#many pictures in my head different angles my brain is EXPLODING

[reyescarlos]

both of us are losing || a tarlos fic

word count: 4k || read on ao3

I know sometimes It's gonna rain But baby, can we make up now 'Cause I can't sleep through the pain

Carlos has always prided himself on his ability to keep his cool. He likes to think it’s what makes him a good officer and a great friend to those close to him. He’s patient and analytical. He examines a situation from all conceivable angles before drawing conclusions.

But even he has limits. Even he is capable of thinking with his heart over his head and, as expected, it hasn’t led him anywhere good.

Getting into an all-out screaming match isn’t how he could have seen his night ending but as he stands on the opposite side of the kitchen from TK, he doesn’t see how else this could go.

The evening had been going well until this point, the two sharing a quiet night in at Carlos’ place for dinner. As always, being able to share in TK’s company after a long day at work was the perfect antidote to a stressful shift. There’s never a greater comfort for him than to spend time with TK. It hardly ever matters what they’re doing. It’s always just enough to be around him.

These last three months they’ve been together have been a real highlight for him. Given the complicated path they took to this point, all Carlos wants to do is wrap himself up in moments like this where it’s just the two of them simply existing in the same space together.

With their meal done, they two work alongside each other in the kitchen doing dishes with TK on washing and Carlos on drying duties. TK’s phone chimes on the counter with an incoming call, the jingle echoing over the rush of the water from the tap.

“Grab that for me, would you?” TK asks, his hands covered in suds. “It’s probably my dad.”

Carlos drapes the dish towel he’s been using to dry plates with over his shoulder as he turns to pick up TK’s phone. His heart sinks to the pit of his stomach at the name he sees flashing across the screen. He stays frozen in place, unsure of what to think.

“It’s not the captain,” he says, his voice grave.

TK shuts off the faucet and looks over at him. Carlos holds the phone up for him to see the screen as well. TK sighs and rolls his eyes.

“I told him to stop calling,” he hisses, shaking his hand to get some water off before taking the phone from Carlos and rejecting the call.

Carlos blinks, his brain slowly processing what TK has just said.

“Wait, you’ve been speaking to him?”

TK sighs, ripping off a sheet of paper towel and drying his hands.

“It’s not like that. He wanted to apologize and see how I was. He left this long voicemail...it was so ridiculous. But then he called again and I figured he would keep doing it until we actually spoke.”

“When the hell did this happen and why am I only now hearing about it?”

Carlos’ voice sounds so different to him now and it’s evident that TK feels the same way because his boyfriend looks up at him like he’s someone else entirely.

“Carlos,” he says slowly. “Just listen to me, okay? I don’t want you getting worked up over this. I handled it and there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Handled what exactly? TK, what is going on here?”

“Nothing! That’s just it. There’s literally nothing going on here. God,” he groans.

“How can you expect me to believe that? Your ex is calling you. Repeatedly, apparently. Obviously something is happening. Don’t give me that.”

TK shakes his head and sighs.

“How long have you been talking to him, TK?” Carlos asks.

TK hesitates for a moment, pursing his lips before answering. “He reached out to me last week.”

Carlos stands up straighter, jaw clenched. “So seven whole days have gone by and you couldn’t find so much as a minute within any of them to tell me that your ex-fiancé reached out to you?”

“Ex-boyfriend!” TK corrects, as if that makes much of a difference in Carlos’ eyes right now.

He scoffs and shakes his head, wringing the dish towel in his hands. For a moment it’s too easy to pretend it’s Alex’s neck.

“Oh, well, pardon me then. That makes all of this so much better.”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic here.”

“You’re kidding me, right? You must be joking. I don’t care what the label is. What this boils down to is the fact that you kept this from, TK. What else are you hiding from me?”

“That’s not fair. I didn’t do this on purpose, Carlos, and I’m not hiding anything. I just didn’t think anything of it.”

“And maybe that’s the real problem here. You actively chose not to tell me and you probably never would have if he didn’t call just now.”

“Do you honestly think Alex and I are getting back together or something? We haven’t been talking every day, catching up like we’re suddenly friends. I didn’t answer when he first tried.”

“But you obviously picked up at some point and didn’t think it was worth it to tell me.”

“Because it doesn’t matter. He just wanted to check in and say he was sorry for what happened back in New York. I told him that I was fine, that I moved on and that I’m happy so we can just drop the conversation. He’s nothing to me.”

“It does matter, TK. It matters so much and the fact that you can’t see that…,” he trails off, shaking his head.

TK pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is all coming out wrong.”

“Then explain it clearly because I’m not understanding how you could think I didn’t have a right to know. It’s about respect and transparency.”

“Carlos, there was never a threat here. Our relationship was never in danger. I love you so much. If nothing else, I need you to know that.”

Carlos’ vision swims for a moment, his eyes filling with tears born more so out of frustration than anything else. He’s always been an angry cryer.

“That’s not how you show someone you care about them. You don’t lie.”

TK runs a hand over his face. “I didn’t lie to you!”

“Omission isn't the truth either, TK. It amounts to the same. Screw technicalities.”

TK jerks back, blinking twice. Carlos struggles to stop his heart from racing, his chest from heaving. The silence that falls between them now is unbearable. Carlos’ ears ring with their exchange.

This divide between them seems so much larger than the counter that separates them. Carlos has been here before and the ghosts of his past relationships start to creep into the room, suffocating him.

Carlos bites back on his lower lip, swiping at his eye. He feels like a dam that’s ready to crack at any moment. There’s too much pressure building in his chest and if he’s not careful, he’ll explode in a way that may cause far too much damage.

What he needs is fresh air and time away. This isn’t where he needs to be, at least not in this moment.

“I just...I can’t. I can’t be around you right now.”

Carlos tosses the dish towel down on the counter and walks past TK out of the kitchen.

“Are you serious? Carlos, where are you going?”

“I’m going for a walk, okay? I need some air.”

“It’s getting late and you’re upset. You shouldn’t be outside.”

“Well I can’t stay here so I don’t have many options, now do I?” Carlos snaps, turning around to face TK.

His boyfriend stops dead in his tracks. His bottom lip crumbles a bit but Carlos looks away, stewing in the anger that has taken root in him. This feels wrong but this frustration has its claws in too deeply for him to apply reason to the situation.

Other people get to rant and rave. Carlos keeps far too much inside. Now that the lid has been lifted, the steam has to go somewhere.

Carlos turns back, snagging his keys off the coffee table as he hears TK draw nearer once more.

“Carlos. Carlos!” TK calls after him.

It’s the last thing he hears before slamming the front door shut behind him.

~*~*~

Alone with his thoughts proves itself to be an even worse place for him to be. Carlos has no idea how long he’s been walking around his neighborhood but it isn’t long enough for him to grow comfortable with the ugly thoughts swirling around in his head.

He pictures TK being pushed too far with this argument, seeking solace in something familiar, in Alex. Logically, he knows that would never happen. Alex broke something between the two of them that could never be repaired and yet that cruel, insidious voice in the back of his head whispers to him, conjuring up imaginary scenarios that feel far too vivid and real.

Had Carlos not traveled this same road before with partners in the past? He’s been burned so many times throughout the years that a part of him had been secretly holding its breath just waiting for the other shoe to drop with TK.

Carlos has long since learned how to live with that worry lingering in the recesses of his thoughts. Even when things were going well, life had a habit of proving to him why he should always remain cautious and vigilant.

Certainly he and TK had gotten off to a rocky, awkward start with each other. But once they managed to find their footing, things had been going extremely well. Perfectly, Carlos would venture to say.

But inevitably, the end would come in the form of a boyfriend finding some way to let him down. It was almost always when he’d invested so much of himself. Carlos was worried he’d wind up giving away so many pieces of himself that there would be nothing left.

He thinks of the look on TK’s face as he snapped at him just before leaving. It’s enough to make Carlos sick to his stomach. He knows his insecurity has just ripped the bit of fabric that’s been binding them together this whole time. All Carlos can do now is pray that isn’t something that can’t be salvaged.

Even though he felt justified in being upset over TK keeping the truth from him, Carlos knows his approach was all wrong. Being quick to give into anger wasn’t his usual speed but he slipped into it as easily as a hot bath.

Picking the night apart, Carlos realizes how much he felt ambushed by the sudden appearance of Alex in his life. The man was thousands of miles away and yet he had placed himself so prominently into the future Carlos was trying to work towards with TK. The past had a nasty habit of circling back, the old becoming new again.

What really troubled Carlos was the familiarity of tonight’s scenario. He’s been cheated on, dumped, ghosted. Just about every relationship ended in disaster but he’d been wrapping himself in the belief that this time around, things were finally different.

You’re a great guy but…

I think we’re better off as friends…

I’m sorry to do this to you…

He’s heard it all before and then some. Knowing that TK had been harboring a secret like this set something off within. He knows TK’s actions weren’t malicious. Now that he’s had time to replay it all and truly recount his boyfriend’s words, he knows TK was just trying in his own way to shield him.

Carlos’ head is a riot of thoughts but the most pressing one is that he needs to set things right with TK.

He rounds the corner to his block, slipping his phone out of his pocket as he ambles down the sidewalk. He wonders if TK will even be keen on answering him tonight. If his boyfriend still wants space, he’ll of course respect that but Carlos hates loose ends and this one is a gaping hole.

He pulls up TK’s name in his favorites and touches his thumb to the screen, pressing the phone against his ear as he walks up the short pathway to his door and unlocks it.

The phone rings as he steps inside and Carlos startles hearing the chime of a phone inside his home. He follows the sound to the living room where TK is sitting on the couch, eyes fixed to the door. His legs are pulled up to his chest, his arms folded on top of his knees. He looks so small, like a child that has just been reprimanded, the cuffs of his sweater pulled down over his hands.

TK’s eyes are rimmed pink, his face flushed. The man looks as if he’s aged a few years in the span of time Carlos had stepped away. It makes something in Carlos’ chest crack open.

He falters at the sight of him, ending the call. In the silence of the room now, he can only hear the ticking of the clock as it counts the seconds it takes for Carlos to find something to say.

“You’re still here.”

TK looks wounded at the statement. “Would you rather I not be?” TK asks quietly, chin propped up on his arms.

Carlos toys with his keys before dropping them into the dish on the coffee table.

“Of course not,” Carlos replies, walking around the table to sit on the couch as well.

He leaves a bit of space between them, still unsure of what footing they stand on with each other. It’s reassuring to see TK now, to know that he at least still wants to be around him and talk this whole thing out.

“I’m sorry about walking out like that. I just needed to clear my head.”

“I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’m the one that got us to that point.”

TK lets out a shaky breath and continues. “I’ve never seen you that upset before.”

Carlos shrugs. “I don’t usually get angry, especially not like that. I wasn’t myself and that wasn’t right.”

“You’re allowed to get mad, Carlos. If something bothers you, it’s only natural.”

Carlos shakes his head. “I don’t like giving into that.” He falls silent for a moment. “I’m glad you stayed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I hate how this feels; this isn’t us. I don’t want you and I to end tonight on a bad note and have it spill over into tomorrow.”

TK stares at him for a moment and shakes his head as if to clear it.

“What?” Carlos prompts.

TK licks his lips and unfurls himself. “I’ve never been with anyone who thought like that. All my exes, our bad moods stayed with us for however long it took to fizzle out on its own.”

Carlos doesn’t like the sound of that at all.

“That’s not how I operate. Tomorrow is its own day. It shouldn’t inherit the troubles from today. I don’t like going to bed angry.”

It was an old adage his family swore by and Carlos had adopted the philosophy for himself as well. Harboring negative feelings was a disservice to everyone.

TK looks at him for a moment before lowering his gaze to his hands.

“I’m sorry I got defensive. I was totally in the wrong with this. I’ve been thinking it all over and seeing it from your perspective. I fucked up. Honestly, this whole time I knew I was messing up. You must hate me.”

“I could never hate you, T. You know that. I just needed some time to clear my head but I wasn’t walking out on us, I promise. I just needed to be alone and work some stuff out.”

TK sighs, letting out a relieved breath. Carlos feels guilty for making him worry.

“Did you find that peace of mind you were looking for?”

Carlos chuckles tersely. “Sort of. I realized the real reason why I blew up didn’t really have anything to do with you specifically. It was old insecurities rearing their heads and I caved. I thought I was past everything and all it took was one instance to show me that I’ve still got some things I need to work on.”

“Past what exactly? What kind of insecurities?”

Carlos sighs. He isn’t sure how to touch on his concerns now. It sounds so trivial and childish in his own head. He fears what TK will think if he brings himself to disclose what he’s been grappling with all evening.

“I know how much he means to you. Hell, you wanted to marry this guy, build a future with him. I’m not holding that against you, of course. It’s just...what you guys had clearly counted for a lot. If you had decided to continue talking to him or to even see him again, I couldn’t compete with that.”

TK’s brows furrow, reaching for his hand.

“Carlos, please listen to me. You win out each and every time in every possible way. Alex meant something to me. Past tense. As in used to but not anymore. I chose wrong with him but I know that I’ve got it right with you. That isn’t something I’ve ever doubted since meeting you.”

Carlos looks away, chewing on his lip. It isn’t like him to show his anxiousness like this and yet here he is, a ball of nerves.

“Talk to me, Los. What are you thinking?”

TK’s been so candid with him about his life back in New York, all the highs and lows of his battles with substances and depression. In Carlos’ eyes, those are real issues, true upsets that rank so much higher on a list than pesky confidence issues. But if he can’t be open with the man he’s in love with, Carlos realizes that there isn’t anyone else he can talk this out with. And besides, he reasons, his thoughts and feelings will always matter with TK.

“I’m not usually the first choice someone makes. Or...if I am, they always seem to inevitably look elsewhere. I never seem to be enough in the long run. Seeing that he called you, it scared me. I know that you love me and that we’re happy and good together. I know that we have something real and solid here. Rationally I know that you all ended on horrible terms. But even with all that in mind, I’m always so scared of losing you one day. I’ve had boyfriends run back to their exes before. I panicked thinking it could be the case here.”

“That’s never going to happen with me, Carlos. Never,” TK says quickly.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, actually I do. I know it for a fact. I am so incredibly in love with you. I never thought I could ever be this happy with someone and yet, here you are. All mine. I’ll say it to you every day and you can bet I’ll make it my mission to show you too. I don’t ever want you to doubt your importance in my life. I don’t know what I’d be now if we never got together. Alex is barely a thought and on those extremely rare moments when he comes across my mind, all I can think is how goddamn lucky I was that I dodged a bullet there.”

TK laces their fingers, giving his hand a squeeze.

“I had no idea you’ve been through all of that in the past. Shit, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s dumb. That’s no reason to flip out like I did.”

“Of course it is; it makes total sense. I didn’t mean to add to that, to be another person on that list. But I swear to you, I will never make a mistake like this again. I wasn’t trying to hide anything or be sneaky going behind your back. I didn’t tell you because I honestly didn’t want you to feel like you had any reason to worry because you truly don’t. I feel nothing towards Alex or any other guy for that matter. But I see how not telling you was way worse. I should have been upfront from the second he called me.”

TK sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. “I’ve still got a lot of learning to do.”

“So do I,” Carlos says, searching TK’s eyes. “God, I was being so stupid and ridiculous.”

TK frowns and inches closer. “Shh, no, you weren’t. Your reaction was completely justified, a hundred percent. I didn’t mean to make you scared and I’m so sorry you were ever with anyone that made you feel less than. You’re the greatest part of my life, Carlos Reyes. The absolute best part. There hasn’t been a single day that I haven’t felt like the luckiest guy in the world for being loved by you. You’re so much more than I ever thought I’d have.”

Carlos smiles at the reassurance. All the same, he can’t help but to feel foolish.

“Still, I’m so embarrassed,” he chuckles, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Why? You don’t ever have to be embarrassed around me.”

