#soulspent

[criticalfai1ure]

sebastian maximiliano rojas ends his last video log as the door to his bunk whooshes open for the final time to find him inside. he stands, bound hands clasped as if in prayer, and offers an awkward smile in greeting to his captain and the quartermaster behind her.

blue’s gaze is cold, detached, and he knows the crew’s decision without her needing to speak a word. a knife, his knife he realises, is dropped to the floor between their feet and he eyes it, curious. ❝ where did you find… ❞ max trails off, recognising the red on the blade for what it is. dark gaze flicks up to meet jay’s before returning to his knife. ❝ whose blood is that? ❞ there’s an edge of panic to his tone that he fights to swallow down. ❝ jay, whose blood is that? ❞

❝ stop, red. it’s over. ❞ the use of his nickname does not go unnoticed.

tabs pushes into the room she had shared with max and rob, sneering as she clips the industrial zip ties that had bound him. they are doing him a kindness, allowing him to don his red spacesuit — it is more than what he had given the imposter posing as rob. once he is secure in his suit, a new zip tie is procured, lashing his wrists together once more. the quartermaster exits, then, with a nod shared with her captain.

max stares at his old military dog tags hung on the wall his bed is built into. a set of rosary beads sit heavy in his pocket, taken from beneath his mira-issued pillow and hidden away before his argument with kane. they lend a comfort to him, ebbing and flowing with his emotions, a final gift from his mother ( he’ll be with her soon ). shoulders slump with a resignation before he tilts his head and straightens, facing jay again.

she steps aside and he nods, following into the corridor without protest so she can lead him from behind. as they pass admin, he falters and stops short, heart thumping in his throat as he turns his head to her. ❝ jay, ❞ he starts, and it is so soft, holding all the emotion he hadn’t allowed himself in the past.

❝ don’t, ❞ she stops him. her own voice breaking or, perhaps, already broken. she refuses to meet his eye. ❝ max called me that. so don’t you dare. i trusted him, trusted you, but now i am stuck. i am stuck in a place where i can’t even be sure how long you’ve been him. so maybe i’ve never actually trusted the right one. maybe i’ve never actually… ❞ she trails off but the silence hangs heavily between them.

he turns to the side, desperate for her to look him in his face. he needs her to see him, needs her to know – know what, rojas? ❝ i’m sorry, ❞ he whispers at the same time as he watches her steel herself to continue quietly with, ❝ – maybe i’d never actually loved the real max either. ❞ anything else he might’ve thought to say dies on his tongue, then, and he draws a shaky breath. he wants to say her name again, wants to throw himself at her feet in this corridor while it’s still just them. wants to beg and to plead and to cry out…

but he can’t.

he made this bed in which he now needs to lie and he swallows thickly around the heart stuck in his throat. it takes everything he has to keep his posture from folding, putting one foot in front of the other as he spirals in silence.

the doors to the storage bay swish open and tabitha is there, directly in his line of sight beside the airlock, holding his red helmet. jasper and monique stand to the side, moni squeezing jaz’s hand before moving to stand with ghosts. max is unsurprised to see kane is not in attendance, but something festers in his gut when he notices elias is missing as well.

he turns to jay again, brow furrowing with a question he doesn’t get the chance to ask. ❝ first mate rojas, ❞ she says, ❝ red, ❞ an amendment. ❝ for spacing robert myers, claiming he was an imposter with no known proof but your word against his after a violent argument over the dead body of hero robinson – as witnessed by tabitha marsk and ghosts frazier – the crew of the skeld have put forth a vote. ❞ she draws a steadying breath finally meeting his eye, ❝ for the safety of the crew, you are hereby sentenced to the same fate. ❞

he knew it was coming — how could it not? but it is still a knife to his heart. max starts to move toward jay but is intercepted, scuffling with tabs and his helmet, ❝ get off marsk. i can bloody well do it myself. ❞ he rips his arm from her and there is a struggle that ends with her elbow in his gut, leaving him almost breathless and he grunts in pain, doubling over as he staggers back.

he straightens, resolute, as jay draws another breath to reprimand them, wanting this to be done with but, before she gets the chance, max closes the distance between them. his lips press to hers wanting her to know everything he had never said, eyes squeezing shut to keep the world out — her hand comes to his chest as she kisses him back for half a second before her head catches up to her heart. she goes still. stiff. the crew protest around them but it’s max that pulls away, unaided, ❝ jay, ❞ he says and her name is as soft on his lips as hers had been for the breath of a moment. he remembers his mother’s rosary in his pocket, a prayer.

