#tachyon blue

[tachyonblu]

Join us tonight at 8PM EST for an in-depth discussion of Alien: Romulus (with spoilers)! Guests are AirplayDoc, FairyQueen, Vincent Martin and WhickTV!

[tachyon-omlette]

good evening everyone

he likes the dress a lot he's just not a smiler

[suminomiyyas]

Sumipe's Maniacal Laughs gacha edition

[quinnred]

The Swords Grow Wild: Even the Dead Dream of Home

A piece done as the intro artwork of "The Swords Grow Wild" section of the art zine "Visions Unveiled" published by BobTheSeagullKing in collaboration with Logan/Tachyon , CrabdominalPain , and Luke Baker.

"A giant corpse twinkles within a cloud of oxygen, its metallic bones glinting like a quiet star within this blue gaseous death blanket. Although it is a tiny light among an infinity of tiny lights, a machine eye spots it.

The probe investigates on behalf of a million curious minds, coordinating its paleobiological autopsy of the leviathan from light-years away. 

The “bones" are of a nano-constructed steel structure, stained by long dried oils and muscle pressures. Much of the remaining tissue had decayed into pale iron rich sinews along the three spines running along the body. 

What most intrigued the probe and its coordinators was the golden husk of the body’s brain and nervous system. Not only was it bizarre to see such a precious metal used in a biological structure, but that it held activity. The brain itself was not alive, but it still preserved echoes of the alien’s thoughts and memories. Such a preservation of information seemed unlikely to be a natural product, at least to the minds behind the probe, hypothesizing that this was an artificial organism, maybe even an alien equivalent to the probe. 

By studying and mimicking the neurological mechanics of the husk, the probe could connect to the neural network and perceive abstracts of information.

Images of birth, or more aptly construction, as its newly crafted eyes connected to its brain, allowing it to witness each massive organ be placed within its metal carapace. A skip in time, the creature rushing with other armoured missile brethren across a battlefield, surging forth in a wild aerial spin deploying numerous biomechanical bombs as if shedding metallic feathers. Other living war machines fight with and against the creature as chaos consumes an alien city of urbanized stone, steel and bone. 

Clearer memories flood in, the creature ascending towards the sky, its form searing with atmospheric heat as it escapes pursuing explosives. A goal screeches within its instincts, to kill whatever lays above these clouds. It plows through the last layer of atmosphere and- 

It lies in a void, circling around the sphere it came from, body torn apart but flickering with life. Its target, a biomechanical ring hovers above the green and blue world with only scars to bare. 

Time passes by millennia between neural blinks, as the creature drifts away, the world gradually blooms red and orange with overgrown infrastructure. The Target grows many rings until it engulfs the rusted planet like a rib-cage shielding a heart. The image drifts further and dimmer until all that can be seen is a twinkle and then darkness as the sensory organs decay. 

Even in death, it still dreamed of home."

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

what's an average gallifreyan outfit like? (yes i am going to draw gallifreyan Miku)

What's an average Gallifreyan outfit like?

Gallifreyans have a timeless fashion sense, and I mean that quite literally because their styles change only every few millennia, and even then it's always some form of robe.

🕰️ The Timeless Style: Robes, Layers, and Colours

On Gallifrey, robes are the go-to attire for any occasion, and luckily they have dresser servants to help them pick the most appropriate set. Robes are created mechanically with tachyons and are often made from multiple layers of fabric, with the brightness and number of layers signifying the wearer's status. High-ranking Time Lords tend to wear more elaborate, brightly coloured robes, while those of lower status go for simpler, less vibrant attire. The colours of the robes are often tied to the wearer's chapter affiliation:

Prydon Chapter: Scarlet and orange

Arcal Chapter: Shades of green

Patrex Chapter: Predominantly heliotrope

Cerulean Chapter: Blues

Dromeian Chapter: Silvers and greys

Scendeles Chapter: Muted tones, a mix of various shades

No Chapter Affiliation or Novices: Black and white

🧥 Accessories and Practicalities

Beyond the layers and colours, Gallifreyan outfits are also equipped with some rather handy features:

Transdimensional Pockets: As well as being bigger on the inside, items placed in one pocket can be accessed from a different pocket in another garment.

Video Communicators: A common accessory, these devices are either worn on a wristband or attached to the back of a glove, allowing for instant communication.

Laundro-Demat: When it's time to clean those millions of robes, the Gallifreyan Laundro-Demat is there to dematerialise the garment, clean it, repair it, and reassemble it as good as new—wrinkle-free and perfectly scented.

🏫 So …

An average Gallifreyan outfit is an ensemble of colours and layers that reflect the wearer’s status, chapter affiliation, and the occasion. And they're pretty much always robes.

Related:

💬|⏰💄Do Time Lords have a beauty industry?: The fashion trends and general attitudes towards clothes.

💬|⏰🎨How are Gallifreyan paintings created?: The use and history of stasis cube art.

💬|⏰🏪Do Gallifreyans have grocery stores?: Food and food technology on Gallifrey.

Hope that helped! 😃

Any purple text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →😆Jokes |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[gollancz]

Why I'm Not Allowed On Twitter Unsupervised Any More: A Photo Essay

Key Notes:

Since this was posted I discovered that the books had briefly been available in the UK under the name Peter Beagle rather than Peter S. Beagle in the mid-90s, which is why they didn't show up on the British Library search

The article by Tor.com @torbooks: Peter S. Beagle Has Finally Regained the Rights to His Body of Work

If you want our gorgeous limited edition, I believe there are still a handful left (except for the US and Canada, sorry lads), and you can get it here. I'm not kidding when I say I got a little teary-eyed when these showed up.

[Image Description: A tweet thread from the Gollancz twitter dated 20th July 2022, which goes as follows -

Tweet 1: You may have seen that we're printing a Brand New Edition of The Last Unicorn. We're very excited! I was asked to tweet about it. I wasn't asked to do it quite like this, but I also wasn't asked NOT to do it like this, and I have the twitter login so whose fault is that? (Thread emoji, and gif from the film Scream reading 'The Call is coming from inside the house!')

Tweet 2: Imagine, if you will, you are a small child in the UK during the late 80s/early 90s. You might look a bit like this, or you might have had parents who didn't choose suffering (ask my mum about The Saga of the Hat) (an image of a small girl approximately 3 years old wearing a blue dress and a big white hat)

Tweet 3: Imagine you have a cool older cousin, one who, as you get age, introduces you to fantasy films like Ladyhawk and The Princess Bride and has a post the whole family knows as 'the vampire and the naked lady'. She's extremely responsible for the way you turn out as an adult.

Tweet 4: One year, for your birthday, this cousin buys you a video. It's the first video that is yours, not to share. It has a bright yellow cover. The butterfly scares you. But you watch it on a loop. You don't realise how special it is, but it's a seed that burrows into your brain. (An image of a VHS of The Last Unicorn)

Tweet 5: A decade or so later, in your teens, you rediscover it. None of your friends have heard of it, despite also being fantasy-inclined. That's odd, you think. Is this an outlandishly weird title? Then you get older and you realise: no, it isn't. (Principal Skinner meme reading 'Am I out of touch? No, it's the people who don't know about The Last Unicorn who are wrong')

Tweet 6: Time and tech march on, you get a DVD of the film. You realise it's got Christopher Lee in it! And Angela Lansbury! Your mum tries to get you to listen to songs by America other than the soundtrack, but the only one that really sticks is the other one they did about a horse. (Gif of Walter White from Breaking Bad singing along to Horse With No Name)

Tweet 7: You realise that the film is based on a book. Like The Princess Bride, which you've also read (after spending longer than you're proud of trying to find an unabridged edition). 'Neat,' you think, 'I'll have to read that!'

Tweet 8: And then you can't find it. Because, as mentioned previously, you're in the UK. The Last Unicorn was published for the first time in 1968. But, if you look at the British Library's National Bibliography (super neat resource btw), that was, uh, about it. (screenshot of the search results from the National Bibliography showing four editions of The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle, one from Gollancz in 2022, one from IDW in 2019, one from Tachyon Publications in 2018, and one from Bodley Head in 1968)

Tweet 9: The Tachyon edition is the unfinished first draft of the story. The IDW edition is a gorgeous graphic novel. But in terms of the novel? I don't know how many reprints it had (if anyone knows, I'd love to find out), but there's a good chance it went out of print in the 70s.

Tweet 10: The film, however, was released in 1982. Although it didn't make it to the UK until 1986. Conservative estimates could put that between 10 and 15 years since the book was last available in the UK. This gives you a generation in the UK who only know the story through the film! (A screenshot of the IMDB page showing the different release dates for The Last Unicorn around the world)

Tweet 11: The screenplay was written by Peter S. Beagle, and made by the legendary animation directors Arthur Rankin Jr. and Jules Bass. That's right, the guys behind Thundercats and 2 out of the 3 films based on The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings.

Tweet 12: The Book has been in print in the USA (and possibly all of North America) constantly since its publication, so it seems baffling that people in the UK haven't heard of it. As the internet became more prominent, however, it became easier to just... import a copy of the book.

Tweet 13: But! This also isn't quite as simple as you think. You see, until last year the rights to The Last Unicorn were tied up in legal limbo. And the US edition of the book contained changes that Peter wasn't happy with. (Link to the Tor.com article about the rights)

Tweet 14: Back to you, the 80s/90s kid, who is now an adult, happy that unicorns are A Thing again and you're living your best life. You're very easy to buy presents for. Your partner despairs of unicorns. You get a job working in books about magic and space. (unicorn emoji and photograph of a collection of unicorn memorabilia, including three different versions of The Last Unicorn)

Tweet 15: You mention that one day you would like to publish The Last Unicorn. That if you did, you would like to do a really beautiful edition of it. And you would like it to be purple. Because since the film is what you know, you associate it with purple.