“I made something out of nothing and just showed you what a massive insecure mess I can be. Not exactly the finest quality.”

“If you say one more negative thing about my boyfriend I’ll...well, I don’t have an actual threat here. I’ll just be very upset.” TK kisses at his temple. “I love every part of you, even the messy bits. God knows I’m made mostly of parts like that and you still love me anyway. I don’t want you keeping up appearances or downplaying your emotions for me. Whatever you’re feeling or thinking, I want to know because it’s valid, Los.”

TK brings Carlos’ hand to his mouth, lips skimming along the back.

“You’re not a machine. It’s okay to feel things. And, to be fair, I went about this whole Alex thing totally wrong. I should’ve said something; I shouldn’t have kept that from you. This one’s on me. If an ex you were serious about did that, I’d want to know.”

“So you forgive me?” Carlos asks.

TK frowns, tracing the outline of Carlos’ jaw. “Babe, there’s nothing to forgive here. I’m not mad at you. I was upset with myself.”

“I snapped, walked out, and I made you cry. Those are criminal offenses in my book.”

TK laughs and shakes his head. “It’s nothing we can’t bounce back from, right?”

“Right. We’re okay. Better than that, even. We’re prepared if anymore exes decide to come out of the woodwork.”

TK laughs and nods in agreement. “Definitely. So, have we passed the ready-for-bed test now?”

Carlos hums in thought, standing up from the couch and tugging TK towards him.

“Not yet. There’s just one final step until we get the all clear,” he says.

TK smirks knowingly and tips his head up for Carlos to capture his lips. Carlos frames his boyfriend’s face in his hands, mouth moving over TK’s steadily. He kisses him deeply, casting out all the residual doubt and fear that’s knocking about, clearing it all like cobwebs from the darkest corners of his head.

He pulls back enough to stare into TK’s eyes, those gorgeous green irises teeming with so much love and affection. How Carlos allowed himself to give in to misgivings seems inconceivable now. No one has ever looked at him the way TK does.

“Okay, now we’re ready.”

Ready to put this whole argument behind them, ready to sleep, ready to tackle whatever obstacles may try to stand in their way.

As they walk hand in hand towards his bedroom now, Carlos feels as if he’s leaving so much behind. For all that he’s given away to people throughout the years, he’s struck by just how much the man holding on to him has given him back in return. And that, Carlos realizes, isn’t something anyone stands a chance of taking away.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Long Way From Home: Chapter 3

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Friendship Characters: Scott, Tracy Family

We're far enough in now that I can safely credit @ak47stylegirl and her fic Thunderbirds Meet Thunderbirds for inspiring the overarching premise behind this fic without spoiling what the premise is.  There are some obvious differences between the fics, and will continue to be differences, but I almost certainly would not have considered throwing Scott into TOS without reading that fic.

<<<Chapter 2

The room they ended up in, passing through another room full of chairs in the process, was the closest any room so far had looked to home.  A sunken area contained a variety of seats, all in front of a desk, while towards the window sat a baby grand.

“Take a seat,” Not-Dad said, settling himself behind the desk.  A position of power, Scott noted.  Not-Dad had a clear idea of where they stood with regards to each other, and it wasn’t in Scott’s favour.  He remained standing, noticing pictures of five young men and a beautiful woman on the walls, surrounded by unmistakably oriental artwork.  The young men were familiar.  Four of them, he’d already met.  Other-Scott looked back at him almost cheekily, while Other-Virgil held a cigarette.  Other-Alan looked disinterested, and Other-Gordon was reclining casually.  At the far end, next to Other-Scott, was a fifth man – blond – with his arms folded, and Scott’s insides twisted unpleasantly.  He had a feeling he knew the final man’s name.

The rest of the family began to file in, seating themselves in what appeared to be a pre-ordained seating plan.  Other-Alan perched on a corner of the desk, and Scott waited until everyone had found their seats before folding himself up into a sofa in the middle of the sunken area.

“Now, the first order of business is to work out exactly how Scott arrived here,” Not-Dad proclaimed. “He claims not to know, but there must be some clues.”

“But, Jeff,” Mrs Tracy interjected.  “What about his brothers?  You are going to look for them, aren’t you?”

Scott had been about to demand the same thing.  Not-Dad looked uncomfortable.

“But Mother-” he began. “This is a remote island.  It should be impossible for anyone to arrive unannounced.  For our own security, we must find out how Scott arrived here.”

“Surely we can look for clues about his brothers at the same time, Father,” Other-Virgil offered. “There are enough of us.”  Not-Dad seemed unconvinced, and Scott got to his feet, ready to demand that they locate his brothers before doing anything else, when the door opened.

“I, uh, think I-I’ve solved the, uh, mystery of h-how Scott a-arrived here, Mr Tracy.”  Scott stared at the man in the doorway, his stutter and blue-framed glasses instantly reminding him of Brains, for all that this man was white, and English from his accent.

“You have, Brains?” the elder man asked, his attention immediately switching off of Scott, who was getting very sick and tired of familiar names and semi-familiar faces with no explanations.

“W-well, it, uh, might sound a bit fantastical, b-but John and I believe i-it’s, uh, the only explanation,” Other-Brains warned as he entered the room properly.  At this point, Scott didn’t care if it was fantastical – if it was plausible, he’d take it, especially after the casual name drop of one of his brothers.  The final one, completing the set.

“The, uh, DNA sample I collected turns out to, uh, p-perfectly match the, uh, sample I took from o-our Scott.”

“What sample?” Scott interrupted, sparing a glance towards Other-Scott, who had spoken at the same time.

“Your, uh, surprising resemblance to o-our Scott prompted me to, uh, take a sample for a-analysis.”  Other-Brains didn’t seem the slightest bit repentant.  “A-as for you, uh, Scott, t-there are many, uh, ways to obtain a sample from, uh, your o-own home.”

“So you’re saying this guy’s a clone?” Other-Alan interrupted, and Scott bristled.

“Well, uh, technically b-by sharing a-a ninety nine point nine p-percent DNA match they are, uh, c-clones, but not in the, uh, way you m-mean, Alan,” Brains replied.

“Explain, Brains,” Not-Dad demanded.  “What do you mean by that?”

“W-well, Mr Tracy, when I-I said that, uh, their DNA was a-a perfect match, t-there is, uh, one s-small discrepancy.”  He presented them with a clipboard, which showed far too many numbers and squiggles for Scott to make head or tail of it.  “S-see here, there, uh, is a foreign s-strand in his, uh, results.”

Scott couldn’t see what he was referring to, even when he helpfully pointed to a particular section of comparison.

“I think I speak for all of us when I say we can’t see a thing, Brains,” Not-Dad.  “But we’ll take your word for it.  What does it mean?”

“Quite, uh, honestly, Mr Tracy, I-I’ve never seen this before,” Other-Brains admitted.  “H-however, I believe the answer, uh, lies with the, uh, technology that he a-arrived with.”

“You’ve been poking at my gear?” Scott demanded, stepping forwards. Mrs Tracy put her hand on his arm lightly.

“J-Just a cursory, uh, glance.”  Other-Brains still didn’t sound at all repentant for his intrusions. “Enough to, uh, tell that y-your technology is nothing l-like, uh, ours.”

“So, what, he’s an alien?” Other-Alan asked.  It was such an Alan-like – his Alan-like – accusation that something in Scott’s chest hurt.

“I, uh, believe John w-would be, uh, better to explain,” Other-Brains deferred.  “Mr Tracy?”

“I’m not sure about that, Brains,” Not-Dad disagreed.  “It’s one thing showing him our home, but John is in a top secret location.  We can’t reveal that on a whim.”

“O-on the contrary, Mr Tracy, i-if John and I are, uh, correct, he is a-already fully a-aware of John’s, uh, location.”

“What?” Other-Scott snapped, his hand landing sharply on Scott’s shoulder.  “How?” His fingers dug in tightly, too tightly to be shaken off without the use of force, and Mrs Tracy’s hand was still lightly resting on his arm.

Scott was more concerned about what they were saying.  John and location automatically signalled Thunderbird Five, but this wasn’t his John.  Whatever was going on here, despite his uniform International Rescue had yet to be mentioned and he had been intending on keeping it that way, unwilling to bring that sort of information to the attention of a group of individuals too weird and bizarre to trust.

“I want you to explain, Brains,” Not-Dad ordered. “I refuse to involve John in a situation this delicate.”

“I-if you, uh, say so, Mr Tracy.”  Other-Brains was clearly disappointed at not having back-up for his explanation, but Scott didn’t care who said it at this point as long as it was an answer.  “Well, there, uh, is a theory a-amongst astrophysicists k-known colloquially a-as the, uh, multiverse theory.  It a-addresses the theorem that, uh, there are multiple universes.  John is, uh, better versed i-in it th-than I, but, uh, I know enough to, uh, believe that this is o-our answer.”

“He’s from a parallel universe?” Other-Alan exploded. “No way, Brains.  That’s ridiculous!”

“I, uh, did say it was f-fantastical,” Other-Brains reminded him.

“Yes, Brains, but this seems very far-fetched,” Other-Virgil pointed out.  “Suppose that’s true; how did he get here?”

“Well, uh, travel between these, uh, theoretical u-universes has not been, uh, investigated, so u-unless Scott’s universe has been, uh, experimenting in the field it is most likely that the, uh, two u-universes temporarily, uh, collided and Scott fell th-through a r-resulting fissure.”

“I don’t remember falling through any fissures,” Scott protested. “I had just left,” he paused, still determined to leave International Rescue out of the conversation, even if Other-Brains was alluding to something similar with Other-John, “my plane and was on my way out of the hangar.  Then I woke up here!”

“The ‘plane’ in question wouldn’t be Thunderbird One, by any chance?” an unfamiliar voice asked.  It was slightly distorted, as though coming through a speaker.  The gentle touch on his arm and the talon grip on his shoulder did nothing to stop Scott tensing.

“What do you mean?” he snarled, looking around for the owner of the new voice.  Nothing had changed, no-one had entered the room without his knowledge-

Other-Brains had his left arm held at a weird angle, the face of his watch pointed directly towards Scott.  Instead of the ancient, analogue dial he expected to see there, a man’s head was visible.  He had a shock of platinum blond hair, but Scott’s attention was caught by the blue hat perched slightly lopsidedly atop his head.

They’d scrapped those hats years ago, one of Dad’s flights of fancy they had all been glad to ditch with a uniform upgrade.

“John!” Not-Dad sounded furious.  “Brains, I said we would not be involving John in this!”

“As Brains said, Father, there’s no point.”  The blond man – Other-John, recognisable as the fifth portrait hanging on the wall even if he was wearing civilian clothes in that, rather than what looked suspiciously like a proto-IR uniform in Other-Brains’ watch – seemed unbothered at his father’s fury.  “This Scott is another universe’s equivalent to our Scott.  According to the clothes he was wearing when you found him, that includes being the pilot of Thunderbird One for International Rescue.”

“If this is all true,” Scott interrupted, choosing to chew through the International Rescue bit and the fact that there was a Thunderbird One here later.  “All these parallel universes and colliding universes and falling through fissures into other universes stuff.  What about my brothers?  Aside from one,” he wasn’t willing to give any names out yet, even if Other-Brains and Other-John, at least, seemed to be sharp enough to make a correct assumption “they were all in the house when I got back.  Wouldn’t this ‘fissure’ have swallowed them, too?”

It was an outlandish theory.  The idea that he’d fallen through into some parallel universe and was now with an alternate version of his family – a version that still had their father, his brain pointed out unhappily – was ludicrous.  But it was a theory.  He’d heard Alan mention it once, although the teenager had been more interested in the prospect of aliens in their own universe than another one at that moment in time.  They were colonising Mars, pushing other expeditions further afield in the Solar System. Space travel was an expensive luxury, but it was a luxury available to anyone with the money, not just the strictest trained of astronauts.  Further exploration of the universe was underway, but nothing had ever touched the concept of other universes.

Yet, in the absence of anything more solid, Scott was willing to cling to the theory Other-Brains and Other-John were presenting.  As long as his brothers were safe.

“You were found in our Thunderbird One’s hangar,” Other-John informed him, and Not-Dad did not seem happy at that bit of information leaking out, from his attempt to interrupt.  Other-John ignored him.  “If you were in your own Thunderbird One’s hangar when the collision occurred, that means that you were simply displaced from the location in your home to the identical location in ours.  On that basis, if your brothers were also transported, they would have appeared in their respective locations in our home as well.  Seeing as they haven’t, I think it’s safe to assume that you are the only one that fell through.”

“But-” That was a lot of supposition, and Scott was not willing to stop searching on the assumption that just because what happened to him hadn’t happened to them, didn’t mean nothing had happened to them.

“However, to be safe, I have included additional parameters into Thunderbird Five’s algorithm to locate any mentions of people appearing out of nowhere, their names, assuming their names are the same as ours, or any other similar phenomena, so if they have ended up elsewhere, I’ll pick it up,” Other-John continued.  “If they’re here, I’ll find them.  If they’re not, that explains why they haven’t contacted you.”

It was practically a moot point to name drop Thunderbird Five at this point, as far as Scott was concerned, more interested and reassured by Other-John’s calm assessment of the possibilities and the measures he’d made to handle them, reluctantly nodding that yes, their names were the same. Not-Dad, on the other hand, seemed almost apoplectic as he stood rapidly from his desk.

“I did not authorise you to talk about the Thunderbirds, John!” the man thundered.  “You have no proof that this Scott has links to an International Rescue of his own, and even if he did, there is no guarantee that they are the same!”

“Yes, Father.”  Scott didn’t like the tone Other-John adopted, one that seemed almost used to scoldings.  Dad wouldn’t have been like that with them if he was still around and in charge of International Rescue… would he?

Deciding not to dwell on those thoughts, and also finding himself unexpectedly infuriated by Not-Dad’s temper flaring at Other-John, Scott glanced around the room and found something unexpectedly familiar.

Two lamps sat innocently on one wall, perfectly spaced for someone of his height to stand between and hold onto – or pull down.

It probably wasn’t his smartest idea – in fact, he could hear Virgil and John in his head telling him emphatically not to do it – but his reckless streak had never listened to reason.  He gently removed the light touch of Mrs Tracy from his arm, and twisted sharply to dislodge Other-Scott’s grip before striding purposefully over to the lamps.  Muscle memory dictated his movement more than conscious thought, his arms jarring as the lamps did not pull down, but a switch depressed beneath his fingers nonetheless, and to a chorus of disbelieving – and frustrated, in some cases – voices, the room disappeared in a smooth rotation to reveal Other-Scott’s launch tube.

Or should have done, if it was the same as home.  What he had not expected, as he automatically stepped forwards, off of the plate before it could spin back around, was to be immediately greeted by the sleek grey form of Thunderbird One herself.

Immediately he could see differences to his own ‘bird. The pilot seat was inside the cockpit, not extended for boarding, and the opening resembled a door more than a viewing window.  VTOL jets were positioned in different places, there were no letters dictating fuel intake, areas of danger and other basic safety information, and her shape was very slightly different.

However, small differences aside, there was no doubt that this was Thunderbird One.  Even ignoring the bold white lettering proclaiming her as such, there was no doubting the grey hull, blue engine housing and, most distinctively of all, the vibrant red nose cone.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Other-Scott asked from behind him. Scott made a noise of agreement – even if she wasn’t his, she was close enough that visually, she looked just as stunning.  “I guess you have the same access point?  You gave Dad quite the shock when you found the entrance to her hangar like that.”

“Near enough,” he confirmed as Other-Scott stepped up beside him, leaning his arms over the railing as he also gazed at Thunderbird One. “The portrait of the rocket goes to Two?”

“Virgil’s crazy slide,” Other-Scott said, bemused.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Scott agreed.  “I didn’t see Three or Four’s entrances.”

“Your Four has an access from the lounge?”  Other-Scott sounded surprised.  “Dad refused to put one in.  Gordon has to take the passenger route to Two.”