she walks him back to the airlock where tabs is waiting to take hold of him again. max tries to rip away from her a second time but is unsuccessful and tabs forces his arms out in front of him. ❝ — please, jay, ❞ panic is rising in him. this is his last chance to plead his case and he is fumbling for words, ❝ you know me. ❞ jaz holds the clippers out as tabs tosses the red helmet into the airlock, manoeuvring max the same way. jay has turned her back, stepping over to the controls, ready to close the doors as soon as tabitha and jasper are clear. ❝ don’t do this! ❞ his voice breaks, emotion sweeping over him in a crushing wave. jaz snaps the zip ties and tabs gives a hearty shove. max stumbles, crashing to his knees on the other side of the airlock chamber, the door clangs shut before he is able to recover.

from the safety of the storage area, the crew watch as their first mate struggles to click his helmet into place ; hands shaking, though whether it is anger or fear that truly courses through him, they dare not hazard a guess. a red fist pounds on the door but they cannot hear anything more than muffled banging. ghosts turns their head and moni and jasper squeeze hands again, the three filing out before blue presses the release.

she is looking at him now. again. and, for the last time, his gaze meets hers head-on. bluejay. his lips form the nickname. her eyes lower, locating the correct switch and returning to him in the space of a breath.

his eyes are closed ; a scream no one else can hear is torn from him as the vacuum of space rips him from the skeld.

red’s fear is lost in the wake of sabotaged comms.

back in navigation, jasper and moni take up their seats, steering the ship away. ghosts goes to find kane who had taken it upon themself to clean up elias’ blood, spilt from behind — murder by a coward.

only captain atlas remains in the storage bay, staring at the red dot that shrinks into black nothingness until she can see nothing but the stars he had loved so much.

[ltnsingh]

@soulspent asked: sit.  for your muse to encourage mine to sit and rest. ( maybe from boims because i’m in a silly goofy mood )

Perhaps against her ingrained judgment — despite the fact that while she'd been tasked with showing him around the upper decks, she'd avoided being cornered into an actual one - on - one all day — La'an found herself acquiescing, her hands falling out of their perfect parade rest behind her back until the backs of her knees threatened to make contact with the padded plush of the closest lounge seat.

The spectre of every question and accusation she'd ever had thrown at her by strangers who presumed too much because of her last name lingered in the dead space between Boimler's expectant gaze and her own, still, like it was wont to; But he seemed fairly harmless, temporal blunders notwithstanding. Excitable, even a little tactless, in an innocuous way, but not malicious.

" You didn't have to physically do that, you know. " In tandem with the almost chiding upward arc of her brow, La'an's fists loosened, and the look she shot him was one of questioning. One of primarily flat, empty complaint.

" Look — I just don't think trying to get us both pickled with Orion liquor is actually going to help. "

[vigilaent]

@soulspent. . . dick grayson.

' i'm fine, just. . . give me a minute. '

it's almost too dark to tell, white light too often a fickle, scattered thing. it's quiet enough, though, to hear the breadth in his breaths, too heavy, her own almost too thin against it, held too tight somewhere between her heart and her mouth. sometimes, dick grayson is too everything for his own good. for her's. her hands hover, first, some unseen pressure coiled around him, magnetic, opposite poles come together. but then she blinks, gaze adjusting to the dark, the gleam of too much sweat on his throat, glaze in his eyes, and something somewhere shakes loose.

“   i don't think so,   ” she murmurs a heartbeat before her grip catches on his arm, his neck, thumb brushing just along his pulse - point on the way. quick and reedy. she can't spot the difference between black and red, shadow and blood, but she looks, despite herself, flicking the hair from her own too - sticky face with a quick jerk of her head. “   and you have no idea what they gave you in there, or how much ?   ” not like her. no poisoned pulse to question, no mystery, miracle cocktail to numb the dull bite of cuffs in the circle of her wrists, to water down the aching drag of stiff plastic force - fed down her throat— no, unlike her, dick barely seems present to even the sharp blade of her eyes dissecting him open, the firm press of her fingers, or perhaps hyper - aware, something hummingbird bright to his body even as it falters.

she didn't get a good look back there either, not even through all the oranges and the yellows she left behind, the brain matter pink and bleached bone white, but some foreign, alien part of her knows he's a sick shade of gray underneath all the black. “   you need to stop for the night. we need to stop for the night.   ” stating the obvious. it's easier than voicing the mere whisper at the back of her neck, vein - deep prickle drowned out by phantom adrenaline, even now, a rolling boil turned butterfly slight. a stillness frozen over brittle and breakable, like aching teeth pressing down hard enough to creak. certainty clamped down over nothing. they barely made it out alive, this time. they may yet not.