Tweet 16: And, after taking a very circuitous route, here we are! This is the original text, that was first published in 1968. Reading it after you have only seen the film is the strangest experience - like being introduced to a very dear friend that you have never met before.

Tweet 17: Peter's screenplay kept the voice of the story so well, you can hear the characters when you read the book. But now there's so much more depth, softness and warmth to it. The butterfly doesn't seem so scary any more. And, it's beautiful. And it's purple. (Image of a hardback edition of The Last Unicorn, with a black base, purple background, and a linocut image of the unicorn in her wood. On the black cover underneath is a foiled unicorn with the moon and butterfly, the page edges are sprayed purple, and the endpapers are black with silver butterflies)

Tweet 18: Anyway, I've taken you on a three day trip that could have been done in a single tweet, but that's what happens when you let me drive. This edition is the limited exclusive one only available through the Gollancz Emporium and you can preorder here: (link to Gollancz Emporium)

Tweet 19: But there is also a standard edition available through all booksellers! You'll be getting the author's preferred text, with an introduction from Patrick Rothfuss. There's also a brand new audiobook and it will be available in eBook for the first time ever.

Tweet 20: It's like going from famine to feast, and I wasn't able to talk about this for months so now I am able to talk about it, I'm going to make the social media team cry. UNICORNS. SPECIAL EDITION. PURPLE. The End.

Tweet 21: Additional behind the scenes bonus detail - I did take this cover to the art meaning while wearing a unicorn onesie.

Tweet 22: The comms team wrestling me away from the twitter account: (gif of Ross from Friends shouting 'Stop typing! Stop typing!')

End ID]

[helpimhopelesslyinlove]

Okay so- my mental health has been shit recently, and school isnt super easy right now, so I'm going to take a break (maybe a month?) from Tumblr/ most social media- except snapchat for now, if anyone wants to keep talking, reach out to me and I'll give you my snap<3

Tagging a few moots I interact with a lot<3

@skeelly @svnflowermoon @mqstermindswift @tachyon-girl @theeslutintheroom @shiftingwithmars @halucynator @thatdammchickennugget @finalgirllx @percabeths-blue-cookies @my-castles-crumbling @nqds @never-enough-novels @a-beautiful-fool-backup @deprivedofbraincellsandsleep @doyoujustnotwantto

[fandoms-are-my-h0me]

tag nine people you want to get to know better!

Thank you for the tag @pluviowriting

LAST SONG? - Juno by Sabrina Carpenter ✨️

FAVORITE COLOR? - Blue 💠

CURRENTLY WATCHING? - I switch between multiple things. I'm doing my yearly rewatch of Grey's Anatomy and Julie and the Phantoms (still will never forgive Netflix for canceling it.)

LAST MOVIE? - Currently rewatching the Harry Potter movies.

SWEET/SPICY/SAVORY? - I can go for any of those. I am working on building up my spice intolerance though. I do go for more savory/sweet stuff because that's usually where salt is used the most and my body craves salt like it's no one's business.

RELATIONSHIP STATUS? - single like a Pringle

CURRENT OBSESSIONS? - Marvel (specifically Wolverine and Bucky at the moment), Percy Jackson, Disney movies, HP/HL, Reading(can I count that even when I'm in a reading slump?)

LAST THING YOU GOOGLED? - ok this might make me a huge nerd but I was looking up the Warrior Cats Medicine Cat Guide because I like refreshing my memory also because I've been thinking again about making my own clan to write with. 🫣

No pressure tags: @tachyon-girl @finalgirllx @grandeoatmilklatte

[raepritewrites]

If Heather were ever to write a memoir about being a superhero, she was going to include an entire chapter about what to do when you get sucked into a portal, because it was a surprisingly frequent hazard of the job and was confusing as hell if you didn't know what you were doing.

Fortunately, she’d been through this song and dance a few times, so she started with gathering the basics. Who, what, where, how, and when?

First, who? Some c-lister villain who called himself Vibe. The team had been working on a case of break-ins where banks would be robbed through some sort of portal technology. In and out, easy as pie, with almost no trace left behind. The guy was slick she could give him that.

Nightwing had theorized the guy might have a teleport ray, judging by the tachyon readings they were getting. Further investigation, however, and a quick conversation with Flash had revealed that Vibe was a meta created from the particle accelerator explosion of Central City, which had given the speedster his own powers. It hadn't been too hard to track the guy down from there.

Second, what? Well, bad guy plus warehouse equals superhero fight. It had just been Nightwing, Superboy, and herself who went to track down and capture the meta. The rest of the squads had all been busy on other assignments, and really, how hard could it be to take this guy down with three of their heavy hitters on it?

Apparently, harder than they'd thought.

Vibe, it seemed, was just as slick at evading capture as burglary. The idea had been for Nightwing and Scarlet Spider to wear the guy out and keep him distracted until Superboy could get in a final hit. It had briefly worked, and then everything went wrong.

Scarlet probably shouldn't have antagonized Vibe so much, but it was fun winding bad guys up. She and Nightwing had come up with some good lines as they danced around the teleporter. She had so much experience fighting alongside Nightcrawler that she assumed she could guess this guy's next move without any trouble. He would zig, she would zag. She'd been... a little too confident. Her spider sense had warned her of the danger as she swung towards Vibe for one more kick to the gut, but her momentum had been too strong, and there was no avoiding the inevitable.

Vibe had realized the game they'd been playing with him and grabbed Superboy as he'd tried to sneak up from behind, flinging him over his shoulder and into her. They'd crashed into Nightwing in a pile of tangled limbs and curses.

By the time Scarlet Spider looked up, Vibe had a new portal open behind him. "As fun as this has been, I'll be taking my leave now. This earth has always been a little too hero-happy for my tastes," the man smirked and saluted them, stepping backwards into the swirl of blue and white light.

If Heather had a nickle for every time she made a very stupid last-minute decision, she and Bruce Wayne would be in the same tax bracket. This was just another five cents in her fictional bank account. She sent a webline to the ceiling, propelling her up and off of her teammates and into the portal, which promptly closed behind her.

Third question, where?

On the other side of the portal, it dawned on Heather very quickly how stupid she was as she found herself free-falling. High-rises and skyscrapers rushed past her in a blur as she struggled to orient herself.

Some part of her brain that sounded a lot like her step-father screamed at her to throw a webline, and after two desperate attempts failed to land on anything, her third try caught a gargoyle. Her arm wrenched in its socket from the abrupt change in trajectory, and she gritted her teeth to stifle the howl of agony that crawled up her throat. She looked around desperately and spotted a rooftop not far away that she could reach.

Her landing was less than ideal, tumbling head over heels before rolling to a painful stop on the tarmac. She lay for a moment to let the panic subside, panting heavily from the spasms radiating from her arm and down her torso. She stared up at a smog filled night sky and the glowing neon sign of an office building as her brain rebooted.

Once she could hear more than just her own heartbeat thundering in her ears, she took stock of her situation. While she'd torn a few muscles in her arm, the damage was minimal compared to being a smear on the sidewalk. She'd twisted her ankle when she'd landed, and it throbbed in a familiar way - not broken, but definitely sprained. Everything else seemed negligible; cuts, scrapes, and general bruises. She would deal.

She sat up slowly and frowned at the office building's sign, declaring it to be one of Wayne Enterprises' headquarters. Why Vibe had thought running to Gotham was a good idea was anyone's guess.

She checked her comm, but only received static in reply, no matter what frequency she tried. Maybe it had been damaged in the fall? Her phone worked, but had no signal at all, not even wifi. That was strange; WE had public wifi available at all there buildings. She needed to reach the team somehow to let them know her status, and that despite her best (very stupid) efforts their suspect was in the wind. She wasn't sure where the closest zeta beam was from here, but maybe she could reach Nightwing a different way.

Did Heather feel bad breaking into the department store? Yes, a little, but desperate times and all that.

She'd grabbed a pair of jeans, a belt (because of course the jeans didn't fit right, but she didn't have the luxury of time on her side to find a pair that did), and an oversized sweatshirt. She dropped a pre-paid credit card on the counter with the tags of the items she was stealing, hoping the owners wouldn't be too mad at her. She then made triple sure that all the cameras she'd covered in webbing were still technically functional -just ineffective for a few hours - and grabbed a shopping bag from the register to stuff her gear into it.

Outside the store, it had begun raining, because this was Gotham and she had Parker luck. It was only natural. After trudging through the rain for a few blocks, Heather finally hailed a cab in a more populated part of the city. The clock on the dash of the taxi read a little after four am, and the driver looked like he wasn't thrilled to have found a customer.

"I need to get to Bristol," Heather told him, trying to be short but polite.

The cabby raised an eyebrow at her, blowing smoke from his cigarette out his cracked window. "That's going to cost you, lady," he told her flatly. "If you hadn't noticed, this is the Diamond District, that's a long drive."

"If you can get me there quickly, I'll pay you double the fare in tip," Heather promised.

Both eyebrows went up at that. "You're the boss," he shrugged and pulled away from the curb.

Once they reached Bristol, Heather had the cab drop her off at the Drake Estate, a few miles from Wayne Manor. She didn't think the cab driver really cared about where this woman in ill-fitting clothes was going at the crack of dawn out in the most expensive neighborhood in Gotham. But just in case someone asked him about it later, she didn't want him saying he'd dropped the weird woman off at Brucie Wayne's mansion. Never could be too careful.

True to her word, Heather had tipped extra generously, and the cab had taken off as soon as she was out of the backseat.