“A fish tank,” Scott admitted.  “Gordon refuses to keep fish in there, though.  Says it would be too traumatic for them.  He stole John’s model Stingray and put that in there instead.”

Other-Scott chuckled, the first time he’d been anything other than serious since Scott had first seen him.

“That sounds like something Gordon would do,” he admitted. “Your John let him?”

“Said it was a more accurate place for it then the stand in his room,” Scott confirmed.

“And that sounds like something John would say,” Other-Scott grinned, before falling quiet for a moment, studying his ‘bird.  “Do you think they’re right?” he asked.  “That you’re from a parallel universe?”

It still sounded ridiculous said out loud.

“I don’t know,” Scott admitted.  “But it’s the best guess we’ve got and sounds marginally better than insanity.”  How he was going to get home, if he really had ended up in another universe, was another matter entirely.

“I suppose that’s true,” Other-Scott said.  “But we’ll work something out.”

“Scott!” Not-Dad’s voice echoed through the hangar as the man strode towards them.  He did not look pleased, and they shared a look.

“Which one of us does he mean?” Scott wondered out loud. Other-Scott shrugged, clearly bracing himself for a storm.  Once again, Scott was left to wonder if it would be the same if Dad was still around – would he be used to disapproval, and a father ruling the roost with an iron fist?

He shoved those thoughts away firmly and straightened his spine. Not-Dad might have his own son contrite, but he had faced down too many people who saw themselves as his superior to cower in front of a man with no relation to him.

“What are you doing in here?” Not-Dad demanded.  “How did you find the entrance?”  Behind him, at a more sedate pace but intrigue clear in their eyes – exact colour matches to Scott’s own brothers – were Other-Virgil, Other-Gordon and Other-Alan.  Brains brought up the rear, his watch still broadcasting Other-John’s face.  Scott was getting fed up with all of the questions.

“Because I’m Scott Tracy,” he declared, stepping forwards, away from the Thunderbird behind him and towards the man challenging him. “Because that is my ship and I know how to get to her.”  He expected Other-Scott to protest, remind him that it wasn’t his Thunderbird One because they were in the wrong universe for that, but he didn’t.

Not-Dad was shorter than him.  Not by much, just enough for him to realise he was looking ever so slightly down to meet his eyes.  Did that mean he had outgrown Dad, a final growth spurt just after the Zero-X and the tragedy that brought?

“How dare you take that tone with me!” Not-Dad snapped, fury flashing through grey eyes.  Behind him, two pairs of brown eyes and one pair of blue had widened in surprise. “Does your father permit you to talk back to him like that?”  All at once, Scott’s temper flared.

“My father is GONE!” he shouted, fist flying to the side and connecting with the wall of the hangar.  “You might look like him, but you’re not him, and I won’t treat you like him!”

Silence followed his words, even after the echoes of his yells finished bouncing off the hangar walls.  His own breathing was loud, too loud to his own ears, and his knuckles started to throb as he felt everyone’s eyes on him.

Other-Alan spoke first, because he was Other-Alan and of course he did, for all that this Alan wasn’t a teenager and should at least have some modicum of common sense.

“What do you mean, he’s gone?”

Scott ignored him, finding Not-Dad’s – Never-Dad’s – eyes again.  They were shocked, horrified, even, and seeing that expression on a face that looked just like his father’s reminded him of the last time he’d seen his Dad look like that.  When Mom died.

He had to get out.

Thunderbird One was behind him, offering haven except she wasn’t his Thunderbird One and he knew they would all crowd the cockpit, imprisoning him inside until he talked.  He had no intention of ever talking, of telling these strangers wearing his family’s names and almost-faces about how much it hurt.  He’d never planned to tell them Dad was gone in the first place.

The two lamps stuck out of the wall, nearest Other-Scott. They’d lead back into the lounge, an unfamiliar place but one that it would at least take time for them to pursue him there, judging by how long it had taken them to join him in the hangar. He lunged forwards, found the catches on the lamps and spun the wall back around.  Behind him, the silence broke, voices talking over voices in a cacophony that was shut out as soon as the rotation completed.  Soundproofed walls.  Nothing less than he’d expected.

“Oh, dearie, what happened?”  He’d forgotten Mrs Tracy would still be there.  “Oh, you poor thing.  Look at your hand.  Tin-Tin, be a darling.”

“Of course, Mrs Tracy,” the young woman said, finding her feet and hurrying across the room to him.  “Oh, that looks nasty.  I’ll treat it right away.”  A touch on his elbow and his feet were moving of their own accord, following her down the stairs and through hallways he’d yet to learn until they arrived in a room he recognised.

The signs of his fight with Other-Scott had gone, gaps on the shelves where bottles had stood when he first woke the only indication that anything had happened in the room.  As Tin-Tin directed him to sit in a chair, grabbing a bottle of disinfectant and a roll of bandages for knuckles he hadn’t realised were bleeding, for all that they were throbbing in discontent, he caught sight of his uniform, still neatly folded.

His comm unit was on the top, and he reached for it to find it was too far away from where he was sat.

“I’m almost finished,” Tin-Tin assured him.  “You know,” she continued.  “If you open the window, there’s a track that runs up towards a cliff.  Only Scott ever goes up there – his brothers don’t know about it.”

Scott stared at her, realising for the first time that for all their differences, this young woman was likely this universe’s version of Kayo.

“I don’t think he would like that you told me that,” he said, unable to bring himself to address Not-Dad by any name.  His voice cracked mid-sentence and he frowned.  “He wants me under his watch.”

“Oh, Scott,” she replied, pulling the bandages tight. “He’s worried.”  A delicate hand picked up his comm unit and pressed it into his uninjured hand.  “I’ve known our Scott a long time,” she added, closing his hand over the unit. “In all that time, I’ve only seen him cry once.”  By the time he had registered her words and raised a hand to his face, surprised to find it come away damp, she’d left the room.

Swiping at the tears angrily now that he knew they were there, he regarded the unit in his hand, and then the window.  A place to himself was exactly what he needed, although the idea of using one of Other-Scott’s escapes felt distinctly weird. Footsteps outside the room forced his decision – if they were going to find him in this state, he could at least attempt to make it a challenge.

The window opened easily, and soundlessly. Well-maintained, and he wondered how often Other-Scott used it, or if one of the others also had escape routes from the infirmary.  Considering his own brothers, it was likely that they all did – one of the reasons Grandma had put their infirmary in a room with only one exit was because they were all terrible patients and one exit was infinitely easier to guard than multiple.

He remembered his lack of shoes only when bare feet met dirt, but he had no idea where Other-Scott kept his shoes, and no desire to go hunting.  The route Tin-Tin had described stood out to him easily, a challenging terrain that he would have chosen himself even if he hadn’t already known about it.  Then again, this universe’s version of him had done exactly that, once.  Strapping the comm unit firmly to his wrist, finding familiar comfort in its snug fit and slight weight, he started up the trail.

It wasn’t as challenging as it looked; once Scott found his rhythm it was almost easy, but as it was an escape route from the infirmary that made sense.  Escape routes were useless if they couldn’t be used.  After only a few minutes he rounded a particularly aggressive-looking crag to find a hollow tucked behind it.  The view was fantastic, jungles and volcanic crags combined with the ocean behind and the sky above.  Down below, he could just about see a white building that had to be the villa, an oddly-shaped swimming pool set in front of it.

There was no doubt this was Other-Scott’s secret escape.

He curled his legs in, out of sight of anyone that might be looking up the route, and tore his eyes away from the unfamiliar vista to focus on his comm unit.  Logically, he knew it was useless.  John would have been trying to get hold of him as soon as he woke from his cat nap, and if anything was going to get through to here – to another universe – it would be the powerful signals of Thunderbird Five.

Scott didn’t want to listen to logic.  Despite being wrapped in bandages, his fingers found all the right places to activate the comm unit, and he waited with bated breath for it to connect.  It took a while, connection symbol flashing orange as it searched for a signal to hook onto.  International Rescue technology was as resourceful as the rest of them. Designed to be compatible with every known network in the world, as well as their own with Thunderbird Five at the heart, there were blessedly few places where signal was impossible.  Here, on a Tracy Island, with a Thunderbird Five proven to be sending and receiving signals, there was no way his comm unit wouldn’t be able to find a network to hijack.

The red symbol that eventually flashed up defied him, the slash through the connection symbol taunting him as it declared there were no networks in the area.

“Don’t you dare!” he complained at it, shaking his wrist vigorously and resorting to fierce taps when the red symbol stayed steady. “There’s a signal right there, dammit!” he cursed, gesturing down towards where the villa lay.  “And up there!”  He motioned to the sky, where their Thunderbird Five undoubtably lurked. “How can you not find it at all? Dammit!”

He depressed the call button anyway, watching the hologram technology awaken, ready to beam his image to whoever was on the other end. With tearstained cheeks, scruffy pyjamas that weren’t his, and a wrapped-up hand, he didn’t want his image beaming anywhere, and quickly changed the setting to audio-only.

“Thunderbird Five?” he tried.  “Come in, Thunderbird Five.  John, are you there?”

The red symbol stubbornly remained, and his comms remained silent.  He’d thought that at least Other-John would answer.

“John?  Virgil are you there?  Come on, guys, pick up!  Gordon, can you hear me?  Alan!” His voice cracked and he scrubbed at his face again, unsurprised but frustrated when it came back freshly damp. “Kayo?  Grandma?  Brains? Anyone, dammit!”  He was begging and he knew it, tears seeping into his voice no matter how hard he tried to keep them up.  “MAX?  EOS! You’re always hacking things you shouldn’t, you damn AI.  You’ve got to be here!  Put me through to John.  I know he’s looking for me.  Just… put me through, dammit!”

The red symbol never wavered, blocking him from his family no matter how much he cursed, threatened, begged it.

“Why won’t you work, you stupid piece of junk?” he demanded.  “It’s only a goddamn universe in the way.  Just one, stupid, measly, universe!”

A universe.  An ever-expanding chasm of space that contained billions upon billions of galaxies, which themselves contained billions of stars and planets.  They were colonising Mars.  Thunderbird Three had managed to travel out as far as Jupiter. The distances were incredible; the wonder as Alan launched off to far-flung parts of their solar system never failed to strike Scott.

Those incredible distances didn’t even make a fraction of the chasm between them now.

A chance collision of universes had thrown him across. Inter-universe travel wasn’t even a daydream in the minds of their most advanced scientists, and from Other-John’s words, this universe was the same.

Scott wasn’t John, but he was reasonably handy with numbers and probabilities.  The chances of another collision occurring that would send him home again were beyond remote.  International Rescue made the impossible happen, but Scott was all too painfully aware that even they had limits.  How did you rescue someone from another universe?

Would they even know where he was?  It took Other-Brains and Other-John some leaps of logic, DNA testing between him and Other-Scott, and a grasp of the difference in their technology to reach the conclusion.  All his family would have was the fact that he was gone.  Without a trace.  It would be even worse than Dad.  At least they knew what had happened to Dad, had seen that cursed footage of the Zero-X exploding into infinite pieces with no body left to bury.

He had just vanished.

John would be blaming himself, cursing himself for going to take his next nap before ensuring Scott was safely in the house.  He remembered what his brother had been like when Dad had gone, the weeks, months, of frantic searching and sleepless nights until he’d taken Three up and all but bust through the airlock to drag John back to Earth.  He hadn’t let him back up there until the space elevator was installed, one of Brains’ pet projects that Dad had vetoed but Scott demanded because anything to bring their family closer together was a good thing.

He hoped one of the others would stop John tearing himself apart. His little brothers were strong, he had to believe that.  If Other-John was right and they weren’t also here, somewhere in this strange universe with its indecipherable technology.  No, Scott wanted them at home.  He wanted the four of them to be together, even if he wasn’t there.

But he would be, he promised.  No matter that the distance between them was insurmountable, no matter that there were some things even International Rescue couldn’t do. Nothing, not even the damn universe – or however many universes were involved in this fiasco – was going to stop Scott Tracy going home to his brothers.

He just had to figure out how.

Chapter 4>>>

[maximumninjavoid]

Mining for Unobtanium

Chapter five

Oh how I detest when the imaginary people that live in my head will not cooperate.

This is part the fifth. No, I do not have ANY idea how many parts there might be. Nope. i couldn’t tell you when the smut will be, only that there will be smut. So, Usual warnings, 18 and over, please and thank you. Adult themes, adult concepts, BDSM and all that, so if you don’t like those sorts of things, run away.

If you find something you think I should have warned you about, PLEASE PLEASE let me know.

NOT my gif. @demivampirew​’s gif. ( I could stare at him all day. )

Days pass. I go to work, do my thing, help a friend through a rough spot, and find myself reading entertainment industry sites.  Can you roll your eyes at yourself? Is that internal, or is there a facial expression that accompanies that action?

I deduce he's in Hungary, try and fail to calculate the difference in time ( I have always sucked at time mathematics) and while I know there's an app for that, I have no idea what a production schedule looks like, or what a typical day might be, or if there even is such a thing. I send an email to the Solicitors General and suggest that email may be a temporary solution, given scheduling constraints, and make a call.

"Benji! I am so glad I caught you! You aren't currently dressing anyone fun? ...Not that you can tell me at the moment.....did you ever get contact information for who did those designs for Patti Lupone in Ryan Murphy's Hollywood? I know!!!! "We both squealed. "She looked AMAZING ! "We said practically in unison. "So do you have a few minutes? Can I pick your brain? What does a typical day look like for a principal, on location?"

I took notes. Good intelligence and reconnaissance is always important. Turns out there isn't any typical. It seldom what they need to shoot, what got screwed up, what requires different angles, or lighting, or even who needs to be worked around. Maybe the horse is having a bad day.

Maybe I could find out what his interests were, what he'd done, what worked, what didn't, what he wanted, see if he'd read anything, if he needed to unlearn any foolishness, and in the mean time, I'd do my best to keep my mind from wandering off on tangents about hoping he was switchy. That maybe he wanted to feel what it was like to not be in control, or there were sensations he was very interested in exploring.

Oh, I'd very  much like to restrain him, and tease him. If love to see what sorts of noises he might make.... Moans? Growls? Threats? Promises of retaliation? Sharp intakes of breath?  I wondered how fun it might be to edge....see how close I could get him to cumming, and then stop. With my hands, or my mouth, show him what a woman with very little gag reflex is capable of. Or slow down, or change gears, How many times could I do that, I mean before he exploded?

Part of me KNOWS that he is busy, working. But the asshole who lives in my head cannot resist the opportunity for a stroll around my neuroses. He's not going to contact you..... Because LOOK AT YOU.  It's good that you're funny. At least you have that. You had your few minutes. Be grateful for the call and the laughs that you got. It'll never be anything more. Don't kid yourself  loser.

And can we just talk about THAT for a minute? As someone who spends a bit of time in the public eye, granted a different public, but still.. and who had gotten misquoted and had it taken out of context and then there was a shit storm, you completely understood where that whole debacle had come from. His parents raised him and his brothers to be gentlemen. If he ever even did anything that would make his mother wince, he wouldn't be able to live with himself.

And we’re not talking about “ alternative” sexual activities between consenting adults, right?  We’re talking about actual consent violations, Harvey Weinstein stuff, the things that make you need a Silkwood shower.  He likes wooing women, loves flirting, enjoys that whole interplay, but in the current climate he could see where there might be a potential mine field.

He’s famous. Why do you think he had to have you sign a non disclosure that was binding three generations forward? As in your great grandchildren, yet unborn, couldn’t talk about this? There are people who look for an easy out, sell their stories to tabloids. I mean that triad, where one of them was a fucking sex doll? And they ( they other two ) talked about her ( I am assuming her gender pronouns based upon her looks and I shouldn’t, but as the doll is mute, cannot verbalize any other preference) as though the doll were an actual third party in the relationship WHO WAS AN ACTIVE PARTICIPANT.

