet?” Paint asked the captain. “It’s only in several pieces.”

“Let’s go with ‘no.’”

“What about some very exotic — what is this — napkins? Made with authentic Earth wood fibers!”

I looked over at that. “How can you tell?”

“Oh, I have no idea,” Paint said. She held up half of a wall placard. “But this is from the Earth exhibit, so maybe the napkins are too.”

I looked around at the trash in a new light. “Man, it’s a pity we weren’t here for any of the good stuff.”

“Yeah, and all these food packages are empty! We can’t even get you a slightly exploded taste of home!”

I waved my hand through a cluster of soda bottles. “I appreciate the thought.”

Paint jetted over to a different pile of whatever. “Hey, do you think any of this food trash was actually an exhibit? Packaging from olden days?”

“Uh, maybe,” I said. “Probably not. That’s not the sort of thing I’d expect on a multi-species museum ship. A janky little humans-only one, maybe. But even then, most people aren’t going to care.”

Something clunked against the back of my helmet. I hate that. Nothing like a reminder that I can’t see behind me like some species can. I toggled the jets to rotate in place, so I could find the offending object.

It was a rock.

“What’s this doing here?” I asked, closing a gloved hand around it and bringing it in for a closer look.

“What’d you find?” Paint asked, sticking out sideways from behind a twisted bench.

“A rock.”

“A meteorite rock?” she asked. “Oh hey, do you think it pierced the hull?”

“No, it doesn’t look like a space rock,” I said, turning the small gray-and-white lump over. It was mostly smooth, with a divot that would have fit a fingertip if I hadn’t been wearing the gloves. “Weird. I wonder if it was part of some Neolithic exhibit or something.”

“Can I see?” Paint jetted over to park herself in roughly the same orientation as me. She was very good with that jetpack.

I showed her the rock. “It doesn’t look like any gemstone I know. Maybe some kid had it in their pocket, then threw it away.”

Paint cocked her head. “Is that normal, for your young to carry rocks around?”

“Sure. You never picked up something you thought was neat as a kid?”

“Not a rock,” Paint said with exaggerated disdain. “A sweet-smelling seednut or herb, absolutely.”

“But look: it’s even got a little finger groove,” I pointed out. “You could stick it in a pocket and rub it for luck.”

“Could you?”

I smiled. “You could. You probably wouldn’t, but…”

“Why?”

I looked at the rock again, already fond of it. “I get the feeling that I couldn’t explain this to a point where you’d agree.”

Paint shrugged. “Probably not. But hey, we found you a souvenir after all. From probably the Earth section of whatever museum this is.” She grabbed a handful of colorful pamphlets drifting by. “The ‘Galaxy in a Bottle Museum Tour Ship.’ Who named that?”

My smile turned into a wide grin. “Humans.”

Paint grumbled about the unflattering comparison of an elite starship to a simple bottle. When she moved to toss the pamphlets away, I held out a hand.

“What’s that white one?” I asked. “It looks like a display sign.”

Paint flipped over the stack and separated the one I meant. “You’re right. Hey, it’s about a rock!”

I reached out a grabby hand. “Gimme.”

She passed it over. “Is it that rock?”

I read the title, then was gut-punched by familiarity. I’d heard about this. “Yes,” I managed, skimming the rest of the sign and holding the rock close. “This is Bethan’s Rock.”

“What?”

I fumbled to explain. “Ages ago, a kid visited a museum — a human kid — and learned what museums were for, then offered her favorite rock as a donation, so other people could appreciate it too.”

Paint cocked her head in the other direction. “And they took it?”

“Yes!” I must have looked a little wild at this point, but I didn’t care. “The adults agreed that it was a fine thing to donate, not to mention adorable, and the only one of its kind that I’ve ever heard of. More museums should house the occasional favorite rock, though I suppose they wouldn’t be as special if they did.”

“So just to clarify,” Paint said. “There isn’t anything valuable about this rock, except that one of your youths decided there was. And all the adults played along.”

I smiled down at it, careful not to let it drift away. “It’s the most precious non-precious stone I’ve ever seen.”

Paint stared for a moment. “It’s not even one of those shiny ones you like.”

I laughed. “I know!”

The captain called us back in at that point, having found one decent chunk of metal among the mountains of trash. We had a schedule to keep.

I folded the sign and tucked it into my suit pocket, but held the rock tight in my fist as I jetted toward the ship, working the controls with one hand. I was already thinking of the safest place in my quarters to keep it until we got ahold of the proper Earth museum authorities. Other humans would want to see Bethan’s Rock, after all, but it would be my honor to watch over it until they could.

~~~

(Inspired by this post. Long live Bethan’s Rock.)

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character of this book. More to come!