She glanced down the Drake's long driveway to where their modern estate could be seen peaking out between the tall trees and frowned distastefully. Shaking off her feelings towards Tim's parents, she settled into a fast walk and headed towards Wayne Mansion in the thinning rain.

By the time she reached the front gates, the rain was just mist that was slowly being burned off by the morning sun, and she was soaked to the bone. Wiping water off her face, she buzzed the intercom and hoped Alfred wouldn't be mad at her for the early morning call.

"Wayne Residence, may I help you?" His British accent came through the intercom sounding slightly tinny.

"Good morning, I need to speak to Dick Grayson or Bruce Wayne. It's Heather Reilly."

There was a long pause, too long. "Do you have an appointment?"

Heather frowned. "No, not exactly. Listen, I know it's early, but I really need to talk to Dick or Mr. Wayne."

"Master Wayne is a very busy man, young lady," Alfred began, in a clearly dismissive voice.

"Wait, please! It's..." she frowned harder, brow furrowing as an uneasy feeling filled her gut. "It's Heather, Mr. Pennysworth. You know, Heather? Dick's friend? We've... I mean, don't you know who I am?"

"I'm afraid your name is not familiar to me, and young Master Dick no longer resides here at the manor. Good day, young lady." The intercom clicked off and Heather stood blinking at it for several seconds.

"What the actual fuck?" She finally muttered.

Alfred Pennyworth did not know who she was. He had dismissed her with the same polite but frosty way she'd seen him dismiss hopeful gold diggers who hung off of Bruce at parties. As her brain processed this information, something else occurred to her as well.

Vibe. He had said something just before he disappeared. That their earth was too hero-happy. Their earth. As if there was more than one.

"Well, shit," Heather sighed sharply, rubbing at a pounding headache that was beginning to build behind her eyes.

Apparently, Vibe wasn't just a teleporter like her fiance, and perhaps their assessment of him as a c-lister villain was a bit hasty. Because apparently the sucker could warp not just around the world, but also apparently around the freaking multiverse?! And Heather, dumbass extraordinaire, had followed him to a parallel universe. Which meant that the only way she was ever going to get home was to find the bastard again, and there was no way she'd be able to do that on her own.

Fourth question, how?

Heather felt significantly more guilty sneaking onto the Wayne Manor estate than she had breaking into the department store.

She hoped that her Dick and Bruce - if she ever saw them again - would understand that she hadn't meant to memorize the defenses around the estate. Really, it was more Bruce's fault than hers.

She'd spent so much time working for the man, digging through the batcomputer's files and doing the menial grunt work to help hone her skills, that of course at some point she'd gotten bored and started studying the layout of the grounds and where all the motion detectors were hidden. She was only human... well, kind of. Sort of. Not important right now.

She didn't know for certain that this version of Bruce Wayne would use the same layout for his home's defenses. Hell, she wasn't even certain that this version had even become Batman. Maybe the man actually was a clueless socialite in this universe. But Heather had a gut feeling that she couldn't shake.

Like, sure, maybe there were universes out there where that was true. But... could there really be a universe where Bruce Wayne had never become Batman, and yet he'd still taken in Dick, who then would coincidentally also have a falling out with the man and move to Bludhaven? The whole reason her Dick had moved to that awful city was to establish himself as Nightwing.

Heather knew she was holding onto a thin string of hope here. But if she was wrong, she might never make it back home, and that possibility was too terrifying to even consider.

Her universe had found multiple ways to kick her in the teeth and drag her down, over and over again. Yet, that universe was her home, and she was still standing. She'd gotten back up each time with the help of her family and friends. She would figure this out, and she would come home to them.

There wasn't an option for failure.

By the time she was standing in front of the massive doors of the manor, her shoulder and ankle were starting to throb in time with her heartbeat. The sun had burned off the remaining rain and she estimated it was closer to six or seven am now. Despite knowing she looked like a drowned rat, Heather attempted to have some dignity as she straightened her clothes, pushed back her slick hair, and reached up to knock.

"I'll get it, Alfred," She heard a young male voice on the other side of the door, and she had just enough time to think Tim when a seventeen year old boy with dark hair opened the door.

Heather blinked. This... was not her Tim. Her Tim was still thirteen and only recently reached her shoulder in height. Yet, the haircut, the blue eyes, the sharp features, all of it definitely screamed Tim Drake.

The boy frowned at her. "Can I help you?"

"Uh," Heather floundered for a second, unsure. She hadn't anticipated speaking to anyone other than Alfred, Dick or Bruce. "Yeah, I'm sorry. It's um, it's been a rough night. My name is Heather Reilly. You're Tim, right? I'm a friend of Dick Grayson's, and I really need his help."

"You again?" Alfred was suddenly behind Tim, wearing the most severe frown she'd ever seen on the man.

It immediately made her step back a half pace and her shoulders hunch. No one, not even her own parents, could make Heather feel like a small naughty child the way Mr. Pennyworth could. There was a reason even Batman deferred to him. "I was quite firm young lady. How did you manage to get past the front gate?"

Translation: How did you avoid all of Batman's security? Heather thought, but of course they wouldn't know that she knew about any of that.

"Please, Mr. Pennyworth, if you just let me explain the situation," Heather began, trying not to wither under his stony stare.

"How do you know Dick?" Tim interrupted. He looked just as suspicious as Alfred, but there was something else in his stare, curiosity or something like it. Tim, like Bruce, was a detective and Heather could tell she'd piqued his interest.

"Dick and I are old friends," She said quickly, latching onto Tim's interest like a lifeline. "We met when we were teenagers. We, uh, had a lot in common. Listen, if Dick isn't here could I at least use your phone? I lost mine, and if I can't talk to Dick, then I need to try and call another friend."

"Are you in trouble?" Alfred asked, looking a modicum less severe than before.

"Very much so, sir,'' Heather nodded, shifting her weight only to wince as she placed too much onto her bad ankle. "Shit," she hissed, unable to keep the curse in.

"What happened?" Tim asked, opening the door wider.

"I... fell," She said lamely, scratching the back of her neck. How could she explain that it was from a height of several stories? Oh, right, she couldn't. "Twisted my ankle. It's fine, I'm a fast healer."

Tim and Alfred exchanged a long look, and only years of working with the bats helped her parse out its full meaning. They didn't trust her, clearly. They thought she might even be lying, but they weren't going to leave someone soaking wet and obviously injured outside on their doorstep.

Alfred hummed, still displeased, "You may use the phone in the library, follow me. Master Tim, would you please bring me the first aid kit?"

"Sure, Alfie," Tim sent one more scrutinizing stare her way before disappearing into what she knew was a supply closet.

She followed the butler into the library, wincing as she dripped rainwater onto the expensive rugs. He led her to an antique secretary desk with a rotary phone on it, because apparently in every universe Bruce Wayne was that kind of old money rich, and insisted she sit down on the oak desk chair. Tim reappeared shortly, carrying both a first aid kit and a towel, the latter of which Heather took gratefully as she sat her plastic bag full of gear onto the floor.

Heather carefully squeezed water out of her hair, mindful of her shoulder as Alfred looked through the kit. "If you would remove your boot, Miss Reilly, I will check your ankle."

"Oh, I mean, you don't have to-" Heather began, the towel now draped over her shoulders.

"I insist," Alfred said firmly but not unkindly.

"You might as well let him look," Tim said with a chuckle. He was leaning against one of the many floor to ceiling bookcases. "He won't take no for an answer."

"Right, I knew that," Heather muttered, shaking her head. She missed the puzzled frowns Tim and Alfred shared as she reached down and started unlacing her combat boots.

Spider-Man and her father preferred their costumes with matching boots and gloves, the web design visible from top to bottom. But she'd long ago chosen steel toed black boots and fingerless black leather gloves for herself. She liked that it made the uniform her own, along with a modified version of her father's blue hoodie - cropped, slightly darker in hue, and made of a resilient Kevlar. The Scarlet Spider silhouette was still recognizable as the one Ben Reilly once wore, but she'd made it hers, and she knew her dad would have approved.

She got the boot off and peeled off her wet sock, hissing as the fabric stuck around the swollen ankle joint before finally coming free. Of course, it was the ankle she'd broken previously, that was just her luck.

"Okay, it's a little worse than I thought," she admitted quietly as Alfred examined the injury.

"You seemed pretty confident it was just a sprain," Tim observed casually.

Bruce hasn't taught him all his tricks yet, Heather thought as she considered how to answer Tim's obviously prying question. "Not the first time," she said as she watched Alfred pull out a roll of bandages. "I'm clumsy."

Before Tim could form his next question, a voice called out, "Drake? Pennyworth?" This was followed shortly by a boy, maybe fourteen years old, coming into the library. He was also dark haired, but much tanner than Tim and his eyes were brown. There was something oddly familiar about the kid that Heather couldn't put her finger on.

"Who is this?" The boy demanded.

"Manners, Master Damian," Alfred chided him as he finished wrapping Heather's ankle. "It's best you remove your other boot as well, Miss, to give them a chance to dry out."

Heather nodded, "right, thank you, Mr. Pennyworth."

"Damian, this is Heather. She says she's a friend of Dick's," Tim explained.

"Richard has never mentioned you," Damian said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. He spoke with the slightest accent, something Middle Eastern that Heather couldn't pin down, and the more she looked at his face the more she was sure she knew him from somewhere.

"We're, uh, very old friends," Heather explained awkwardly. "We haven't seen each other in a long time." Or ever, in this universe's case.

"Tt," Damian scoffed, sharing glances with Alfred and Tim. He wasn't even attempting to hide how suspicious he thought she was. It was sort of refreshing. "Richard isn't home. He's running errands with Father."