And when people started talking about it on social media, had all the nerve to be offended that misconceptions were being fostered. Darlings, YOU gave the interview to the tabloid.

So he said ““There’s something wonderful about a man chasing a woman,” he said. “There’s a traditional approach to that, which is nice. I think a woman should be wooed and chased, but maybe I’m old-fashioned for thinking that.”Cavill went on, saying, “It’s very difficult to do that if there are certain rules in place. Because then it’s like: ‘Well, I don’t want to go up and talk to her, because I’m going to be called a rapist or something.’ So you’re like, ‘Forget it, I’m going to call an ex-girlfriend instead, and then just go back to a relationship, which never really worked,’” he said. “But it’s way safer than casting myself into the fires of hell, because I’m someone in the public eye, and if I go and flirt with someone, then who knows what’s going to happen? Now? Now you really can’t pursue someone further than, ‘No.’ It’s like, ‘O.K., cool.’ But then there’s the, ‘Oh why’d you give up?’ And it’s like, ‘Well, because I didn’t want to go to jail?’”

And I can see that he’s a ) old school and loves women

In order to silence the asshole that lives in my head, I researched. There’s not a lot of anything about  this man to be found on the interwebs. Pictures, Photo shoots, Ad campaigns, that horrid GQ Australia interview.

I can also see that he has no idea what the “ new rules are” if one could actually put words in his mouth.

And he thinks that it would be easier to go back to someone he already had a ‘ relationship ‘ with because it’s a known commodity, even if it didn’t work.

And you can’t fault him for THAT, we’ve all done it.

Oh come on, show of hands, everyone that had sex with an ex because you really needed sex and the battery operated boyfriend was not cutting it.

[iphoenixrising]

you know, I really love how badass and capable Tim is but I’m weak for the trope where a character gets in a bad sitch (maybe held captive) and their love interests go nuts trying to get them back and they’re furious seeing he’s hurt and restrained (baddie tied + gagged them too tight?)when they do rescue him maybe Jay and Dick are so tender and caring oof what are your thoughts?

WELL BABE. I mean with characters like Tim Drake and Tony Stark, overprotective (boy)friends tearing through bad guy installations with feral intent to get Tim/Tony back just waters my crops and clears my skin. It’s fucking beautiful.

I mean, let’s just say

Once and a while, every vigilante has a bad fucking night.

It just happen to be Red Robin’s turn.

The residual owfuck isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. That is, once he gets himself out of this before terrible bad guys with an apparent fetish for brass knuckles and knives come back to finish the job. After a lucky shot took his zip line out mid-leap, the night had gone from generally shitty to progressively worse. Catching a hard fire escape knocked him mostly out on the way down. He’d initially come to when the fist to his solar plexus is just about agonizing.

Whatever hits he’d taken on the way down to the street damaged the suit’s security, which is the only reason it didn’t shock the shit out of anyone when they grabbed him by the arms, held him there for the first round of blows.

It’s an occasional thing, for one of them to get balls deep in imminent fucking peril. There’s nights when sleep dep and stress, the day job and night job colliding, too many bads and not enough goods, nights when a one wrong step, one bad contingency, one hesitation, is enough for them to get the drop.

Which leads them to this disgustingly dingy, blood-splattered warehouse down on the East Side, where Red is dangling from a chain in the ceiling like a side of raw beef for the slaughter.

And while blood is sluggishly running down the side of his face and his jaw feels like it’s on fire, while his gauntlets are useless and the manacles are on fucking point, when his chest fucking hurts and the fire in his side makes his eyes water because really, just a concussion can’t be enough.

(R – Robert, heh.)

When he’s giving himself a few minutes to just breathe it out, take a second to let the pain settle, half in meditation to try getting mentally past this for an epic kind of escape he’s about to pull off.

Any minute now.

But really, he just had a rough night, and the fact these ass hats left the damn door open is really just a testament on how easy this is going to be once he feels up to taking down a few thugs or twenty.

(And just why did he have to walk into an impromptu gun fight between two rival gangs that decided to work together instead – against him. What’s taken the groups out of the room is arguments on who was going to get the glory and what bosses to call and inform. He’s pretty sure he’s got about at least ten minutes or so before everyone comes back for another few rounds of kick the shit out of the vigilante.)

So, he’s good. Totally got this.

It’s in the bag.

Ten minutes.

His forearms get tight, wrists immobile when he starts pulling his weight up to get some slack on the connecting chain, going to need to have room to pick the locks–

when the abrupt tremble and loud sounds of shit just breaking comes through the open door, jarring him too much for his warped brain pan to handle, and he drops back down a few inches, grunting with the jerking motions on his upper body.

Gunfire explodes and people are absolutely screaming. Things get a little more real because at this juncture, it could be anything from more fighting between themselves or another rival group walking in on an obvious base of operations.

It’s apparent he’s out of time when several come running back in, guns out, panicked and talking over one another.

Dammit. His brain hurts.

But even if his fingers are numb still in his glove, he’s slowly working the lock pick set out of his useless gauntlets, looking forward to getting free fast enough to take out the room before even thinking of taking on the fuckery happening behind that door.

What he expects is to get more roughed up before the night is over. What he doesn’t expect is for a body to slam into the room, blood arching in the same angle as the nice landing right at Red Robin’s bound feet dangling a few inches off the ground. The second body immediately following fell close enough for Red’s whiteouts to narrow down at the face beaten to hamburger, a thoughtful noise muffled through the gag shoved in his mouth.

He has a moment to register, that looks familiar, before the impressive silhouettes fill the door, and the calvary has apparently arrived.

To say he is literally boned is probably an understatement because he can see the tension all over them. Tight fists and forearms, shoulders squared, thighs tense, and game faces right the hell on.

It’s the terrifying vigilantes Nightwing and the Red Hood, towers of kicking ass and taking names –

and the thugs in the room gape at the picture those two make, blood sprays all over their suits, smoking barrels and sparking escrima sticks, lips curled up off N’s teeth to snarl, Hood to lower his chin enough that those whiteouts are fixed.

He catches a breath through his mouth since he’s pretty sure his nose is broken or dislocated, beaten body tensing for one of the thugs to get smart, turn, and fire at him.

But, it doesn’t happen because the Red Hood and Nightwing strike like an avenging wave of brutally beautiful justice. They move together like water, the fight never stopping until the bodies are piled high, a job well done. And as much as Red Robin would like to say he feels something crazily like relief, the all together different noise he makes through the gag is telling on what else watching them fight (for him) does to him.

“Aww, Big Wing, lookit what those fuckers did,” is slightly distorted through the synths, and he must have blinked a little too long because suddenly both of his vigilante boyfriends are right there, bracketing him in, being absurdly careful when they run gloved hands over him to find injuries. Hood goes for the gag tied so harshly, N hurriedly helping from behind him.

“Hey Baby, you with us?” is soft and gentle, the contrast to the savage beat-down N just had a hand in a few minutes ago.

Once the cloth is out of his dry mouth, gloved fingers rub the indents, and the helmet is tilted up at him.

“H-how did–”

“Shh, shh. Gonna getcha down, yeah? S’good, Sweets, we gotchu.” Already stretching up on his toes to work the manacles fast while N sweeps up his bound legs from behind, holding him up to take the weight off his wrists.

“There we go,” and a nuzzle against his face, sweet relief when his wrist and hands pop free, and he tries to work the feeling back in his fingers, laying against Nightwing’s chest for just a moment to be dizzy and relieved.

“Thanks for the save,” Red Robin woozily banters, “bad guys can be such ass hats.”

“Don’t I know it,” Hood gives a solid kick to one of the bodies twitching on the floor before coming around to gently fit a gloved hand on Red’s bruised jaw, thumb the mask so the whiteouts slide up and they can see how dazed his eyes are. He n’ N exchange a worried glance while Red pats the hand on his jaw and maneuvers himself out of the octopus hold, a little wobbly but still on point.

“All right, I’m on clean-up since I was the metaphorical damsel this time–” is cut off with a whoosh of breath when he leans over enough to brace a hand on the wall when owfuck gets a little more serious than he expects.

“Nothin’ doin’.” Is Hood nipping that little sitch in the bud, already a towering presence at his side, a heavy arm sliding around his back, “me n’ N done already gave the coppers a heads-up, you feel me, Sweets?”

“We’ve already tied up most the rivals in the building,” Nightwing soothes the one to step up into his space and tilt his face up this time, “and you are going right back to the Manor to be patched up. You’ve got a concussion and who knows what else.”

“Hey, it’s okay, really–” because missing a spleen anyone? He’s been through worse, worked through worse, and still brought out his inner bad ass. These two? Need to take a pill.

“Nu-uh. Ya try ta ged outta it, then we’re callin’ in the big guns. You feel me here?”

And oh no. No, no, no.

“Too late,” is growled somewhere in the vicinity of shadows over their shoulders.

When Red Robin spins on his heel and almost falls, Hood and Nightwing move fast to catch him by the arms so he doesn’t fall in front of the very stern-looking Robin suddenly steps from the shadows, both hands out to steady him by the hips.

Looming over him like Hood and N, Robin’s forehead is wrinkled in that special way when he’s scowling behind the domino. Red Robin manages to gasp before all six-foot-two of concerned vigilante is all over his everything.

Everyone is well-aware Robin doesn’t take any of his shit and is extremely efficient. What few, select people only know–

–he can also be extraordinary gentle.

This time, when Red Robin is swept up against another chest, another symbol, he doesn’t fight it, not when the youngest leans down and says something softly against his ear.

“Let us care for you, Beloved.”

He sighs a little and lists closer, throwing an around around those shoulders and idly fiddles with the cape.

“Better,” Hood uses a gloved thumb to run over his busted nose.

“I want a hot shower and bed,” Red admits wearily, “I can be a stubborn ass about it some other time.”

N chuckles sadly, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of his head. “That’s a good choice, Timmy. We’re going to find a second to eat between that, okay?”

He hums a little, trying to lay his face down on his arm somewhere that wouldn’t hurt. “I guess. Hot shower first, please.”

The bang of grapples echo against the sirens screaming in the night, and the Bats take off, flying over the rooftops to transportation not far off. Hood and N take driver and shotty so Robin can continue to cradle their bird on the ride back.

He might bitch good-naturedly about Hood driving the Red Bird like a literal bat out of hell, but it gets all kinds of shut down when Robin tenderly presses his mouth to the bruises on Red’s jaw and rubs soothing circles on the back of his neck.

Nightwing is the one that hops out and takes him from Robin to carry up to the Perch, talking low against his ear about the pick-up from the GCPD so he honestly feels better about where the night has taken him.

But it’s Jason Todd that runs a bath instead of the shower and strips down, runs gentle hands over the bruises and contusions, soaps him up to wash away the night. The two of them wrapped in towels while Jay sets his nose fast enough that it’s really not as bad as it could have been.

Dick towels his hair dry while he sits at the kitchen table, shivering, and Dami kneels by him to check out each injury with the first-aid tackle box in easy reach. Coffee is off the menu (a crime against humanity!) but the hot chocolate has been left to cool enough not to sting his sore mouth.

The eventual clothes are a combination from the communal drawer so he’s swimming in Dami’s shirt and Jay’s cut-off sweats, several ice packs bandaged over them on the worst of the swelling.

Grilled paninis and soup are utter heaven because A) Jay and Dami can cook, B) everything is easy to eat with a bruised face and cuts on the inside of his mouth, but also C) cute boyfriends keep giving him gentle kisses and touches whenever they come within a literal foot of him.

And they’re so good about it, taking care of him without being too smothering (at least no one has threatened to call his team – yet) through getting patched up and fed.

No, no, they wait for it.

Once he’s wrangled into bed, the three of them surrounding him in warmth and comforting touches, he’s pretty much trapped until morning.

Honestly, it’s probably the best part of the night.

[formerprincess]

Mirror of Origin | Chapter 1

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Liam Dunbar/Theo Raeken, Corey Bryant/Mason Hewitt Characters: Theo Raeken, Liam Dunbar, Mason Hewitt, Corey Bryant Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe, Tomb Raider, Swearing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Guns, Violence, Minor Character Death, but only bad guys die I swear, Blood, Injury Summary:

Liam is a young, reckless archaeologist who loves nothing more than to climb into old tombs and find out about ancient cultures, as well as retrieve lost artifacts. On his hunt for the Mirror of Origin, he meets a mysterious group of people claiming they have the same agenda as Liam himself: Rescue old artifacts from the ruins around the world and exhibit them for the people to see them or keep them locked away to avoid them falling into the wrong hands. Especially one of their mercenaries, Theo, makes it hard for Liam to accept working with them in order to get this one special artifact cause Theo and Liam butt heads since their first meeting. When things turn for the worst, however, both have to work together to literally save the world from getting destroyed by an ancient power and maybe, just maybe, they realize the other isn’t as obnoxious as they thought…

Liam wormed his way through a crack in the stonewall and bit back a cough when his movement caused dust to float into the air. He blinked a few times, eyes slowly adjusting to the drastic change from beaming sunlight outside to the dim and shadowy light inside the tomb. He tilted his head and listened to any sounds coming from within but aside from the smaller rocks falling down every now and then and some scorpions scurrying over the rocky ground, nothing extraordinaire reached his ears. 

“Okay, I’m in,” he announced and two fingers of his left hand came up to lightly press against the little headset he was wearing in his left ear. His only connection to Mason and Corey right now. 

Liam looked around. He stood on a small ledge in an otherwise almost empty passage leading to a crawlway just a few feet away from him. Surely not the main entrance to what Liam was looking for but it would do. So he hopped off the ledge and knelt in front of the opening to peek inside. Nothing but dust and sand, no traps. “Let’s see where this will lead me.” He ducked his head and slowly crawled into the opening. 

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Corey asked into his left ear.  Mason huffed out a laugh. “Sometimes I think Liam loves crawling through tombs so much, he would even do it knowing full well it’s the wrong place.” Liam grinned while he crawled further and further. “You know, there’s just something about exploring a tomb that way. Should try it too sometime.” “I’ll pass,” Mason muttered and Liam heard the clatter of a keyboard. “You are too far into the mountain right now, I can’t determine your exact location.”  “It’s okay. Seems pretty peaceful right now,” Liam comforted his best friend.  “You said the same thing back in Syria, shortly before a gun was pressed to your temple,” Corey reminded him and Mason let out a series of distressed sounds.  “Do you have to remind me, babe?” Liam rolled his eyes and smiled fondly while Corey sighed into his ear. He had lost count how often Mason had voiced his worry about Liam literally risking his life in the name of exploring and archaeology and how often the two friends argued about it, even before Corey came into the team. Corey, Mason’s boyfriend, and basically Liam’s other best friend proved to be great at providing a middle ground between Mason and Liam since he too was worried about Liam but also took it a bit more lightly than Mason did. Doesn’t mean he always got away without a discussion.  “He will be fine, Mase. He’s far away from a warzone right now. Besides, Liam is a big boy, he can watch out for himself.” “Have you met him? I sometimes wonder how he even reached the age of twenty-three,” Mason squeaked.  “Thanks to your unconditional love and care?” Corey asked sweetly. 

“You two are aware I can hear you?” Liam asked while he reached the end of the crawlway and swiftly came to his feet again in a large chamber. He looked around and for a moment it took his breath away. The walls were covered in colorful murals, color bleached out with the ages but still impressive nonetheless, showing various situations with the same group of people, follower of a once powerful emperor. One mural showed the Emperor and his followers crossing a wild river, one showed them infiltrating a village, another one them all fighting another group. With a happy laugh, Liam pulled his camera out of his pocket and filmed every single mural.  “To answer your question, Corey, this is the right place. I found The Emperor’s tomb.” 