[vhenann]

🏆 ♾️

Send 🏆 If you like my character portrayal

uno reverse card w all of ur muses MWAH

[kcrclrezni]

@soulspent sent: 🔪 from kaz send me 🔪 to put a knife to my muse’s throat and see how they react.

"You'd better have a plan," the privateer mutters under his breath shortly after feeling the cold steel pressed up against his neck. This'll teach him to never turn his back on Kaz Brekker ever again. He's a fast little bugger. Must have learned that from his Wraith.

"Or did you figure I was in need of a shave?" Sturmhond says with a soft chuckle, the result of which causes the knife to pinch into flesh. "I have been in need of one and the barbers in Ketterdam are awfully expensive. You'd be doing me a service."

[hstoryhuh-a]

special thanks to @soulspent & @princedickhead/@goldenboybarracuda for screaming about the movie with me tonight.

[enslaughts]

get to know the author. . .

name :  jean :)

pronouns :  they/them feels the most accurate but i loveee the fluidity of any pronouns forever and always amen

preference of communication :  in the tags of replies.... unfortunately. social anxiety my most beloathed. BUT discord seems to be working better than ims for now, at least !

most active muse :  right now ? tommy and cat tlou, kae newborn oc babygirl... mostly. but the muses i have the most consistently active muse for are sean and karen lis, five tua, andddd [ REDACTED, who i've actually been thinking of making a removed original portrayal fandomless sideblog for. much to think about ]

experience/how many years :  oh damn, honestly ? i think just since 2020 ? 2019 ? somehow it's felt both longer and shorter than that rip <3

best experience :  ho man, where to begin. my first blog was surprisingly my best experience in the rpc when it comes to a blog being a BLAST to run, but it was kinda lightning in a bottle ; cool as hell, but no way in hell gonna last. i was in a sweet spot mentally but it was the exception to the rule, e.g. : my incredibly poor focus and consistency on every other blog since lol. but above all, it's trulyyy the people i've met on here. even if i fall out of touch, i treasure the talent and kindness i've encountered on rp tunglr of all places no matter how long ago i encountered it <3

rp pet peeves :  lame as hell answer but my own self sabotage when it comes to overwhelming myself aha. yet i do it every time <3 it must be exhausting always rooting for the anti - hero etc

plots or memes :  okay. okay. the answer IS plots, i swear. that first blog o' mine was bursting at the seams with threads i had such incredible muse for because i somehow had the mental where - with - all to honest to god plot, but literally i haven't been able to get there since then and it drives me NUTS. brain broke, so. memes. much to my dismay.

long or short replies :  the answer should be short for my own sake but. aha. hehe. hahaha. it's me. hi. i'm the problem it's me etc

are you like your muse : well. for obvious reasons, the answer is unfortunately yes. but usually in some small, but significant way. an isolated trait magnified to whims of my projection coping methods <3 i pass out singular traits of mine to my muses like halloween candy :)

tagged by : joeyyyy <3 tagging : if you've not done it yet, @soulspent, @soulwaned, @maimedaffair, @capitolhost, @palearizonuh, @fableheld, @lingeringscars, @exclibur, @wildkissed, and you reading this ; steal it and say i tagged you :)

[criticalfai1ure]

thinking abt leland today. about not being the source of the apocalypse but having been the driving force behind making it Worse. not a rebel but also not a bot sympathiser. in it for himself and maybe a select few others. can you call it guilt when you’re not exactly sorry for people dying because you know the bots wouldn’t have stopped looking for a human to help them and at least you’d had the wherewithal to craft an antidote? who’s to say the next person would have done the same? thinking abt him pawning himself off as a medic, about asking jamie and other hackers for tips so he might be able to recreate his antidote without being tracked ( not because he feels bad but so he can pass himself as the hero ). about hyping up jamie to get back into computers and hacking, to fight back against the bots.

thinking abt terrible people being terrible and not changing their morals, but chasing the moving target of what keeps them protected so they make it out alive.