Now Heather was narrowing her eyes, her head tilting to the side as a memory came to her. Of a painting that hung in her universe's version of Wayne Manor featuring Thomas and Martha Wayne posing with their young son. Bruce was solemn, even as a child, and Damian had the same set to his jaw.

"Oh my god," she breathed as it clicked, suddenly standing as she pointed at the boy. "You're Bruce's kid. Like, his bio kid, aren't you?"

The others gave her various confused reactions. Alfred raised one eyebrow, Tim frowned, and Damian crossed his arms haughtily.

"Of course, I am," the younger boy snapped, like he thought Heather was an idiot. Which was fair. She kind of was most days, even she could admit that. "How do you not know who I am?"

"I -" She dropped her arm and rubbed her neck. "Right, yeah, that's an excellent question." She sighed. "Okay, truthfully? I am friends with Dick, but... not your Dick?" They frowned at her, and she couldn't blame them.

"Look, I'm going to level with you. I'm not from this universe. I work with Dick on my earth with a team of heroes. We were fighting this guy - Vibe? I did something monumentally stupid, and I ended up here. I didn't realize until I was already talking with Alfred that I was even in the wrong universe because my Alfred has known me for years. I worked with Batman for a while when I was a teenager, back when Dick was still Robin, and-"

"What are you talking about?" Tim interrupted her nervous ramblings. "Why do you think we know anything about Batman?" He added angrily. Damian looked ready to commit murder, and Alfred had disappeared at some point.

Heather groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Look, let's just cut past the song and dance, okay? I know all about Bruce, I have for years. In my universe, he gave me almost full access to the batcomputer's files. I trained with Robin in the batcave. I know about the entrance behind the grandfather clock in Bruce's study-"

Heather realized a few beats too late that was probably not the best way to break the news.

Damian was suddenly in her face with a knife at her throat pulled from seemingly nowhere. She reacted instinctively, grabbing the boy's wrist, twisting it down until he dropped the dagger. She pushed him into Tim, who'd been pulling out his collapsible bo staff. She'd turned with the intention of escaping through the library's other exit, but only made it a few strides when the sound of a shotgun being loaded stopped her dead in her tracks.

Right, that would be Alfred, she thought numbly, lifting her hands up as high as her injured shoulder would allow before dropping to her knees.

"Do not move," Alfred ordered.

"Yes, sir," she said.

"How did you disarm me so easily?" Damian demanded, stomping around to glare at her.

Heather gave him a small smile, which only made him angrier. "You remind me of my sister," she said instead of answering.

"I don't know what your game is," Tim told her, "but we're not playing. What do want with Dick?"

"First, poor word choice," Heather smirked at him over her shoulder. He glared back at her flatly, and she rolled her eyes. "My Tim has a much better sense of humor. I already told you exactly why I'm here. I'm in the wrong universe, and I need Batman and Nightwing to help me get home."

"Why do you keep insisting my father is the Batman?" Damian asked.

Heather sighed. "Look, we could keep going around and around on this all day, but I don't have that kind of time. Either call up Dick and Bruce so we can discuss this like adults, or-"

"Or what?" Alfred asked, suddenly reminding her there was a very protective butler with a gun pointed at her.

Heather pursed her lips, considering. "Why don't you take me down to the cave? You guys probably have a holding cell like my Batman does. You can keep me under lock and key until I can convince you I'm telling the truth, or until you can get someone from the League to come down who can wipe my memory if I can't."

"Or we could take you to Arkham Aslyum now," Damian suggested.

Heather took a deep breath, trying to be patient. Not like it could hold me. "It's up to you," she finally said.

Damian walked behind her so the three could share a whispered conference. Heather tried very hard not to hear them by humming under her breath, but it was a lost cause. Damian was coming up with some very creative forms of interrogation tactics, but was ultimately overruled by Tim and Alfred.

"Alright, let's go," Tim finally sighed. "Hands behind your back, and just keep in mind Alfred is a very good shot." She saw him pulling a pair of handcuffs from the corner of her eye.

"You're going to want to use something stronger than that," she told them mildly as Tim grabbed her wrists and yanked them behind her back. Tim hesitated for a moment, before Damian handed him something she couldn't see. She bit back a hiss of pain as they used what felt like metal cording from a grappel gun to bind her hands, then used the remaining cord to wrap around her arms and chest.

Better, she thought as Tim and Damian pulled her to her feet, but still not enough. Ah well, I'll let them have this one.

They blindfolded her before taking her to the batcave, maybe so they could still have plausible deniability. Heather let the boys lead her to the elevator, her spider-sense keeping her aware of Alfred's shotgun aimed at her chest. When the elevator stopped, her bare feet were treading the rock of the cave's floor as the boys prodded her along, her injured ankle really resenting the cold seeping into her bones. She couldn't surpress a small shiver, suddenly aware of her still soaking wet stolen clothes that were clinging to her.

"Relax, we're not going to hurt you," Tim murmured, misinterpreting her shudder.

"Unless you give us a reason too," Damian added, less meanly than he could have.

Huh, maybe the kid wasn't as blood thirsty as he seemed. I wonder who his mom is? I don't think it's Selina. He doesn't look anything like her. Heather pondered this little mystery until she heard a metal cage door opening and she was gently pushed inside the holding cell. Someone pulled off the blindfold before they locked her in. She blinked her eyes to help them adjust to the new lighting, taking in the somewhat familiar landscape around her.

"Good to know the giant penny and t-rex are consistent in every universe," Heather observed. "Still ridiculous, but consistent."

"Master Bruce and Master Dick are on their way," Alfred said, lowering the gun slightly but not putting it away.

Heather nodded. "I figured. So... bio kid, huh?" She added, conversationally.

Damian narrowed his eyes at her, but didn't reply.

"I totally see it now," Heather admitted, taking a seat on the cot in the cage. She brought her legs up to fold beneath her, trying to get comfortable. "I thought at first that Bruce's adoption habit was worse in this universe."

"What makes you think I'm adopted?" Tim asked, taking a seat on a stool he'd brought over.

Heather blinked in surprise. "Oh, my mistake, sorry. My Tim Drake is, so I guess I assumed."

"What happened to your Tim's parents?" Tim frowned, but there was something in his expression that Heather couldn't read.

Heather pursed her lips, considering how to explain. "They were very neglectful. At first, Bruce just had emergency custody of Tim while the state investigated why he was being left alone for long periods of time with only a maid checking on him. When they realized how shitty the Drakes were, that's when he put in the paperwork."

"So they're... still alive?" Tim asked in a much quieter voice.

Heather's heart stuttered painfully. "Oh... I'm so sorry."

Tim shook his head. "Not your fault," he said it like it was something he told people a lot, which only made Heather feel worse.

"I really am sorry. This world is so different from my own," Heather said, mostly to keep the conversation moving. She'd always hated awkward silence. "My Tim is younger, and I've never even met him before." She tilted her head towards Damian. "I mean, he might exist on my earth. Who's your mom?"

Damian tutted again, which she was beginning to suspect was a habit. "Not that its any of your business, but my mother's name is Talia Al Ghul."

Heather blinked and sat forward. "I'm sorry - the daughter of the Demon's Head is your mom? One of the most dangerous women in the world, and the next leader of the League of Assasins?"

Damian gave her a haughty nod. "I see my mother's reputation precedes her even in another universe."

"Okay, mental note," Heather muttered. "Interrogate Bruce when I get home to make sure he actually knows how condoms work."

Tim let out an involuntary snort and Damian's pride disappated back into disdain as he muttered something in Arabic that she was sure was unflattering.

"Alrighty, anyway," She sighed. "I'm assuming you have questions you want me to answer?"

"I am not sure what we could ask you that could prove your worthiness," Damian snapped. "You are a stranger to us."

Tim nodded reluctantly. "I've never heard Dick mention anyone like you." He picked up the plastic bag they must have brought from upstairs that had her gear in it, pulling out her mask and frowning at it. "What's with the spider webs?"

"On my earth, I'm called the Scarlet Spider," Heather explained, waiting for any hint of recognition on his face, but nothing came. "You know, ally of Spider-Man? Friend of the Avengers?"

"Who?" Damian asked.

"Whoa, okay, I didn't think our earths were that different," Heather shook her head. "Wait, if Spider-Man and the Avengers don't exist in this world, does the Justice League exist?"

"Of course," Tim and Damian answered almost in unison, then glared at each other in annoyance.

"That's a relief. So the team must exist too," Heather said, only to receive another frown.

"You mean the Teen Titans?" Tim clarified.

"No...? I mean the team. We work for the Justice League? But, like, covertly. We handle missions that the League doesn't want a lot of attention on, but that still needs a lot of skill." Heather explained, "There's me, Nightwing, Superboy, Miss Martian, Robin, Batgirl, Bumblebee, Beast Boy-"

"I only recognize some of those names," Tim admitted.

"Weird," Heather muttered.

"This is a waste of time," Damian exclaimed, "She's clearly lying, Drake, we should take care of her before she can reveal our identities to anyone."

"Let's pump the breaks on the murder, alright Shortstack?" Heather couldn't help but snap. "Does your Batman actually kill? Because that's seriously messed up."

"He does not," Alfred confirmed, giving Damian a reprimanding glare.

Damian rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, muttering to himself. Tim and Alfred couldn't hear it, but Heather could perfectly. "This never would happen with Mother and Grandfather."

Tim's phone suddenly chimed at the same moment Heather heard tires crunching on the gravel outside the manor. "I'm guessing Bruce is here?" She asked Tim as he checked his phone.