He pointed the camera towards the middle of the room where a sarcophagus had been placed on a little rising. Some part of the ceiling had been worn down by the weather over the decades and had fallen to the ground, so the sun was streaming through the cracks and onto the beautifully crafted thing, embellished with gems and golden symbols. “This is incredible.” “Your instinct was right again, congratulations.” Mason seemed really happy about this and Liam heard Corey whoop as well. “And you think the Mirror of Origin is in the sarcophagus?” “It has to. I researched everything about Ferguson’s expeditions. From what he wrote in his entries, he found it and then brought it to a safe place. That’s what I made out of the gibberish he wrote. Old man got a tiny bit paranoid at the end of his days. Lord knows why. He wrote about the Emperor a lot too, it makes sense he would take the artifact and put it into a tomb without any relation, in a different country even. Emperor and the Mirror were the two biggest things he researched. If it’s not here, it is probably lost forever.”

While he had talked, Liam had wandered around in the chamber before he rounded the sarcophagus and took pictures of every side of the sarcophagus. Only when he had every angle and every detail on film, Liam put away his camera. “I’m about to open it.”

He took a step closer and felt the ground under his right boot sink in. It took his brain only seconds to register and he barely had time to stumble back when spears shot out of the ground and surrounded the sarcophagus in a circle.  “Holy shit!” Liam wheezed and stared at the very dangerous and very spiky wooden laths from where he had fallen flat on his ass.  “Was that a trap? Did you just trigger a trap? You did trigger a trap, am I right?” Mason scolded him and Liam gulped.  “Fuck, almost got served Liam on a stick.” “Dammit, Liam, what did we say about being careless?” “Are you okay though?” Corey asked and Liam nodded, even though they could not see him.  “Yeah. Shook but still without any unnecessary holes in my body.”

He got to his feet again and dusted his palms up. Then he narrowed his eyes at the spears and circled the trap. His eyes trailed over the ground to see any mechanism that could revert the trap. And finally, he found some lighter looking stone in the ground and grabbed one of his pistols. A quick shot on the trigger and the spears retracted into the ground.  „Hah!“ Liam let out a triumphant yell and then took a large step over the spots the spears had shot out from. Only when he safely stood right next to the sarcophagus, he let out a relieved breath. This seemed safe, for now. He had encountered too many tombs and traps to ever feel completely safe but this was a start. “Just be careful,” Mason mumbled when Liam anxiously pushed the lid aside. Old graves sometimes had yet another trap inside the sarcophagus, better safe than sorry. However, this time nothing happened and when Liam peeked inside, he knew why.

The sarcophagus was empty.

“What? This can’t be happening! It’s empty! That’s…that’s impossible!” Liam could not believe his eyes. There had to be a joke and he even reached inside to find a false bottom inside the sarcophagus but there was none. He lurched back and luckily managed not to trigger the spears again, even though Liam already felt like he had been speared. It had been months since he started to research the Emperor and Ferguson’s expeditions. Months full of dead ends and promising clues that almost always ended in yet another disappointment until he finally found that one trail that lead him to where he was now. And now it was yet another dead end? This was more than he could grasp. “It’s empty? So, this isn’t the right place?” Corey questioned hesitantly. Liam groaned and ran both hands through his hair while he paced back and forth. “It is the right place! This is the Emperor’s tomb, he is just not there!” “Do you mean somebody else got him and took him away?” That was Mason this time. Liam groaned again. “I don’t know! It seems unlikely. Must have missed something. But what did I miss? Where did I go wrong? Where was my mistake?”

He glared at the mural of the Emperor fighting another army. “What you’re looking at?” He barked at the stupid painted guy who – of course – didn’t answer. Liam’s glare intensified and if looks could kill, the wall probably would have exploded under the force of his scowl. He eyed the way the Emperor swung his word and looked at the enemies in his path. Stupid painting of a stupid guy with his stupid sword and his stupid horse and his stupid way of peering at… “What you’re looking at?” Liam asked again, less furious this time, and he stepped closer to the mural. The Emperor was not really looking at his enemies upon closer inspection, seemed to be looking over their heads. Liam followed his line of sight and turned around. He had expected the Emperor to eye his own sarcophagus but the angle was too far left for that to work. He peeked at a naked wall instead. Liam frowned. Either the creator of his mural had seriously been drinking while working or that had been intended. He slowly stepped closer to the wall and ran his hands over it. Aside from a small cleft in the wall, nothing too special. And yet Liam could not shake the thought the painting was a hint. He had always been one to listen to his instincts, his mom used to tell him it was one of his strongest traits and would lead him far in life, and while others saw it as impulsive and it sometimes got him into big trouble, Liam never let this trait get taken away from him. It had lead him to so many great things already in his life and so he grabbed his climbing axe and rammed it into the cleft. “Are you breaking things again?” Corey inquired when pieces of the wall crumbled loudly and fell to the floor but Liam refused to answer. He didn’t have to anyway, his friends knew him. He rather kept working on making the cleft bigger to see what was behind this wall.

And finally, it was big enough Liam could worm his way through. A quick first look behind the wall confirmed his suspicion, there was yet another chamber carefully hidden behind the first one. Liam slipped inside and waved some cob webs away. The second chamber was a lot smaller than the first one and way less splendid. Light only fell through small holes up in the otherwise rough stone wall of the mountain the whole tomb was hidden in. Left and right were some swords, shields, and armors placed, maybe once placed on wooden shelves which had fallen apart over the decades. And on the end of the chamber stood yet another sarcophagus, plain, made from simple wood and with artsy carvings but nothing compared to the gems and gold from the first. At first glance, this was probably a servant’s grave, buried with their master in the first chamber, a common practice for the Emperor’s followers as Liam knew. The weapons were probably belongings from the warlord once buried here, that’s what it looked like at least. Yet Liam didn’t let it fool him. He had tapped into the clever illusion at first as well but he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

“Whatever it is you found now, we’re losing you. The connection….” Mason’s voice had been distorted while he spoke and then failed altogether when the connection had been lost. Seemed like Liam was too far into the mountain. Well, the connection got lost sometimes, he didn’t really pay this too much mind at the moment.

He hurried over to the second sarcophagus instead (no trap this time, thank god) and pushed the lid aside. The stench of stale air and death erupted and Liam coughed and waved his hand to make the smell evaporate. He glanced inside the sarcophagus and this time he didn’t get disappointed. A skeleton lay there, with a large sword in his hands. The sword of the Emperor. “You sly bastard! Making everyone believe they found your grave when it’s just for the cover! Clever son of a bitch!” Liam smiled happily, excited at the aspect of finally finding what he had been looking for all these months. He pushed the lid further aside, eyes scanning the bones inside to find the Mirror of Origin.

And there was no mirror but what was there was some old document roll made from leather, created to protect important documents from wind and weather. Its brown-reddish color almost made it blend it with the dark color of the wood and Liam could imagine one was able to overlook it quite quickly when only looking for the sword or the Mirror. He reached for it and pulled the little roll out of its hiding spot next to the Emperor’s elbow. The roll was too young to be from the Emperor’s decade and the patterns on the roll itself also didn’t fit with the time so Liam guessed somebody had left it here later on. Maybe Ferguson? “If you send me on another journey around the globe I will scream,” he muttered and meant the late Arthur Ferguson, that one person who had started this whole adventure with his entries about the Mirror and the Emperor. Liam opened the roll and pulled the document out. It was handwritten in scrawly letters and Liam had a hard time making sense of the words itself. He sighed before he pulled out his flashlight and dropped on the ground, leaned against the sarcophagus, and began to read, the light from the flashlight a big help.

I found the Emperor’s grave. It took me such a long time, I can barely fathom the reality of it, even as I write these words. But it is there and this time it’s no lie. While I’m writing this, I’m looking at the bones of the once mighty man, surrounded by his wealth and belongings.

My journey has come to an end and I can finally rest. While I’m not as old to say dead is upon me, I am old enough to know I will never go on another expedition. It is time for me to return home and find my peace there. And it is time for me to be honest. As a young man, I aspired wealth and success, my measurements were the importance of my discoveries and the reputation I would gain from them. I aspired to find the Mirror of Origin and then the tomb of one of the biggest emperors. With all the knowledge I gained from books and my studies, I thought it would be easy, that I had the intellect to find what many before me failed to discover.

I was foolish.

My studies had led my on the right path, I came close to getting my hands on this powerful artifact; my mind set on all the notoriety it would gain me. I wasn’t prepared for all the gruesome things crossing my path. The horrors I encountered, I don’t wish them upon anybody else. There is something dark, something immensely powerful hidden in the ancient places back in Peru, a source of power defying all description. I don’t know if it is the Mirror itself or something guarding it, I never wanted to find out. While I was prepared for some difficulties during my travels, I wasn’t prepared for death and fear.

I lost men, I lost friends, I lost too much to ever consider the expedition a success. I may know where the artifact is hidden but I will be damned if I ever share it with anybody else. Upon leaving the jungle and all those terrible places, I made a decision. No one else should ever endure those horrors and so I lied. I told everyone I found the Mirror and brought it somewhere safe. It is the only way to make sure no one even ventures into the depth of the Peruvian Jungle in search for the Mirror of Origin.

The Emperor’s grave is hidden and so I’m leaving this here, hoping nobody will ever find it here and if they do, they will be bright enough to not go looking for the Mirror. To those reading this: Don’t do it. Stay away! Stay as far away from those damned places as you can. The seduction of wealth may be strong but you will lose too much to ever make it worth it. Be wiser than I was.

A.Ferguson

Liam felt like he was caught in a cosmic joke. He had read everything Ferguson had ever written and the main point in all of his notes had been him taking the Mirror of Origin and bringing it in his possession. And now he found out it had all been a lie? That old man was messing with him, right? Torn between screaming in anger and crying, Liam swallowed harshly. He hated the other with such a strong passion in this moment and had Ferguson not been dead since centuries, Liam would personally find him and kick his ass. All for wasting his time and fooling everyone for so long.

And yet…

A small part of Liam remembered how Ferguson’s notes had changed, slowly at first but then it got more and more evident. How he had turned into a nervous, paranoid mess and when Liam considered the dates, it had happened after his Peru expedition. Whatever the archaeologist had encountered it had mentally scarred him for life. So much, living a lie for the rest of his life had been the best option. Liam himself was still young but even he had already encountered enough to know there was more between the earth and the heavens that most people realized and believed and some of that shit was downright terrifying and bat-shit crazy. Had Arthur Ferguson encountered such a thing?

“Area all clear. Team 1 is in!”

The sudden voice ripped Liam from his thoughts and he jerked his head up. Four men, all dressed in tactical military gear and armed with machine guns, had stepped into the chamber, their flashlights attached to their guns and pointed at Liam. He had been so absorbed, he didn’t even hear them approaching. His right hand dropped to his side, ready to close around his pistol when one of the military guys tseked. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, kiddo.” He raised his gun, ready to shoot, and his team did the same thing. They were clearly not messing and while Liam knew he could fight, four guys with machine guns pointed at his head were too much to take. He still frowned and aimed his own flashlight at the guy who had spoken. “I’m no kiddo! Besides, you’re not much older than myself!” At least, given what he could see in the dim lighting. Fair skin, pale due to the light, stubbles adorning his strong jaw, and a fucking arrogant smirk on his face. Liam wanted to punch him for that smirk alone. Military guy raised one eyebrow. “Really? Sassing a guy pointing a gun at your head? That desperate to die?” “Tell us your name, civilian!” One of the other guys barked and Liam glared at him. “First name Go, last name Fuck yourself,” he hissed back. His inner Mason, the one Liam liked to call his very own Jiminy Cricket, facepalmed and muttered something about “Way to get shot.” But he hated people being rude towards him. And people pointing guns at him. Mix those two together and you got a combination Liam could absolutely not stand. The second guy growled and tightened his grip on his gun. “Wrong answer, fucker! I’ll ask a second time: Who are you?”

Their pleasant little chat got disturbed by a woman stepping into the chamber. Her outfit was more of an explorer than a military woman; from her black hair cut short in a neat bob, down to her perfect polished boots, she looked sophisticated and elegant. She looked around with a satisfied smile but when she spotted Liam, her lips formed an “oh”. “Liam Dunbar, I can’t believe it! Last time I saw you, it was just days after you were born. You have grown so much. And lord, you look so much like your mother.” He got that a lot and Liam himself had to agree, he had inherited his mother’s facial features, her nose and the curve of her lips. The only difference was his eye color, he had inherited his father’s blue eyes while hers had been grey. Still, it surprised him the stranger recognized that. “You knew my mother?” The lady nodded. “We have been friends. Not as close as we both would have liked due to our careers but we always enjoyed our time together. Oh, pardon, I completely forgot: My name is Vera.” She had walked over to him and now extended her hand for him to shake. Liam eyed her for a second, then her hand, and back at her face. “Your guys are still pointing guns at me. Who the hell are you people?” Vera looked at the military men. “Gentlemen, I think you made your point. Young Liam here surely is no danger. Thank you for your services.” She dismissed and they lowered their guns but stayed behind her, looking like some sort of bodyguards. Something inside Liam twitched. The young Liam part sounded motherly and he didn’t deal well with it. He decided to stay quiet, for now.  Vera meanwhile introduced the group. “We are called the Society of Insight, a very private group working in secret to ensure artifacts are rescued and either put out for people to admire them or stored away in safety to avoid them falling into the wrong hands. Basically, we’re doing the same thing you do, we’re just having a bit more manpower.” She laughed softly and patted his arm. “I cannot stress how honored I feel to work with you. Admittedly, I didn’t expect you to be here but now that you are, we have to make the best out of it. That’s my mantra, always making the best out of a situation,” Vera chirped and Liam would have not been surprised at all if she burst out in a happy little song right the next second, Disney style. She currently acted like the fairy godmother and he was not so sure what to make out of this. It surely was one of the most surreal encounters he ever had in a tomb. And he meet ancient mermaids once!

“Work with me? When did I agree to a cooperation?” He inquired and raised an eyebrow. Vera gave him a surprised look and then snickered at herself. “Right, right, I may have been getting a little ahead. But you are also looking for the Mirror of Origin, correct?” Liam narrowed his eyes slightly. It made sense he wasn’t the only one following Ferguson’s hints but that didn’t make it any better. He didn’t fully trust her or her organization. Given what he went through with his family, his mother dying in an accident when Liam had been nine and his dad getting shot when Liam had been twelve, and what he already experienced on his travels, his doubts were absolutely justified. On the other hand, she was a friend of his mother and seemingly someone his mother had trusted around her newborn son. And maybe, just maybe, Liam was too suspicious for his own good most of the time. Also, nobody said he had to tell her everything about himself, his hopes and dreams and deepest secrets, he could play it on a professional level. It was his business, after all. “I do, yeah.” He pointed at the sarcophagus. “But the Mirror is not here.”

They all looked stunned by that and Vera gripped her heart, as if she was having an attack. That woman seemed to like a scene. “I find that hard to believe,” the guy who had called Liam kiddo drawled and Liam’s glare shot daggers at him. It made him want to punch the guy for a second time today. “It’s true. Ferguson lied. It’s all in here!” He waved the document he had held in the same hand as the flashlight the whole time. The arrogant bastard narrowed his eyes at Liam but didn’t reach for the document. Vera was the one who held out her hand. “May I?” She asked softly and Liam handed it over. When he had the choice between her and the guys, he would always choose her. Now she read what Ferguson had confessed. “This is astonishing. He played so many people for all those years.” Liam nodded. “Whatever he witnessed in the jungle, it was enough to scare him so much he considered living a lie for the rest of his life worthy enough. And maybe it explains why he got so paranoid at the end of his life. Maybe the trauma finally caught up.” One of the men sneered. “What’s so scary in the jungle?” “Oh, I don’t know,” Liam replied coldly, “jaguars, traps, the whole nine yards. It is not unreasonable to be scared by that.” “I wouldn’t be scared at all,” the guy bragged and the one Liam had wanted to punch repeatedly sighed. “Shut the hell up, Donovan.” “Don’t tell me what to do, Raeken.” Ah, now Liam at least had a name for that one person who had belittled him. Didn’t make him any less of an asshole. Raeken now simply rolled his eyes at Donovan and then proceeded to ignore him.

“Anyway!” Vera called out and startled Liam. “Since we all fell for Ferguson’s constructed lies, we have to travel back to Peru and start there. Liam, dear, it would be an absolute pleasure if you would travel with us. You’re as brilliant as your mother, working with you would be an amazing opportunity.” He had worked with others before, Liam wasn’t completely antisocial just because he preferred dusty crypts over a raging club night, and maybe both sides would benefit from this cooperation. While Liam had traveled to Peru himself at the beginning of his studies on the Mirror, he had never really been able to get as deep into the jungle as Ferguson himself had been. He didn’t need to, had the guy stated he had taken the Mirror out of its hiding spot anyway. They already knew dangers were lurking, so maybe traveling there with an armed group of military men was a good idea. He nodded. “Sounds good.”

****** Liam pressed the phone against his ear and braced one arm on top of the machine while he waited for Mason to accept the call. The little airport they would board the plane to Peru from didn’t have much, but at least a phone with international reception. Finally, his best friend spoke. “Hello?” “Mase, it’s me.” “Holy shit, Lee, there you are! We were worried sick after we lost the connection. I’ll put you on speaker, Corey’s with me.” “Hey, Liam,” Corey greeted. “Hey. I’m sorry I worried you but you won’t believe what happened.” He launched into an explanation of what had transpired in the Emperor’s tomb and his friends let out sounds of wonder and surprise. When he ended, Liam heard the clatter of a keyboard. “Society of Insight, I will search for everything I can possible find and direct it at you,” Corey announced. “When you arrive in Peru, keep your GPS on so we have an idea where you are. You never know when you need support,” Mason told him. “Thank you, Cor. And, Mase, I will. Can you do me a favor though? Look through my mom’s old notes. Vera said they were estranged friends, maybe mom mentioned her.” “Sure, buddy. As soon as I find something I will forward it to you,” Mason promised his best friend. It was good to have a backup, even though they were not in the same country. “Thank you, both of you. I will contact you as soon as I can and fill you in with our process. Take care.” “Be careful,” Mason instructed him and Liam hung up.

He pushed himself off the phone and wiped the sweat from his brow. He hoped the plane was cooler than the airport hall. Liam rounded the corner and there leaned Mr. Smug Asshole himself against the wall. When the group had come close to the city, Vera’s group had changed from their strategical gear into tactical pants, plain t-shirts and black bomber jackets. Liam had wondered about the jackets at first but then realized they all had also switched guns and were now carrying semi-automatic pistols. The jackets were simply to cover the weapons. “What?” He spat out. Something about the guy made his blood boil. “I was looking for you. The plane is there, we all are there, only one missing is you. So, move your ass!” Raeken pushed himself off the wall and ignored the daggers Liam glared at him. “I’m not one of your team buddies, I won’t follow your commands. Especially not if you keep talking to me like that.” Raeken put both hands over his heart as if he was deeply hurt. “Oh, I am sorry, was that not posh enough for you? Let me try again. Moveth his figure towards the flying machine, young lad, before I will store my boot on his behind.” Liam blinked. “That…absolutely makes no sense. Did you try your hand at Shakespeare? Way off. Way, way off. Don’t try something you know nothing about.” “Oh, what? Think I never heard of Shakespeare before? Just because I’m not as snobby as you are, doesn’t mean I don’t know shit about literature.” “Does Vera know you’re charming like that?” Liam crossed his arms in front of his chest and gave him a rather unimpressed look. Raeken scoffed. “I have no idea what Vera sees in you but what I know is her inviting you to this expedition is a slap in the face of every working person and especially the ones in this society.” Now that irked Liam. “Why is that so?” He inquired. “Simple. I could literally go to any well-esteemed university with a good history program, throw a stone and hit at least five other guys like you. Entitled guys who think they’re the shit just because of who their parents are.” It made Liam bark out a laugh. “Me? Entitled?” “Oh, you’re not? Then tell me, what did you ever achieved for yourself? I know your mom, Ilona Geyer-Dunbar, I know her work. What have you ever done that can compete? Or even gets remotely close? The only thing you do is carrying the Dunbar name and spending your time crawling through some tombs, digging in the sand a bit, and thinking you’re it. Living your little Lara Croft fantasy. I doubt you ever led an expedition or even were part of one with a remarkable found.” Liam shrugged nonchalantly. “I found the Emperor’s grave.” “So did we and if it had not been for Vera, Donovan would have put a bullet through your head. So much for your discovery.” Maybe the guy was right but Liam would rather spontaneously combust than to admit that. If Vera had not appeared, he probably would be dead by now. He growled. “Bastard!” Raeken smirked amusedly. “Are you allowed to cuss, kiddo?” “Stop calling me that!”

“Theo! Can you and our guest please hurry? Vera wants to get to Peru as fast as possible!” One of the other guys from Vera’s team called out all of sudden and interrupted their argument.  Liam looked at the other guy and then back at Raeken. “So your name is Theo Raeken?” Theo simply shrugged. “Don’t wear it out.” Don’t worry,” Liam said dryly, “I think dickbag is a better name for you anyway.”

The Thiam Tomb Raider AU finally got off the ground. After I made this edit, I now finally found the time and motivation to start with this story. I am excited and since I’m currently replaying the last three Tomb Raider games I’m also very inspired. So I hope you liked the first chapter and are curious about chapter 2. Tell me what you think in the comments! 

Love you all!

[gatorademachinegun]

mermaids, men, and gators

working title: LMAOOOO WHAT IS A CONSTANT TENSE I DONT KNOW HER

notes: i wrote this back in september 2018 when my theme was the green gators blog but i was a chicken about posting it till right this second. so. have this i guess.

dedication: @xxsirensong both this and the entire green gator theme started with you Linda, ily

When you come to visit us down here in swampland, don’t go into the water. Don't go near it.

Stay with the people, on dry land, away from the Fishies.

That's what Old Uncle John will call them. Fishies. You'll know them by a different name, they're probably why you came down to visit if you're being perfectly honest with yourself. You came to see the Mermaids. Sirens. Fishies. They go by many names and if you follow the river down into the swamp you'll find them.

Gossamer and gorgeous, almost out of place in the dirty greens and grays of the swamp, but then again. You can only see half of them. Who knows what the delicate trail of teal green scales leads to other than the water.

Stay out of the water. You're too close already. A quick peak is all She'll allow. Better get out quick before one of your beauties signals for Her.

Old Uncle John has nothing good to say about Her.

"She's mean," he'll say, "She'd be prettier if she smiled but then you'd see the blood she's covered in!" the young ones don’t like stories about Her, but once Old John gets going.....

"Evil, she's pure evil. Nasty ass bitch never shoulda-" he'll stop here and rub at his bad eye, mangled under the too big sunglasses he wears. Someone bought him an eye patch for Christmas one year. He doesn’t use it.

If you probe for answers he’ll only get nastier, accent thickening like good white gravy until even Aunt Myra can’t understand anything other than the occasionally swear word. She’ll tell you to get him drunk and then ask. You make the mistake of taking her advice when you stumble back into town, muddy from the waist down and blabbering about mermaids.

A fifth of whiskey and a question about how to get the mud out of you jeans is all it takes to him talking. Asking you if you went down to that ‘damned swamp’ and following up with ‘you did dincha!’ complete with a swat to the head. Aunt Myra smiles in sympathy from the kitchen but doesn't step in. ‘You wanted this, remember?’ her eyes seem to say. You do.

A few hedged questions about his own jeans and then John’s eyes unfocus, lost in the past.

It starts with a pretty girl, as most of Old Uncle John’s stories do.

A pretty girl, a reckless boy and the swamp.

He sees her when he’s messing around with his friends in the creek, just a flicker of dark hair and a gentle laugh. Hushed whispers and some jostling gets his buddies to shut up long enough for them all to notice her, chest deep in the mud, smiling like it’s the last day of school.

They’ll ask if she’s stuck. She’ll move backwards in answers, the heavy mud parting like water for her. It’s in her hair. Johnny doesn't care.

He chases her, running, tripping in his haste, and falling with a wet splat while she laughs at him, low and loud. He’ll walk home muddy everyday if she laughs like that again. With a wink she stands and mud clings to a heavy, bare, chest.

Someone whistles behind him and moves closer. She does the same, something a little too sharp to be curious but a little to open to be menacing. Her eyes are as brown as the mud around them.

When she’s close enough Johnny goes cross eyed looking at her the world explodes with movement.

Someone's yelling, another’s got her by the arm, John’s got a handful of something he’s got no business touching according to his ma but his conscious quiets when they all collectively pull

She’s got a tail.

It’s twice as big around as Johnny is, even with the bulk football gave him, and covered in mud, moss, and shimmering green scales so dark they’re almost black.

Then she snarls, claws a good hunk of meat off of John’s face and rips whoever’s got her arm, shoulder right out of its socket.

They’ll find Johnny sobbing into the mud a while later, hands clapped to his face, blood running down his arms, no mermaid in sight.

When he comes back to himself, back to Old Uncle John and away from Young Little Johnny he’ll rip that second fifth outta you’re fingers and down half it in one go.

That’s all you get out of him that night.

Aunt Myra doesn't look sad when you glance up at her, she’s angry.

You wonder if this is the first time she’s heard about how her husband got his scar

When you ask Freddy, who’s across the street and weak in his shoulder, about it he’ll spit between your shoes and say some impressively unprintable things.

“You leave that gator and that witch alone boy you hear!” he’ll jam a finger into your chest until you have a bruise and are nodding frantically.

You lied to him

The gator piece is new. Aunt Myra shakes her head and tells you Fred went mad a long time ago but the little kids giggle and tell you that the gator shoots a gun.

When you point out that gator’s can't shoot guns Chrissy, the oldest of them all at the ripe old age of 6, will laugh and say “Neither can you!” before running off.

She’s got a point.

Also, mermaids are real. Why can’t gun shooting gators be too?

Your best friend laughs when you tell him. “Mermaids and gun slinging gators? The humidity is getting to you man! Better come home before your brain melts entirely!”

You’ll hang up on him, the asshole.

A picture you decide, milking a glass of orange juice Aunt Myra doesn't know you spiked, get a picture of the mermaids avoid whichever one fucked Uncle John’s face, and become famous for it.

You might have had a little too much of that orange juice.

Strapped into borrowed waders that are too big for you, phone in hand, you’ll be hip deep in mud with a half a mind to quit when you’ll see them.

They’re further in than last time, pushed up on a bank of semi dry sand, speaking in a language you don't realize. You’ve got an eye full of bare skin in long lean lines, that fades into delicate scales until their the size of your palm and colored the same as the marsh plants you fought through to get here.

You’ll barely unlock your phone when one of them sees you and flicks her tail up, sending mud flying. It’ll land dead in front of you, splattering up into your face, and slicking your phone.

By the time you get it out of your eyes, a scaled nose is peeking up from the water, dead in front of you.

Everyone knows, everyone is taught what those are. Gator.

It’s been too long since you’ve visited though, and the lessons are dull in your mind. Do you run? Stay put? Scream?

The decision will be taken from you when She arrives.

You know immediately it’s Her. the one who fucked Old Uncle John’s face.

Hand prints brand her bare chest, a shade of sickly green almost the exact size of your own hand on her breast, you’re only a little older than Uncle John was, you realize with a start.

Another is branded around her upper arm, the same shade of green that makes every buried instinct in you scream of sickness and pain and you have the overwhelming urge to vomit.

She’ll stop you, the murky water and mud parting easily for her, and she’ll grip your jaw in one hand, looming over you.

The gator moves to the side, but you’ll feel it’s breath on the side of your exposed neck, the only think you can focus on whole She yells at you in a language you have no hope of ever understanding.

When She’s done, brown eyes narrowed in rage, you’ll notice the gator skin on her shoulders. Stitched into her flesh, with heavy thread, an armor leading down her back. To where you can't see, head still pulled into an unnatural angle, her grip on your jaw ever tightening with your staring.

Finally She’ll let you go, but Her gator stays, breathing on you with it’s too big nostrils, looking almost gleeful when you spare a glance to check its location. Chrissy will be disappointed you didn't see its gun.

If you survive this that is.

When She drops you, and She will, for not even the merfolk can yell forever, you’ll flounder for balance, Her steady weight gone, no longer holding you up. You hadn't realized you’d slumped into her grip.

She’ll catch you, steady you, but it’s with the prong of a pitchfork. The metal is cold against your back and she’s sneering, lips pulled back to reveal pointed teeth and a algae green tongue that darts out to taste the air.

You are in no position to wonder about snake mermaids in the swamps, because she’s got her pitchfork in your face, one tip indenting the flesh of your cheek. The same spot Uncle John has his scar.

She’ll see the fear flash in your face because her next move is a jerk of the tines, making a shallow cut on your face. It burns the way cuts do when you get dirt in them and your eye will water from the sting of it.

“Never. Again.” She’ll say in careful English, then again in Spanish because you actually paid attention in that class and again in another language, changing each time but the same two words.

She punctuates each languages change with a jab to your chest, ripping your borrowed waders and your shirt until you're back into the river proper, gator still swimming idly beside you.

When she pulls back something ripples behind her, heavy and green.

“Gator,” you breath and glance down at your unwanted buddy. No scales are missing from his hide but that is unmistakable gatorskin that flows from her shoulders. The stitching……

She wields a pitchfork, stands tall on her tail, wears a cape of alligator hide and protects the way she was never protected. Hand prints mar her skin, sickly against smooth flesh and she doesn't cover them, her cape is her only kind of clothing and you’re still not sure if her gator companion wields a gun or not.

You know when you’re not wanted enough to leave before you find out

Aunt Myra scolds you for leaving like that and ripping a good pair of waders but won't hear anything about mermaids or alligators.

Your best friend thinks it’s the funniest shit when you call him, crowing about humidity and going crazy. You don't hang up, but you touch the cut on your cheek, and the scraps on your chest. You’re not crazy.

You leave shortly after that, mad that you’re phone is ruined no good pictures at all, a wasted trip. Your mad about Her roughing you up, mad about that damn gator who shoots better than you do.

Old Uncle John has a drink with you before your drive back home, and both of you are muttering about ‘damn Fishies’ before the bottle is even halfway gone.

.

.

.

Across the swamp, across the sea, She sighs and stitches another scale into her cape. Humans will never learn to leave well enough alone. They will never understand Her pain.

The butt of her pitchfork slams against the riverbed rhythmically, calling.

As the water around Her ripples she sets aside her needle and rises, watching Her Sisters rally to her cry

Since they do not learn, they will drown.

And the Waters will be all the better for it

[thatonecomicgirl]

Marvel Fic Recs

Gonna keep this going over time as I find new ones, but here’s a compilation of ones from my bookmark list. Read tags when you get there; I’m not responsible if you continue to read something marked with stuff you don’t like! I’m a multishipper and like variety, so it’s not all going to fit in one box. 

Chiaroscuro - Photographer!Peter Parker asks Wade for some help for a project. 

“Peter needs to take a good picture for a college course photography assignment, but can't, for the life of him, find a decent subject, and time is running out. It's a good thing Wade is willing to lend a hand (or, rather, another part of his anatomy).Pure fluff: definitely not half as dirty as that last sentence would have you believe.“

--Yeah I can’t help but love Photographer!Peter and fluffy Spideypool so

Ghost Stories - Steve doesn’t take off the Winter Soldier’s mask. He helps anyway. 