"How did you-?"

"Lucky guess," Heather deflected.

Alfred finally lowered his gun and left, presumably to meet his employer and pseudo son at the door. Damian seemed to take this as an invitation to take out another dagger from some pocket and begin fiddling with it. Heather guessed this was his way of intimidating her, or it could have been a nervous habit. She didn't have the heart to tell him it was more cute than anything else.

The kid looked like he'd barely hit puberty. He reminded her of her own little brother and sister, which just made her homesick. She wanted to pull her phone out, just so she could see her photos and reassure herself that they were still out there, waiting for her, but she stopped herself from snapping her restraints. She needed this world's Batman to trust her, or she'd never get home.

"I'm assuming you're a meta human?" Tim asked her after he finished sending another text. He put his phone in his pocket so he could focus his attention on her fully.

"In a sense," Heather said reluctantly. "It's complicated."

"I have a friend who's the daughter of a demon, try me," Tim challenged.

"It's not that I'm refusing to answer the question, it's just seriously complicated," She explained. "Does this world have stable cloning technology?"

"Are you somebody's clone?"

"No- well, yes and no," She shook her head when he gave her an exasperated sigh. "Complicated! Ugh, okay, so my story starts way before I was born. On my earth there's a hero called Spider-Man. He was a regular guy who was bitten by a radioactive spider, giving him super powers."

"Usually when someone has a backstory like that, they turn to a life of crime, at least in my experience," Tim commented.

"Yeah, well, he didn't. I mean, he used his powers to win money in wrestling matches at first," Heather admitted, rolling her eyes. "He was young and dumb, don't worry about it - not important. The important thing is years later, Spider-Man gets a new rogue who called himself Jackal. The guy was crazy, but brilliant."

"We are familiar with the type," Damian commented quietly.

Heather snorted. "Trust me, I know, but unfortunately he was way less Nygma and his puzzles, and more like Crane with unethical experimentation. The guy manages to clone Spider-Man, except - plot twist - Spider-Man suddenly has a case of amnesia and he and the clone can't remember which of them is the real deal."

Tim whistled, "complicated."

"Oh trust me, tip of the iceberg," Heather complained, shaking her head. "I'll skip forward, or we'll be here for hours. The clone, he went by the name Scarlet Spider, eventually comes to a truce with Spider-Man and they become allies. In the meantime, Scarlet Spider and the woman who was once Spider-Man's fiance fall in love. Eventually, they have a kid." She shrugged as much as her restraints allowed her to.

"That was you," Damian guessed.

"Yep," Heather nodded. "Again, I'm going to skip forward for brevity's sake. I developed powers as I aged, but then suddenly one day my body freaks the fuck out. My DNA wasn't completely stable, being half human and half - er, clone slash radioactive meta slash freak lab accident." She sighed. Sometimes she couldn't believe this was her life. "My body mutated."

"It didn't kill you?" Tim asks, surprised.

"It almost did," she admits quietly. "Spider-Man saved my life. I was only nineteen."

"How old are you now?" Damian asked, almost politely.

"Almost twenty-four," Heather smiled. "My fiance, Kurt, is trying to plan a surprise party for me with my Dick Grayson's help. They're not succeeding, but it's adorable to watch so I'm letting it go for now."

"You weren't lying when you said you were close with him, were you?" Tim said, almost sounding like he was talking to himself.

"Robin was always one of my biggest heroes," Heather admitted. "When we finally met, he became one of my closest friends. He's practically my brother."

"That's why you were sure he would help you," Damian concluded.

"He's my best shot," Heather admitted as Bruce finally stepped into the cave, Dick right behind, followed by an Asian woman with short dark hair, and finally an African American teen about Tim's age.

Heather tilted her head at the woman and teen in confusion. The woman only smiled mildly and waved, while the teen mirrored her frown. Well, that's definitely new. Maybe this Bruce does have more of an adoption problem than mine.

"You got my message?" Tim asked.

"Yes. We've been watching the security cameras," Bruce muttered, eying Heather like she was one of the Riddler's newest puzzles. Which, ow.

"Hello," Heather said, giving a cheery smile despite the increase in suspicious eyes on her. "I'd get up to greet you, but..."

"Oh, this one has jokes," Dick said, coming to gently take Damian's dagger away. "That's refreshing. Last time we got someone from a parallel universe, they weren't any fun. Remember Bruce? The Stephanie doppelganger?"

"Dick," Bruce reprimanded before his eldest could go off on a tangent.

"Oh yeah, no, that one was no fun," Tim agreed, ignoring Bruce’s sigh. "This one says she's known you since you were Robin."

"Hey, I have!" Heather protested. "C'mon, we were all getting along so well. I mean, aside from the stabby child over there... but I have a feeling he's like that with most people?"

"We're trying to break him of the habit," Dick commented dryly.

"Did Damian stab her?" The black teen asked.

"Not quite," Tim shrugged. "She's fast."

"Aw, thanks Tim" Heather beamed. "That's like the nicest thing you've said to me all day. When I get home, I'll be sure to tell my Tim you were nice. Even if you do need to lighten up a little."

"What makes you think you're going anywhere?" Dick asked, but Heather couldn't hear any real threat in the words. She had a feeling this Dick had just as big of a heart as her world's.

"Look, obviously me being here is upsetting for multiple reasons. You guys love your privacy, and you hate having someone around who compromises that, I get it. Not to mention, it's probably not a good idea for someone from the wrong multiverse to stay here long term. I mean, I'm a biochemist not a theoretical physicist, but I'm assuming it's probably bad," Heather shrugged as much as her bonds allowed. "So, the way I see it is, you help me get back home, and we're all happy in the end. Right?"

"How can we trust that you're telling the truth?" Tim asked again, but she could tell Bruce was thinking it over.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Timmy," Heather told him honestly. "I mean, I could sit here all day telling you things that are true of my universe? Like, I know that Dick’s first pet was Zitka, the circus elephant. I know that my Tim basically blackmailed Batman into making him Robin. I know that my Alfred never uses cloves in his cooking because Bruce is allegic, which is why he never drinks the eggnog at the Justice League's Christmas party. Is any of that true in this universe? I don't have a clue. What I do know for certain is that you all are my only shot of getting home. If you won't help me..."

Heather swallowed, staring at nothing as the despair of that possibility hit her full force. "I'll never see my family again, and Kurt will never know what happened to me. Please, I'm begging here, help me get home."

Bruce crossed his arms and looked at the Asian woman that hadn't said a word so far. The woman looked to be in her early twenties, a little younger than this world's Dick. Heather had tried not to let it bother her, but the younger woman had been watching her intently the whole time they'd been talking. Heather couldn't help feeling like she was missing something as she watched the woman turn to Bruce and smile.

"Not lying. I trust her," She finally said.

The words were stilted in a way that normally Heather would associate with learning a new language, but the woman had a distinct Gotham accent. It almost reminded Heather of how her little sister used to talk when she'd started speech therapy, like the woman wasn't sure how to put her thoughts into spoken words.

"Okay, as much as I appreciate the vote of confidence, I have to ask - who are they?" Heather asked, unable to hide her curiosity.

"You don't have a Cassandra Cain or Duke Thomas in your world?" Dick asked.

Heather shook her head, "Doesn't ring a bell, but that doesn't mean they don't exist. Like I was saying earlier, my timeline seems a little skewed from this one. My Tim is younger, and as far as I know, my Bruce doesn't have a bio kid. It's just Dick, Tim, Babs and me around."

"What about Jason Todd?" Bruce asked quietly, and if she hadn't known another version of this man so well she might not have heard his trepidation for the answer.

"That's... I mean..." Heather blew out a somber breath. "Jason was murdered by the Joker," she admitted reluctantly. Every face in the room fell, but there was an air of recognition to the grief. Clearly, the same fate had befallen their Jason as well.

Heather continued after a moment, "That was a few years ago. Recently, he, well... came back. Things are still a little delicate, so he's been staying with me and Kurt for the time being."

"Why isn't he home with us?" Dick asked.

Heather grimaced. "You have to understand, he wasn't in his right mind. He - well, he attacked our Tim and hurt him pretty badly. They're both doing better, but Jason hasn't forgiven himself and still has things to work through, and Tim needs time to recover mentally and emotionally. We're giving them both space until if and when they're ready to be in the same room."

"Wow, what a concept," Tim deadpanned, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. Bruce and Dick looked uncomfortable. Heather narrowed her eyes but decided not to ask. Not her circus, not her monkeys. She could only do so much for the Wayne family in her own universe; she couldn't possibly fix an entirely different one as well. Especially when she didn't have the complete picture.

"Ya know, I kind of wish we had a version of her," Duke spoke up. "That's like the most level headed decision I've heard from someone in this family in... no, scratch that, ever."

"Don't give me too much credit," Heather smiled, but it was self-derogatory. "I've had my fair share of screw ups, too. Sometimes, you just need an outside perspective." She sighed, wishing she could rub her eyes. "Look, I get that this is a lot to ask, but I have to track down Vibe before he disappears from this world, too. I can stay right here if it makes you all feel better, but I need help finding his tachyon signature so I can catch him and make him take us home. The batcomputer is my best chance."

"Quick question," Dick lifted a hand, frowning at her. "What do you mean by 'make us feel better'?"

Heather clicked her tongue and stood up, walking to the far wall of the cage, opposite the door. She flexed her muscles, snapping the metal grappeling cord like it was dental floss. As the cord fell into a pile on the floor, she reached forward and using two fingers on each hand, bent two of the steel bars towards each other into an 'x'. She stepped back from the cage wall and put her hands behind her back, shrugging sheepishly.