“Steve doesn’t like bullies, on principle. It's less about justice, or decency, or righteous indignation; more about the look in the eyes of the people getting stepped on, the people getting trampled, the people getting lost.So it cuts all the deeper, when Steve recognizes strength, precision, endurance, capacity: sees the pieces of himself not born but made, reflected in this body, this person, this weapon: the Winter Soldier.It slices through Steve’s soul when he returns the Soldier's gaze, and reads the only thing that lives in the deadness that pervades behind those irises in the night.It’s not You can’t beat me.It’s more You can’t stop them.“

--GORGEOUS okay? It’s wonderful? Stucky oriented, super interesting, and the ending just. Ugh. So well written. 

Ain’t No Grave (Can Keep My Body Down) - The Winter Soldier recovers (sort of) and illegally adopts two kids with Steve.

“It's six in the morning, and Steve is heading out on a run when he nearly trips over a bouquet of sunflowers on the front steps of his brownstone.

For a second paranoia takes over, and he kicks the flowers a little, waiting for them to explode. They don't. They also came with a card, which he picks up. The front of the card has a tasteful picture of the Brooklyn bridge at sunset. It's very nice and sedate, like the kind of card you would buy to give to your boss. On the inside someone has written a short message in big, shaky block letters.

I AM SORRY FOR SHOOTING YOU.

Steve sits down hard on the steps.”

--I read this forever ago and could not for the life of me find it again until recently. Bucky has so many ups and downs and craziness happens. It’s blunt, beautiful, and dark and rough where it needs to be. So so good. 

For the Life, For the Day, For the Hours - Killmonger Lives Series

“If it were up to you, you would’ve been out of your rooms and on the move the minute you were able. Cell? Room? Whichever, doesn’t make much difference in the end, does it.Bad enough waking up in the first place, after you said, you said— But it shouldn’t be that much of a surprise. Shouldn’t be a shock to find the lord high king of wherever doing whatever the fuck he wants, even if you didn’t already know that’s already the basis for Wakandan international and domestic policy. Kind of makes it worse waking up with only a memory of pain, and when you pull up your shirt to look, there’s barely even a scar to mark the occasion of that one time you decided you were ready to die. Definitely makes it worse that you’re pretty sure T’Challa thinks he’s doing you a favor.“

--Okay don’t be put off by the second person because this series is freaking gorgeous and if BP didn’t already make you somewhat sympathize with Erik then this will put you in his head and when he has to deal with Avengers he’ll just feel like he’s tripping so

despite the threatening sky and shuddering earth (they remained)  - So freaking good

““They really didn’t want the mask to come off.” Hill thumbed through the scans, and pulled out a film that she then handed over to Sam, face mostly expressionless but for the flat line of her pursed lips.

Sam accepted the film and held it up to the light, angling so both he and Steve could see it, squinting at the outline of the Winter Soldier’s skull, and the blips of unnatural white that showed up, God, in his brain, not to mention about half his teeth, plus the mask, with its thin protrusions—

“Those are pins,” Steve realized. He looked over at Hill. “The mask—it’s nailed to his face.”

Hill’s face was as unmoved as ever. “Like I said. They really didn’t want it coming off.”“

--AAAAH so so so good. Steve takes in the Winter Soldier, not knowing it’s Bucky (because mask nailed into skull) and it turns out Steve is plenty traumatized too by the whole situation, and Sam Wilson is a blessing to all. READ IT.

(I’ll add more in reblogs later)

[satire-please]

My Teeth are like Swords - Part 2

Summary: (I’m tired and can’t transfer this in a way to keep my italics in dang it.) Tim is a detective...who lives with detectives. The other Bat's start noticing something different about one of their own. And Tim realizes that he can't hide forever.

Part 1

Dragon Tim on Ao3

Like finding gold dust on a blood moon, there are times Tim will hear about his Mother. It’s difficult to encounter another drake, they’re too rare, too widely spread that it’s a miracle that Tim has met two. But it’s always a surprise to hear that Janet Drake is considered a romantic, sentimental imbecile to other dragonfolk.

To mate with a human is one thing, but to shift and willingly live beside them in their pitiful metal ant hills? Preposterous.

And to carry young on that state? Inside of their own bodies instead of in a proper shell as hard as diamonds? Unheard of.

What foolish unnecessary risks.

Tim felt his core bubble in warmth whenever he hears such slander. That Mother would care that much. Once, he did approached her on the subject.

“I spent many centuries as a upstanding, model drake.”Janet sniffed disdainfully, steering Tim from a fuming man at one of Gotham’s many galas. The drake from the east is starting to show, smoke passing from his nose uncontrollably. How embarrassing, her Timothy showed more restraint when he was three. “Now I find it much more valuable of my time to do as I please. Besides, the fact remains that my line will continue to endure and adapt unlike most bloodlines that will taste stone and dust.”

Tim summed it up to, ‘I do what I want. Leave me alone or burn.’

She glanced behind her to give the man a subtle sneer. What a fool to think that she would accept such an inadequate betrothal for her son. And, to add insult to injury, the man’s daughter hadn’t even bothered to present herself. “A dragon is a dragon, Timothy. It doesn't matter if you are half, a quarter or only possess a single drop of our blood. Magic doesn't care. It will still take, you will still shift, you will still fly. And if those incessant pathetic hair ribbons say anything different, show them there are still ways to make a dragon fry.”

Tim loved his Mother.

It’s...a shame he’s the only one who knew how she died.

And it wasn’t from that stupid water Obeah left, no matter how traditional to dragon slaying poison is. True it weakened her to the point of inducing a death-like coma, but if Tim lifted an eyelid the iris would still flash and respond. If Tim pressed his hand to her chest, he’d still feel the hint of fire tucked within.

Robbing the cemetery had been a pain though. It’s not like he could just tell Dad that, ‘Um hey, mother’s not dead. No, I know she seems like she’s dead. Yes, I know she doesn’t have a pulse, but you see–’

Yeah, not happening.

He abused his connections for a nice cave carved out of the cliff face next to the manor. It’s not like Mr. Wayne was using it. It could be accessed from the rocky beach if necessary, the entrance tight until you were a couple meters in. Then it stretched enough for his mother’s body to shift unconsciously, so the dragon could heal and sleep in peace.

Tim had thought it was perfect.

It didn’t matter much in the end.

Not when Mother finally woke and could smell Tim’s lie about Dad. Not when she stopped eating. The young teen would find, hunt, and drag dead deer and antelope into the cave only to rot around her body as she stared emptily at the stone walls. She waited for death. Nothing could change her mind...no matter how much he begged and pleaded.

“Please!” He stroked her rough eyelid, thoughts racing for any excuse for her to stay with him. To not leave him alone. “Isn’t there something you still have to teach me?”

His hand falls away as a lazy violet eye cracks open. It’s bigger than his head and the pupil focuses so achingly slow. “You’ve known all since you turned twelve, my pet. Our race never repeats themselves, not with memories like ours.”

“B-But I need–”

“You have my hoard, you will not go without means. You have my brain, you will do well and even thrive. You have a territory, a perfect environment for your future form and most of all you possess a purpose to keep your heart beating. Even if it is as ridiculous as looking after those silly humans. I am satisfied...now let me die in peace.”

“No please, m-mother, stay with me.”

“Oh, my darling. One day you will understand. Our love...is a terrible thing.”

And with that she stopped responding. Tim reasoned, screamed, cried while the reflection of his distraught face became clear in those unblinking glassy eyes. His throat raw as he hit and scratched uselessly at the black scales going grey, like the ashy rock dripping behind them until the camouflage of her skin was truth and she was stone.

Like all dragons when they die.

That’s how Timothy Drake inherited Gotham, sobbing on his knees as the refuge became a crypt.

It takes several years before Tim raids another grave...his father’s.

After all, Mother would appreciate his skeleton crystallizing next to hers. She would have liked that.

Timothy still loves his Mother.

**

It's a slow night and Jason’s gonna explode. He's stopped four muggings, seven car thefts, and a couple of kids trying to make a molotov cocktail. Okay, Jason felt bad at stopping the last one, come on what is he turning into? A twitchy cop? Geez, let kids be kids and fuck the police. He’s about to shoot his own damn foot for some excitement when he sees something in the corner of his eye as he hits the next roof.

Oh-ho? In the curve of hanging gargoyles menacingly scowling at those is a hint of red that tugs a smirk on Hood’s lips.

Replacement.

Well, alright, he hasn't meant that name in a bad way for a while. It's not like Jay wants to carve a new one in Mr. Serious anymore. Sure, he’s an annoying prude with the biggest stick up his ass, hangin’ off Bats’ every word like the good guard dog, the good tool he is, but, hey, he ain't a bad guy. Saved Jay from enough pinches that he feels right and guilty about the whole almost bleedin’ him out thing. So he makes it up the only way he can..with tough love. Plus, the more Jay can shake that Babybird nice and loose, the better. He takes in the former Robin’s figure, how he’s hunched in upon himself. His head of black resting on his knees as the crouch tucks him right under one of the silent stone guardians.

Babybird snoozing on the job? Have some shame.

Not that Jay has any of that. He barely stops himself from snickering, giving himself away when the helmet goes static for it, and creeps closer. Close enough to get the best view of the little shit’s face. It takes a Bat to sneak up on a Bat, you know. A grin spreads wide on his cheeks as he pulls his gun from his holster (it’s only rubber bullets now, calm the fuck down) Then, he aims to the sky and fires.

The crack of the bullet gives Jay the most beautiful flinch and jerk you ever did see–

Boom.

–but the returning blast of burning hot possible death that floods the ledge is not.

It takes every scrap of speed he has to not singe his fucking eyebrows off. It’s more fire than force, but thank Batman for quick reflexes and the tell tale click near Red.

“What the hell, Babybird?” Smoke billows, curling around the two and Jason coughs, waving his arms madly.

“I could say the same for you, asshole.” In the black mess, a spark sputters between Tim’s teeth, just like an annoying lighter that flickers and hurts your thumb the more you try, as he tries to control his shaky breathing. Inhale. Damn, that really startled him. Exhale. His fangs sink into his lower lip, drawing blood over the rude awakening. He shakes his head like a dog, forcing what was sharp canines into blunt square human teeth. “Gunshot really? Gosh, you always have to be a dick, don’t you?”

“Do you always have to throw something flashy when ya wake up? Ain’t that Robin’s way?” Jason brushes his clothes, disgruntled. He didn’t see a flash grenade or anything, but Bats right? More prepared than a Girl Scout.

“Maybe.” Tim wonders how long he’s going to get convenient excuses.

“What? Ya sleep with them or something? Didn’t know ya needed a teddy bear, Replacement.”

Tim smirked, “Oh, come on, Hood, didn’t you learn to let sleeping dragons lie?”

“Ha, ha. Whatever, call it a night, you pyromaniac piece of shit.” Jason puts his gun away and fishes for a peace offering under his collar. He thrusts the white cigarette at the other, “Smokes?”

“Not right now, Hood.”

“Your loss, Replacement.” Jason lights it, dragging a puff to cover up a pout. Hmpf, stuffy princess. Doesn’t drink with him (I’m not legal to drink, Jason). Never smokes with him (We have set an example to Damian, Jason). Jay should be offended cause nowadays Tim carries the hazy scent round like a club’s perfume and Jay knows he’s hiding the good stuff somewhere.

He’s just never seen Tim do it.

Tim observes the turn of Jason’s mouth and jerks his head towards the street below, “Not smokes, but you hungry enough for hotdogs?”

“This is Gotham, baby, when I am ever not down for hotdogs?”

The two shoot their grappling lines towards a vendor who’s too used to this shit to give one. But as Tim rattles off their order, something itches at Jason. Something that’s off.

(The Gargoyle they left above bares new marks along its side. The side that Jason couldn’t see. They were not chiseled in, but Tim is sure most wouldn’t notice the new additions.)

Whatever.

He’ll figure it out.

**

Timmy’s been sleeping more.

Dick is so grateful he wipes at an imaginary tear, sniffs, and whips out his phone to snap a picture again. Tim doesn’t snore, but that’s definite drool on his chin, nicccccccce. Dick takes in the scene and gets another shot from a different angle. He almost has a full album now titled, Behold the Cryptid Sleeps, it’s only fair after all the pictures Tim took of them when he was their cutest little stalker. For now, Dick just calls it karma and texts Babs to back the good stuff up.

But, okay, Dick admits it’s starting to get weird.

And Timmy’s sleeping habits have always been weird. Before he had stolen Bruce’s crown and title of Sleep Dep King. Working on case after case, day after day only to finally pass out, usually with something like,

“How many days does it take to start hallucinating again, Bruce?”

“...Three.”

“Huh, so that’s why you’re purple with seven eyes.”

It usually takes a lot to get Timmy to crash and burn into a bed, usually (always) in the form of Alfred and good food laced with sedatives. It’s not that Timmy doesn’t know that they’re in the food, it’s just that no one says no to Alfred Pennyworth. No one.

But now it’s like Tim is on an egg timer and it’s wonderful.

After about 24 or 26 hours, against his will, Timmy starts swaying on his feet and lurches grumpily towards a safe, soft spot to snooze. True, Dick notes sometimes they’re odd places, like underneath the desk of the bat computer, nestled in much of the wiring. Or head resting on the kitchen table, his angry eyes drooping with, “I don’t understand. Coffee has failed me, Alfred.”

“Our bodies change over time, Master Timothy. One cannot expect caffeine to sustain them forever.”  

“You’re...lying. You did something to the coffee, admit it!”

“I have not...this time.”

“You must have I...can’t even–” But Tim doesn’t get to finish the response.

“Master Dick I believe Master Timothy needs to be escorted to his room. If you would–” Alfred leaves the sentence open, because anytime Dick can hold an unconscious, not struggling brother? You know he’s all over that.

Bruce has even started to prioritize breaks in the patrol schedule for Tim. Or, to be more accurate, he’s encouraging (enforcing) Tim to use the breaks that have always been there.

But…really the switch in the dynamic is kinda odd, especially when Dick finds Tim on one of the Manor’s couches after patrol, his skin paler than milk and shivering in his sleep. When the room is set to 75 degrees….and he’s under at least five blankets.

Dick pads over and cups the younger vigilante face in two hands. “Holy Batman, Timmy, you're as cold as ice.” His brow furrows when Tim barely responds to the statement, his eyes half open to blurrily peer at Dick. That’s not a good sign. Plus, he’s is not kidding. Tim’s skin is cool to the touch, it could compete with one of the dripping stalagmites in the cave.

“S’cold Dick…and tired.” The words push out of his lips clumsily. He raises his arms to grasp the Dick’s wrists as if he was going to push the hands off his cheek and then just forgot. The heat’s too inviting. “Just need sleep, m’fine.”

“I think you're a liar that lies, Babybird.” Dick leans back only to pull the covers off enough to slip beside Tim onto the couch. He tugs the boy in with an arm until Tim's head finds a comfy spot on his shoulder. Heck yeah, it's cuddle time. The best way to share body heat ever. He looks around the den and sees the remote for the T.V. It takes a few tries to stretch in a way to get it, especially without moving too far from Tim, but Dick’s not an acrobat for nothing.

Tim huffs a weary laugh against Dick’s neck, “Well, I'm the guy that lies to Batman, you know.”

“Shhhhhhh, he’ll hear you.” Dick pats Tim’s hair, starts clicking channel after channel (a thousand channels is just not enough) for something to watch.

“M’good, you can go.” Tim didn’t expect it would take so long for his core to normalize. Fire might smoulder under his breast, but damn it, it’s sucking most of the heat from his extremities. To his calculations, it may be months before his body can adjust to the change...if ever. Tim can already imagine the mountain of clothing he’ll need for Gotham’s winter. Mother got away with it by layering and calling in fashion. How is Tim going to spin it when he’s jumping off roof-tops fat with every wool item he can find? Oh. Or he could design heaters in his clothing. That could work. But still, this is the reason why most drakes live near volcanoes. Temperature regulation is a bitch.