"You could escape at any time, couldn't you?" Duke guessed.

Heather nodded, chewing her cheek.

"You could have broken in here without alerting anyone, gotten what you wanted, and left without a trace," Tim added. "Just like how you got passed all of the security on the grounds."

"Well, I don't know about completely leaving without a trace," Heather hedged, rubbing the back of her neck. "I'm not Kurt, I can't teleport, and I don't have invisibility either."

"Hn, perhaps you could explain your powers to us in detail while we start searching for your missing rogue," Bruce said.

She didn't know this Bruce or what had happened in his life to alter it from the man she did know, but she could hear the world's greatest detective in his voice and it made the anxiety in her chest melt. They weren't going to abandon her, they were going to help.

The only question left, was when?

[atommadly]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐤 𝐖𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞

Pairing: Harry Wells x Reader Warnings: near death experience

𝘓𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘚𝘛𝘈𝘙 𝘓𝘢𝘣𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘬𝘺 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘮

Masterlist

The hum of STAR Labs late at night was both comforting and eerie. You had always found it fascinating how the place seemed to have a life of its own, even when most of the team had gone home. Tonight, however, it felt particularly oppressive. The usual faint glow of the computer monitors seemed harsher, the quiet hum of the equipment louder. Something was different.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Maybe it was just the late hour getting to you, or maybe it was the knowledge that Harry Wells was still locked away in his lab, chasing some grand, dangerous breakthrough.

You paced the hallway outside his lab, arms crossed tightly over your chest as you chewed the inside of your cheek. The muted thud of your footsteps echoed softly against the smooth floors, the sound doing nothing to settle your nerves. Harry had been holed up in there for hours. It wasn’t unusual for him to lose himself in his work—he had a singular focus and drive that you couldn’t help but admire, even when it frustrated you. But this time, something about his behavior had you on edge.

His latest project wasn’t just another gadget or equation—it was a high-stakes experiment involving unstable tachyon energy, the kind of thing that could either change the game entirely or blow a hole in the lab. He’d brushed off your concerns with the same exasperated confidence he always had, but you weren’t buying it. You had seen the way his hands trembled ever so slightly when he explained the theoretical risks.

“Stubborn bastard,” you muttered under your breath, glancing at the clock on the wall. Midnight.

You’d spent the last several hours convincing yourself that it wasn’t your place to intervene. Harry was a grown man, a genius who could handle himself. He didn’t need a babysitter, and he certainly didn’t need you hovering over his shoulder like a worried parent. But deep down, you knew better. Harry’s brilliance came with a tendency to push himself too far, to gamble with his own safety in pursuit of his goals.

It wasn’t just his recklessness that worried you—it was the way he dismissed anyone else’s concern, as though his life were expendable, as though the people who cared about him didn’t matter.

With a sigh, you stopped pacing and leaned against the wall, staring at the door to his lab. It was shut tight, the faint glow of his equipment visible through the frosted glass panels. You could imagine him inside, hunched over a workbench, his sharp blue eyes focused on some delicate adjustment. You could almost hear the faint click of his tools, the soft mutter of his voice as he worked through equations in his head.

You wanted to leave him be, to trust that he knew what he was doing. But the uneasy knot in your stomach refused to loosen. You knew Harry, knew his patterns, his stubbornness, and his drive. He was brilliant, yes, but he wasn’t infallible.

“Damn it,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair. You couldn’t just stand here all night, waiting for something to go wrong.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed off the wall and approached the door. Your fingers hesitated over the handle for a moment, as though crossing the threshold would somehow make you an accomplice to whatever chaos Harry was cooking up. But you pushed the thought aside. If he was going to risk his neck for this experiment, you at least needed to make sure he didn’t do it alone.

With a steadying breath, you pushed open the door to his lab.

The sight that greeted you was all too familiar. Harry was exactly as you’d pictured—standing at his workbench, his attention entirely consumed by the device in front of him. The soft glow of the equipment bathed his face in a pale, ghostly light, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and the furrow in his brow. His hair was slightly disheveled, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the faint smudges of grease and ink on his forearms.

Harry didn’t even look up when you entered. His focus was absolute, his brow furrowed in deep concentration as his fingers moved deftly, adjusting the delicate wiring on a circuit board. The faint glow from his workstation cast sharp contrasts across his face, the light highlighting the high angles of his cheekbones and the dark hollows under his eyes. The lines of exhaustion etched on his features told a story you knew too well—Harry Wells had been at this for far too long without a break.

The hum of the equipment filled the room, a mechanical symphony that only seemed to heighten the oppressive tension. You stood there for a moment, arms crossed, watching him. He was in his element, no doubt about it, but that didn’t stop the unease coiling in your stomach.

“You’ve been at this for twelve hours,” you finally said, your tone sharp enough to cut through the tension as you leaned against the doorframe.

Harry didn’t so much as glance your way. He gave a noncommittal grunt, barely registering your presence, his fingers continuing to twist a wire into place.

“I’m serious, Harry,” you pressed, your concern bleeding into your voice. “When’s the last time you ate something? Or, I don’t know, slept?”

“Not now, Y/N,” he muttered, his tone clipped, as if dismissing your words was the easiest thing in the world.

You felt your jaw tighten. That was always his answer. It was a deflection you’d heard countless times, his go-to response whenever someone dared to question his methods or his well-being. It annoyed you to no end. But it also worried you, especially now.

You stepped further into the room, crossing the boundary he probably wished you hadn’t. “Harry, this isn’t just some pet project you can obsess over until it’s perfect. You’re dealing with unstable energy. If something goes wrong—”

“It won’t,” he interrupted, his voice sharp as a knife.

For the first time since you entered, he looked up, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours. The intensity in his gaze made your breath catch, momentarily throwing you off. Those eyes always had a way of cutting straight to your core, but tonight, they were harder than usual. More defensive.

“Have you considered,” you began carefully, forcing yourself to stay calm, “that maybe you’re too close to this? That maybe you’re not seeing all the risks?”

Harry’s jaw clenched as he turned back to his work, his fingers tightening on the screwdriver in his hand. “I know what I’m doing,” he said, his voice laced with irritation. “You don’t have to babysit me.”

“I’m not babysitting you,” you shot back, stepping closer. “I’m trying to keep you from killing yourself.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than you’d intended.

Harry’s hands stilled, just for a moment. Then, he resumed his work, his movements more deliberate now, as though he were forcing himself to ignore you. “I’m fine,” he said, his tone dismissive.

“Harry—”

“I said I’m fine!” he snapped, his voice rising as it echoed through the lab.

The sound startled you into silence, and for a moment, the only thing you could hear was the hum of the machines around you.

The tension in the room was palpable now, thick enough to choke on. You clenched your fists at your sides, trying to keep your frustration in check, but it was no use. How could he not see what he was doing to himself? How could he not understand that you were just trying to help?

“You’re not fine,” you said finally, your voice quieter but no less firm. “You’re exhausted. You’re stressed. And you’re so caught up in your own head that you can’t even see how dangerous this is.”

Harry didn’t respond. He kept his back to you, his shoulders stiff, his hands moving with mechanical precision as he continued to tinker with the device.

You took a step closer, your voice softening despite the anger bubbling beneath the surface. “Why can’t you just let someone help you for once? Why does everything have to fall on your shoulders?”

He slammed his hand down on the table, the sharp sound making you flinch. “Because I’m the one who has to fix it!” he shouted, spinning around to face you.

The raw emotion in his voice startled you. His blue eyes burned with frustration, and for a moment, you saw something else in them—fear.

“Do you think I have the luxury of taking a break?” he demanded, his voice cracking slightly. “Do you think I can just walk away when everything depends on this working?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, an alarm blared through the lab.

The sound was deafening, a sharp, piercing wail that sent a jolt of adrenaline through your veins. Harry’s head snapped toward the device on the table, his eyes widening in alarm as the faint glow around it began to intensify.

“Damn it,” he muttered, grabbing his tablet and typing furiously.

“What’s happening?” you demanded, your heart pounding as you stared at the device.

“The stabilizer’s failing,” he said, his voice tight with urgency. “I need to—”

Before he could finish, the device emitted a high-pitched whine, and sparks began to fly from the circuit board. The glow around it grew brighter, almost blinding, as the sound of crackling electricity filled the air.

“Harry, shut it down!” you yelled, panic rising in your chest.

“I can fix this!” he shouted back, refusing to move away from the table.

“Harry, don’t—”

But it was too late. The device erupted in a blinding flash of light, the force of the explosion throwing you both across the room. You hit the wall hard, the impact knocking the air from your lungs.

For a moment, everything was silent. Then, the smoke began to clear, and you scrambled to your feet, your ears ringing.

“Harry!” you called, coughing as you searched the room.

Your heart nearly stopped when you saw him slumped against the far wall, motionless.

“Harry,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you ran to him.

Dropping to your knees, you gently shook him, your hands trembling. “Come on, Harry. Wake up.”

When his eyes finally fluttered open, relief flooded through you so quickly it left you dizzy. But your relief was short-lived, replaced almost immediately by a surge of anger.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?” you snapped, your voice shaking.

Harry groaned, trying to sit up. “I had it under control,” he muttered weakly.

“Under control?” you repeated, your voice rising. “You almost got yourself killed, Harry!”

He didn’t respond, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was your ragged breathing. You stared at him, your chest heaving with a mix of fear and frustration.

“Why do you keep doing this?” you asked, your voice breaking. “Why do you keep risking yourself like this?”

Harry’s gaze softened, and for the first time, the walls he always kept so carefully in place began to crack.

“Because I can’t lose you,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you speechless.

For once, Harry Wells had no sharp retort, no dismissive comment. Just the raw, unfiltered truth.

For a long moment, the room was quiet except for the faint hum of cooling machinery and the muffled throb of your own heartbeat in your ears. You stared at Harry, unable to look away, your mind struggling to keep up with what he’d just said.

"You can’t lose me?" you echoed, your voice trembling, your chest tight with a mix of emotions you couldn’t begin to name.

Harry’s gaze didn’t falter. His eyes, sharp and analytical in almost every other moment, now shone with a rare vulnerability. It wasn’t like him to lay himself bare, to let his emotions spill out like this, and it shook you to your core.

"Yes," he said, the word steady and certain even though you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched slightly as if bracing for your reaction. "You mean more to me than you know. If I’m reckless, it’s because I’d do anything to keep you safe. Even if it means risking myself."

The room felt impossibly still, the weight of his confession settling over you like a heavy blanket. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your thoughts racing, your emotions a tangled knot in your chest.

Tears stung your eyes before you could stop them, and you blinked quickly, trying to regain some semblance of composure. You had always known, on some level, that Harry cared about you. It was in the way he would stay late at the lab just to help you finish a project, the rare, fleeting smiles he reserved only for you, the way his voice softened whenever he said your name. But hearing him say it outright—hearing him admit that his recklessness came from a place of fear, of love—was overwhelming in a way you weren’t prepared for.

"You idiot," you choked out, your voice breaking with equal parts anger and relief. "Do you have any idea how much you mean to me? Seeing you get hurt like that—seeing you throw yourself into danger without a second thought—it tears me apart."

Harry’s expression softened, and for the first time, you saw something break in him. The walls he had so carefully constructed around himself, the ones he used to keep everyone at arm’s length, began to crack. He looked down for a moment, as though your words had landed somewhere deep within him, a place he rarely let anyone see.

"I know," he said quietly, his voice raw. His hand, still slightly unsteady from the earlier blast, reached out and brushed against yours. It wasn’t much—a tentative, fleeting touch—but it sent a surge of warmth through you nonetheless.

You looked down at where his hand lingered against yours, the contact grounding you even as your emotions threatened to overwhelm you. When you met his eyes again, they were full of something you hadn’t seen before: unspoken apologies, quiet longing, and a vulnerability so stark it made your breath hitch.

"Harry," you said softly, your voice trembling, "you can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep risking yourself like this. I don’t care how brilliant you are or how noble your intentions might be—you’re not invincible. I need you to be safe. For me."

He looked at you, his blue eyes holding a storm of emotions you couldn’t begin to untangle. For a moment, you thought he might argue, might push back the way he always did. But then his shoulders sagged slightly, and he let out a breath, as if surrendering to the truth of your words.

"I’ll try," he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. "I can’t promise I won’t slip up, but... I’ll try. For you."

You felt a small, shaky smile pull at your lips, though the tears in your eyes refused to relent. "Good," you murmured. "Because I’m not ready to lose you either."

Harry’s hand moved then, his fingers curling around yours in a gentle, deliberate motion. The touch was steady, grounding, and it made your heart ache in a way that was almost too much to bear.

"You won’t," he said, his voice low but firm. "I swear, you won’t."

The words were simple, but the way he said them carried a weight that made you believe him. For once, Harry wasn’t deflecting or retreating behind his walls. He was meeting you where you were, raw and open, his defenses stripped away.

You held his gaze, your emotions a whirlwind. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you wanted to ask. But for now, the words didn’t matter. What mattered was the way he looked at you, the way his hand fit so perfectly in yours, the way his presence anchored you even amidst the chaos.

The hum of the lab surrounded you again, filling the space between words. But for the first time that night, it didn’t feel oppressive or cold. It felt like a promise. A fragile, tenuous promise that, no matter what challenges lay ahead, you and Harry would face them together.

[woodsfae]

Babylon 5 S03E17 War Without End: Part Two previous episode - table of contents

Emperor Londo of the Great Victim Complex. 

And so the fall of Babylon 5 begins, with two idiots deciding to take on Ivanova! 

DUDE sick fight moves by Susan Ivanova. And Marcus  must be internally fist-pumping that he pulle off a drop-out-of-the-ceiling attack. Style points: 1 Marcus, 100 Susan.

Zathras sees all. Zathras knows all. Poor Zathras. 

Oooooooo. Future John and Delenn have a baby! How exciting. Delenn calls Sheridan's time "so many years ago" and references the "terrible, terrible price," That's something for me to chew on. I wonder if it will be revealed this episode or is foretelling for the season 3 finale or even later. I am really not sure how the pacing on B5 goes or if they'll still be fighting the Shadows into season 5. 

The Shadows are only visible when they sleep? That's cool and unsettling information, but I'm not sure how that tracks with Londo's next reveal, which is that he is also possessed? So perhaps Londo tries to turn on the Shadows at some point and is leashed instead. 

G'Kar!! Down an eye and plus a sick leather patch. Must be time for Londo's death vision! I hope G'Kar gets to live to enjoy it. Londo caused a lot of death for the universe and the Narnuan people. Aww and then he didn't. I am a bit bummed that G'Kar's end appears to be with Londo, dying together as the Shadow possessing Londo kills G'Kar back. It is pretty punk rock of G'Kar, though. Who else has choked a shadow-possessed Centauri emperor before?? No one except G'Kar of Narn.

Right before Sheridan is pulled away, she tells him not to go to Zha'dum, but all these prophecies seem to be self-fulfilling and an inescapable part of the paradox. 

Uh-oh, why's that spacesuit doin' stuff. Ah. Never mind, it's a "yeah, Sheridan's back!" Someone slap a time stabilizer on him before he gets yote into the timestream again. 

And there goes the theft of Babylon 4!! Time heist! 

There goes Sheridan. Shoulda put a time anchor on him! 

Revised Sinclair prediction: his aging as they move towards their own time aging him is the/a reason why he gets the ole Minbari physical transformation since Minbari live so much longer, to extend his lifespan. 

Oop, Sheridan's back again. Or the space suit he was wearing is, at least. 

Yeah Susan Ivanova. she can do anything. Ivanova has B4's command station. 

Delenn in the blue spacesuit?? Plot twist!!

Hmmm, so some of what I thought Sheridan was going to do (fight 1000 years in the past) is actually Sinclair's plot. That makes more sense, actually. 

Zathras makes it all very clear: "You (Sinclair) are the one who was. You (Delenn) are the one who is. You (Sheridan) are the one who will be." 

Babylon 4, A Thousand Years Ago

Valen?? Sinclair has always been the prophet Valen!! I did not see that coming. What an entrance! Appearing to Minbar flanked by two Vorlons, arriving in a vast space station in a flash of tachyons...Sinclair is Valen. fuck, that's cool. 

Next!

[cyberdragoninfinity]

the monkey paw curls as the blue-eyes players finally watch another anime: zexal

OK TRUE BUT I WOULD RATHER IT BE TACHYON TIER 0 THAN BLUE EYES ANY DAY. AT LEAST THEN I GET TO SEE MY FRIEND MIZAR FROM BARIAN

when kaiba mains get a busted ass skill it just feels like konami nostagia baiting and DM dickriding when tachyon hits t0 in its first week in DL it's just funny. konami really did a little fucky wucky with that skill. and right before the KC cup too. it's complete chaos. it's hilarious. tick tok on the clock but the party dont stop

[tachyon-omlette]

good evening. blue sky

[flagwars]

People’s Flag Wars: Round 1, Bracket 11

See the symbolism below.

Coptic Egypt is a flag by @arthurdrakoni.

Symbolism: “This is the flag of Coptic Egypt.  It comes from a world where Islam was never founded.  One of the many consequences of this was that the Byzantine Empire continued to prosper for a number of years.  Eventually, however, tensions began to grow within the empire.  Egypt began to feel that Constantinople was giving them the short end of the stick a bit too often.  Egypt's main grievances were increased taxes and increased tensions between the Coptic and Orthodox churches. After a brief war, Egypt was granted its independence.  Despite this, Egypt retains good relations with Byzantium.  It also maintains good relations with fellow Oriental Orthodox nations Ethiopia and Armenia.  Egypt has traditionally been a hub of trade, and following its independence work began on a canal in the Sinai Peninsula.  Egypt established traditions ports in India and China.  It also established colonies in Australia, which is known as New Egypt, as well as a few minor colonies in South America.

The wealth from its trade and colonies has made Egypt a very rich nation.  People and goods from throughout the world can be found across Egypt's cities.  Currently there is something of an architectural fad based around reinterpretations of Ancient Egyptian architecture.  Egypt also has a reputation for having some of the best universities and centers of learning in the world.  It is a nation which honors its past while keeping an eye towards the future.

The flag contains a Coptic Cross to represent Egypt's Coptic faith.  The background represents the sands of Egypt, while the blue bands stands for the waters of the Nile River.  The writing is in the Coptic Script and reads "Jesus Christ, Son of God".”

Forest City Flag is a flag by @forestcityflag.

Symbolism: “The Forest City is a new flag for Cleveland, highlighting both our history and environment. The blue top half represents Lake Erie, our very own inland sea. The green bottom half represents the Forest City nickname and the Emerald Necklace of our Metroparks. The wavy chevron in the center represents the Cuyahoga River winding its way through downtown. The pattern is inspired by a design from Moses Cleaveland's coat of arms (he's the guy who invented Cleveland). At the same time, the upward facing arrow is reminiscent of the city's motto "Progress and Prosperity," pointing up towards the future.”

New Jersey Autonomous Zone is a flag by @lil-tachyon.

Symbolism: “The design is based on the original New Jersey flag but re-imagined in the context of some kind of anarcho-communist future. The buff field of the NJ flag is replaced by the bisected black/red used by anarcho-communists and syndicalists. The coat of arms has the godesses Liberty and Ceres replaced by workers wielding a sickle and hammer, the horse head replaced by the head of the Jersey Devil, a yellow Star backed by a slice of pork roll replacing the helmet, and tomatoes and cranberries flanking the star. The motto is changed from "Liberty and Prosperity" to "Trenton Makes, The World Takes," the words infamously featured on the Lower Trenton Bridge.”

[ask-de-writer]

BLUE SUN RISING, (Part 1 of 3)

Science Fiction

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BLUE SUN RISING, Part 1 of 3

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

4394 words

© 2024 by Glen Ten-Eyck

All rights reserved.  

This document may not be copied or distributed  on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the  express written consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users  of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may  reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information  remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in  my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical  compositions. All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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Captain T'garr was led away the Treaty Commission. She was smiling. Not only had she Submitted to Lezon Treh K'lass, the long missing M'cratt War Leader, in doing so, she had secured the chance for safety for both herself and her crew. If she had not, both she and her crew would have to answer to the Treaty Commission for the unsuccessful attack on the D'ancer that had been ordered by Political Officer S'nake.

Data plates quietly came back into view. The Feront said, “While all of this interesting business has been going on, I have been working in my shops. Your drive test torpedo will be ready in about ten more hours. I have disguised it as a standard message torpedo which will be sent to my City in the system of M'rel.

“Its transit times and recovery should tell us all that we need to know about the safety of this drive system.”

Lezon nodded her thanks absently. She was working on a set of specifications for new superconducting cables based specifically on tachyon pairing. Pointing her ears at the plate in concentration, she added a last few micro key strokes with expert claws. Smiling, she handed the plate to the Feront with a cheerful, “This is under T.C. Security, according to the agreement just made. It might alter your plans for building the torpedo a tiny bit.”

The Feront's tail went dead straight and it crouched still, as if ready to spring. It said quietly, “Shall I make up a new superconducting harness for the D'ancer in addition to the other items agreed to?”

T'lass asked thoughtfully, “Will it work regardless of the drive system used? If so, please do.”

M'kah looked at T'lass and commented, “You haven't even seen what Lezon has just proposed. Isn't it a bit quick to make a judgment call like that?”

T'lass replied, “I trust mommy Lezon and I saw the Feront's reaction. Those two things tell me that the idea is good engineering. I will see it soon. That is part of my job. I have a few ideas along other theoretical lines that I am contemplating just now.”

C'rinn raised her eyebrows at that tidbit of news. Shortly, the T.C. Representatives left on their other official business.

As soon as they were alone, Lezon smiled down at T'lass and asked, “What was the Feront's news that might interest us?”

T'lass scuffed the deck with her foot and looked down as she said, “The Empire has closed K'lass' School of All Conflict. K'lass was exiled to F'roff, which is only fifteen C years from here. She has been restricted to teaching kits the elements of the V'naris as a system of hand to hand combat only.

“The range is short, an ideal test run for the new drives. The test run to F'roff would also give us the time and the chance to upgrade our firepower. It is possible that your teacher may be willing to begin a new School of All Conflict on M'rel. If she consents to do so, it will become an important part of our new planetary educational system.”

Lezon raised the kit's face with a hand under the chin and smiled at her. “This is indeed well thought of, T'lass. As soon as we have the test results back, we can do everything that you have suggested.” Pausing to ruffle T'lass' juvenile mane, she added, “There is a true Warrior lurking in your head.”

T'lass looked up into Lezon's eyes and smiled. She said, “Thank you, Mommy. Now, may I see that idea that you had for a paired tachyon superconductor? I have an idea or two of my own along those lines but I lack the engineering knowledge to be sure of them.”

Lezon smiled and handed the data plate to T'lass. Lezon silently signaled the others to be quiet. T'lass frowned and activated a textbook on her own data plate. She followed what she found with a claw tip, tracing something. She stared off at nothing for a few minutes and reset her plate to sketch mode and began to trace something out. Several times, she redid parts of her sketch. She changed modes again and began to type quickly with her claw tips on the micro keys.

She handed the data plate to Lezon, saying, “Our text is pretty basic about weapon layouts. If the text is right, this should work. I'm sure that it will be needing a lot more engineering to make it work properly. What do you think, Mommy Lezon?”

Lezon glanced at the plate and simply handed it directly to K'ress saying, “You are the best engineer among us. Will this thing do what I think it will?”

K'ress took out her own data plate and began typing and sketching. She looked up and stated, “If you think that it will punch right through the strongest shields in known space, you are right. Kit's right too. It will need a good bit of work to make it fire safely but the basic idea is sound.

“Shields usually distribute the incoming weapon energy across the entire surface of the shield and radiate it outward. This little monstrosity confines the hit into a circular eddy current that more than doubles the shield strength at the outside edge of eddy but reduces it to nearly nothing in the middle. Might be off by a fair bit on these preliminary figures but it looks like about seventy five to eighty percent of the tachyon beam energy should go right through that hole.

“If we can fit this to our present guns without any other increase in output energy we should be able to knock out a medium cruiser. If we actually do the full upgrade that T'lass has indicated, we should be able to take on almost any vessel except, possibly, a Feront City ship.

“My only reservation in that regard is shields. Ours will only upgrade about ten percent.”

T'cill and K'sere were squabbling in a good natured way over their data plates. K'sere was saying, “It's a good idea, T'cill, but it won't work like that! Here, see the problem? We need to do it some other way.”

T'cass gently scooped up their plates, looked at their work and commented, “You know, our other daughters aren't exactly stupid. I think that this will take care of your shield problems, K'ress.” She handed over the plates of the other two kits to K'ress, who studied them thoughtfully.

T'cass suggested, “Data plates are all well and good, but we should go the main engineering station and let K'ress set things up while we all comment. Everybody here seems to have good ideas and we are setting off chains of thought in each other as we sort them out. Let's see what we can do together.”

TO BE CONTINUED

NEXT ==>

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[fierykitten2]

Headcanon: in the city they’re from (let’s be honest, the Neo Swords are originally from some cool cyberpunk city), the Neo Swords are seen as heroes and often turn up to protect both people and Pokémon. If you see flashes of pink, orange and blue it means you’re being saved by the Neo Swords. If you only see flashes of pink and orange then it probably means that Leaves and Boulder have had an argument with Crown, who’s now taking time off from the group and you should probably be worried that the overexcitable Iron Leaves and pyromaniac Iron Boulder don’t have anyone to ground them when they get a bit too into battling (expect explosion sounds). Or alternatively it could just mean that they’re all performing their signature moves, given Psyblade and Mighty Cleave are both physical while Tachyon Cutter is special and you’re just facing the wrong way to see Crown. This actually goes for most moves they use as Leaves and Boulder are physical fighters and Crown is a special fighter. Pink and blue with no orange is also a combination you don’t really want to see because it means Boulder isn’t there to resolve any arguments between Leaves and Crown before it escalates to the point where the two of them spend more time fighting each other than saving people and Pokémon from whatever issue they need saving from. I’m not sure about orange and blue with no pink but Leaves is the leader so it probably isn’t great if Leaves isn’t nearby. Sometimes only one flash appears and that’s usually better than two. It does have the potential to mean that you’re being saved by the one that split off from the rest of the trio and the other two aren’t doing too well as a result

The Proto Beasts do a similar thing in their home forest but only after coming back from present-day main timeline Paldea and meeting the Neo Swords. They’re also less efficient because they aren’t Psychic-types though they do sometimes get a Scream Tail to help them locate any problems they have to solve. They’re also more likely to be limited to just a duo because Bolt gets very angry when it gets woken up and it sleeps a lot, on top of Bolt arguing with Wake being just as common as Crown arguing with Leaves (although Bolt seems to get into fewer arguments with Fire than Crown gets into arguments with Boulder). Unfortunately, Wake and Fire without Bolt has similar issues to Leaves and Boulder without Crown in that they kinda need the grounded one to balance out the overexcitable one and the pyromaniac. An unreasonable amount of forest fires have begun because Bolt wasn’t around to tell Fire when to stop. Wake usually has to put these out. The Proto Beasts rarely if ever do this stuff alone, presumably because Bolt doesn’t trust Wake to not mess stuff up without someone supervising it (despite Wake being the leader of the Proto Beasts), Fire needs someone to put out forest fires when it goes overboard and Bolt saving people and Pokémon on its own is probably a recipe for disaster (between its antisocial personality and the thunder it creates potentially starting a forest fire too). To be fair, Wake is probably only the leader because Bolt is too antisocial to put its leadership skills to good use and Fire just sorta opted out of being the leader

Also sometimes one of the Proto Beasts visits the Neo Swords’ city or one of the Neo Swords visits the Proto Beasts’ forest (restricted to one at a time so there’s still someone to protect their home location) and become an honorary member of the other trio

Also random but there is greenery in the Neo Swords’ city despite it still being a cyberpunk city (the city probably does a pretty good job of mixing the cyberpunk aesthetic in with something like solar punk). I’m not sure if this has anything to do with Leaves being considered a hero

Since I’ve suddenly decided to headcanon that the whole being from their actual time period/an alternate universe rather than Terapagos creating them is true even for the Proto Beasts and Neo Swords, I just wanna add that I headcanon Terapagos is still responsible for creating physical versions of the fusions from the Scarlet and Violet books and has allowed them to fuse within their trios (but it still gave the sketch artist the ability to come up with the fusions in the first place and took inspiration from the designs to come up with the fusions yeah honestly this is a confusing headcanon)