Dick hums above him and breaks Tim’s line of thought. Oh well, he guesses he’ll stay here for a bit longer, just until he thaws out and stops being an Tim-icicle. It’s not that Dick minds, right? He fades away at the sound of a bad romantic comedy playing in the background.

He doesn’t see the frown on Dick’s face.

Or hear him quietly whisper into his com, “Alfred, could you run some tests for me?”

**

Alfred would have a conniption.

“Drake, you wretched slob.”

Damian must see to it that the competent butler never visits the former Robin. Ever. The man is old and truly must be spared from any health issues that may occur from witnessing this vile display of chaos. In fact, Damian wishes he could spare himself from the scene, yet Father did request him to fetch the evidence and Dick is off planet. How dare he.

Damian squints pass the entrance only to flinch back. There in the dark, two pinpricks of purple follow his every move...and hiss.

The Robin swallows and forces the door open all the way, allowing the dim light from the basement to flood the room. There are no light switches. It’s...odd. The boiler hums nearby explaining the heat that’s almost sweltering. Heaps of objects litter the floor, making narrow pathways here and there. Fortunately, food must be absent in the debris since the smell lacks rot. Instead what perfumes the air is what Damian associates with his predecessor, the smell of spices burned with a touch of something chemical. Gasoline, perhaps? Damian’s breathing finally evens out when he spots a mess of black hair poking out from a mountain of bedding.

Blearily, Tim focuses on the intruder. “Damian? What are you doing here?” he sleepily grumbles.

Though Grayson might find the tone endearing, Damian does not.

“I have come for the Spear of Enue. Father requires it and has requested me to retrieve it from you. He said it was in your possession?”

“B needs to leave my stuff alone.” Tim sits upright, staring emptily for a moment and clearly displeased about being awake. Then, with a groan he sluggishly works himself out of the bedding. “But a case is a case, I guess. Yeah, I have it, just give me a sec to get it.”

“The spear is here?”

A hum. “Sure, it is, why wouldn’t it be?”

Well, at least Drake seems more amenable when half-awake. Robin crosses his arms and strives not to look too haughty. Usually collecting data from the older vigilante takes more coaxing (threats) and persuasion (heavy bickering) to get the desired result. Perhaps he should lend his assistance.

“Drake, where are your lights? Two pairs of eyes would obviously be quicker than one.”

“Lights?” A confused tone. “Why would I need lights? I can see just fine.”

“Tch, I’m surprised you can locate anything in this outrageous dump.”

“Mother always said I was a messy hoarder, but I have a strong belief that mess is a matter of perspective. Besides, I know exactly where everything is.”

Tim slinks out of bed and makes his way toward a pile that seems to have earned the category of lethal and shiny weapons. Damian attempts to move towards the same direction, but his foot hits an item and he just manages to make the trip look intentional. Of course, Drake was not even looking. Wait.

“Drake, is that my katana?” He points to the hilt barely poking out from the bottom, half of the weapon slithering from under the bed.

It’s a silly habit that Tim can’t shake from childhood to put the most prized things under his bed, like the old cardboard box full of pictures, a few stacks of spanish golden doubloons marked from a toddler’s teething, a cursed ruby the size of a skull, you know the usual.

“...Yes?” Tim’s head bobs up from his search and glances over at the weapon. Then, he pauses for a moment or two, his expression shifting so fast (Mine, not mine, mine, not mine) that Damian cannot place it, “Oh, sorry. I guess you’d want that back. I mean, of course you do, it belongs to you, I only had it because you were gone and–”

Drake cuts off, making no movement towards the old katana. Damian reasons it must have been acquired while he was not among the living. He doesn’t know how to feel about Drake keeping that kind of memento, yet he notes there is a definite lack of rage that usually accompanies such a theft. In addition, Drake looks like a petulant child.

“It does not matter. I no longer require a child’s katana.” Damian waves a hand to the other heaps. “The spear, however, Drake, Father needs immediately.”  

“Right.”

It is then he notices Drake’s unusual attire. The vigilante groggily separates the pile for what Damian seeks in boxers and a baggy Gotham U sweatshirt that keeps sliding over a white shoulder. How peculiar, Drake never went to college so why...ah, yes, Dick. But what really has Damian’s brows rising is the two thick watches on Tim's wrist. One that he's definitely seen on his father once before and a glint of something shiny peeking from the sweatshirt.

“Do you often sleep in diamonds, Drake?”

“They're nice to look at before bed,” Tim muttered absentmindedly.

“Is that a slogan for this new fashion statement?” Damian walks over and curiously pulls down the collar to look at it more closely. Many of the gems are larger than an egg as they lace together in the metal filigree. It covers a wide band over Drake’s collarbones before cascading towards his sternum in delicate chains. “This piece is familiar to me. Drake, are these the jewels we recovered from Catwoman?”

“One, I demand the fundamental human right to always be pretty, witty, and gay. You’ll understand when you’re older. Two, I bought these from that auction fair and square, so Selina should have keep her mangy paws off them.”  

Suddenly, Damian remembers that specific tackle to take down the thief had been...more enthusiastic and vicious on Drake’s part. Usually Father is the one to handle any incidents with her, but perhaps all it takes is emotional investment to pin down the slippery woman.

Tim pries off Damian’s fingers only to press what he seeks in them. “Here, the spear. Now, get out. If you’re gonna mock and insult me, I want four more hours of sleep first.”  

The spear is heavy, but Damian manages with a tilt to this lips. “Very well, I’ll skin and eviscerate you later, Drake.”

Drake snorts. “And, hey, you have a spear and everything. All you have to do is be knighted and we’d have the perfect fairytale set up. Farewell, Sir Brat.” He waves to the door before collapsing onto the bed, preparing his nest the way he wants it.

Damian watches the ritual all the way to the door. Stops to take in the scene one a final time. It’s strange, but it does seem like a lair from one of his grandfather’s monster stories. Dark, warm like a breathing thing, full of hidden treasure...and danger.   

How right he is.

But he comes to the realization later...much later.

**

Bruce has seen a lot.

He’s fought aliens on ships millions of lightyears from Earth and tangled with kraken under the sea. He’s negotiated with Circe for Diana’s sake and fed viruses to ruin robot armies for Clark’s. He’s handled witches, sorcerers, and time-travellers from around the world. Every night he tries to plug one of Gotham’s bleeding holes as they gush out the vile and the crazy with the Joker, Ivy, Harvey, and more.

Bruce has seen a lot.

But the universe keeps surprising him one way or another. And sometimes? Closer to the heart then he expected.

“So, you’re the drake that rejected my proposal.”

“And you’re the dame that didn’t even bother to show up to make it.”

Bruces eyes flicker back and forth between his third son and the young, literally steaming woman in front of them. Her pale white hair whips behind her like something alive. The villain of the month does the same. Apparently, Gotham has the perfect waterfront property for the taking, especially with the leyline that cuts right through the city or so the warlock just finished monologuing about.

“What are you doing? I said destroy them.” The fuming sorcerer demands pointing at the Bat-clan. Golems rise in various stages around them being the only opponents beyond the man and woman. They’re all near the Manor by the beach, a few miles from the city but even with the home field advantage...Bruce feels a thread of concern to see Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian joining him to put their backs against the cliff face below his family home.

“Just a moment, Master, I have some unfinished business to attend to.” The woman raises a hand and starts to undo her cloak.

“Master? My, my.” Tim flicks his bo to the side. It’s not going to be useful here. Ugh, this is not how he wanted this to go. “Just how low has your line fallen? Mother was right to refuse to even consider you as a candidate. Do you follow his every command or do you just lick his boots?”

“How. Dare. You.” The woman’s eyes glow yellow and her voice’s pitch becomes grating.

Tim snorts. “Look at you. You can’t even control your shift….pathetic.”

“Red Robin, the situation, now.” Bruce tries striking another golem, but Tim ducks to put himself between the Bats and the newcomers.

“You judge me, when you wear human flesh so much that you stink of it? Your true scent barely bleeds through.” The odor of rancid sulfur strikes the air. The woman peels off her clothes, layer by layer until a pile litters the sand. “Half-breed.”

Rude. The human and dragon are both his scents. Tim thinks he smells fine, thanks.

“I said–” The villain tries to command but the dame strides towards Red Robin.

“How are you different from me? The warlock will save my line and give us power, but you? You play at human.”

“I do what I want,” Tim icily states. “Which is more that I can say for you. Now get out of my territory or burn.”

“No, I think I’m going to put a male in his place. Beneath me.” And the woman lets out a cry that turns into a roar. The other Bats watch as the woman’s form hutches over, makes a terrible crack and then grows. And grows. And grows. Scales take shape as her neck elongates and it’s sickening. Before them a white dragon rises and crashes a claw on the beach. It’s the size of a house.

‘Well…’ Bruce thinks. ‘That’s something new.’

“A dragon, come on. You have to be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” Jason snarls, shooting at the beast. The rubber bullets do nothing but irritate the overgrown Godzilla-wanna-be.

“Wait, it gets better,” Tim mutters. “So, burn it is. This is why we can’t have nice things between dragons. What a pity...bring it.”

And there is a collective gasp.

Because Tim smirks and the beach is overcome with a violent blast. When the smoke clears...there’s nothing?

Nothing but the golems on the beach, the Bats fighting them and the warlock hissing out commands to a white giant worm, who is diverting much from his cunning plan.

But no Tim.

The white dragon shrieks in fury and raises her giant wings, preparing to crush those on the sand when something large slams into her side. She lurches over and peers over her shoulder. Nothing. But several of her scales are cracked from the impact.

Then, it’s as if thunder booms right in front of them, making their eardrums ring from the force of the sound. Under the blow, the white worm topples forward attempting to steady herself.

It’s shadowy and massive, a heavy body and the thumping beat of wings. It’s slowly moving into the moonlight on the beach, kicking up sand.

The Bats shields their eyes even with the whiteouts down, the gust knocking into kevlar and nomac. Nightwing automatically throws an arm out to keep Robin from falling; Hood makes an unconscious grab to the other arm.

And when he lights down, massive razor-tipped claws digging into the sand, the black scales and shiny leather of wings give the Bats one hell of an answer to all those burning questions.

Timmy’s always cold.

The cave, the hoard.

The night vision.

The ever-ready exploding “pellets”.

All of it comes to a sudden dawning realization.

The baddie of the night looks from one dragon to the other, trepidation leaking in because who would have thought two dragons at once.

Low muttering, winding a spell even as the new dragon throws back his power neck and roars. It shakes them down to their very bones, a sound unlike any they’ve heard before.

The shift of muscle, dark eyes narrowing, and the first lunge is punctuated by the abrupt cries of the Bats who have come to the realization this is one of their own.

But there’s no pause when claws come up to strike, when the first is a good one, raking into his side, putting his first blow into soft underbelly, close to the intended target.

(Only one way to kill a dragon, the heart has to go.)

“Motherfuck--Tim!” But Hood can do nothing but watch the blood, ripe and rich in the night splatter the beach, hoping stupidly it ain’t all Red’s.

“Get to the sides!” the Batman roars, already moving, already reaching for the next weapon in his belt.

He sees the opening when both dragons rear up on hind legs for the next blow, his gauntlet spitting out flash pellets.

It’s go time as the rest of the Robins take it all in and move. Robin pulls a duck and dodge through legs with a batarangs ready for the baddie on the other side.

Hood pulls a whole lotta how ya’ doin’ when the .45s spit a few rubber bullets right on the gouge marks, sliding through the sand as the bigger dragon leans down to latch teeth into Tim’s neck and hold the fuck on.

Nightwing leaps, even with the sand trying to bog him down, both sticks out in a double blow at the exposed weakness behind the white dragon’s ear. He has enough time to cringe at the sound of pain tearing into the night, to see the gleam of claws sinking into her belly in a knee-jerk reaction.

The fight going on behind them, the golem starting to shift and move at the sorcerer’s botched command, and Robin just breathes out a deep damn sigh because honestly, some of us have homework to dumb down. But he shifts, pulling out pellets in rapid succession as he moves closer to the army. The abrupt, “huu,” is just more proof he is a superior marksman. The mental note to pick up the tome from which those accursed spells emanate from is another task on the night’s to-do list.

The abrupt shock of Nightwing’s stick and the barrage of bullets takes its toll, getting the white dragon to jerk away from that black jugular, to rear back with pain.

The claws sink deeper, Red growling low, smoke curling from his maw. His eyes slide to the sides, making sure the Bats are out of firing range before he opens his maw with that familiar and suddenly very telling click.

“Down!” It’s Batman that throws the last exploding batarang within range to the white dragon’s injured belly, so the blast of burning blue flame ignites, sets the soft, vulnerable innards to char.

Red, however, takes the last blow for his own (because she picked the wrong fucking city, the wrong family, the wrong dragon to fuck with), claws sinking in, and the meaty thump in the center is just at the right place to reach.

Low and huffing, “try me.”

“You wouldn’t,” her voice cracks from agony.

“Threaten what’s mine, and I won’t think twice.” He gives just the smallest squeeze to punctuate the point.

“Better not fuck with him, bitch,” Hood’s voice, lazy through the synths while he eyes the army Demon is gonna be taking on, “he ain’t one ta joke.”

The white dragon growls and the iridescent black dragon can feel her tensing up as if to give her last hurrah, to go out with a bang, but he’s having none of that. He snarls, the sound deep from within his chest as he snaps his jaws just in front of the dame’s face, sparks clicking behind his gleaming ivory teeth. “You should know,” he practically purrs, “there are fates worse than death. Don’t. Push. Me.” His words, his threat (a bluff, shh), thankfully, gets the right reaction. She sags with a trailing growl, eyes glittering with malice and defeat.

“Go. Get out of my territory.” The words leave no argument.

“W-Who…” she spits blood, dotting the sand, “who would want...your...shoddy terr-territory anyway.”

Slowly, he retracts, pulling his claws back while the click echoes against the bluff, a warning and a promise. But the dame doesn’t move to start the fight up again. She needs time to heal the grievous injuries. The mage will earn his own fate.

“And now, next on the list,” Nightwing sighs, looking from the dragon to where Robin has starting whipping out the tricks and traps on the moving golem.

“By the way, Timmers,” Hood’s neck cranes as he look up at the massive face hanging low, the chest heaving with that little scuffle. “You ever think, hmm, I dunno to say you might be a motherfucking dragon or some shit? I mean, don’t they say that shit right off the fucking bat?”

The dragon huffs down at him as Hood holds up a hand to demonstrate, “‘nice ta meetcha. Name’s Timmy. Like long flights ‘round the beach, beatin’ the shit outta assholes, and literally roasting my enemies.

Ya know, just the usual shit for Gotham.”

[tessatechaitea]

Justice Society of America #1 (1992)

Hourman looks like he's trying to remember how long they've been battling this thing.

If your super power is that you take a pill that lets you have super powers for one hour, don't call yourself Hourman. Why would you tell every villain you're battling that if they just prolong the fight for a little over sixty minutes, they'll kick your ass? My theory is that Hourman's pills actually work for two hours and by purporting that his powers only last an hour, he eventually takes them by surprise when they find he didn't lose his powers. Also, by making them think he'll be powerless at the end of an hour, any stalling tactics they choose to use just gives more time for JSA backup to arrive. Maybe Hourman is smarter than I thought! I remember picking up this comic book because something in me wanted to like and appreciate the Justice Society. I believe I eventually killed that part of me with hallucinogenic mushrooms and alcohol. I also think I gave it a try because of the cartoony cover art and the logo that screams, "This is a cartoon!" It totally fooled me even though, at twenty, I should have realized comic books and cartoons were quite different mediums.

We interrupt this comic book review to say good morning to Gravy. Note the Lobo statue and the H.P. Lovecraft horror corner angle of my office.

The issue begins by reminding the readers that the Justice Society is composed of old geezers. But they don't look super old even though they fought Nazis because they were trapped in a bottle fighting Ragnarok or something. That's how I remember it and I won't be convinced of anything different. Erasing incorrect memories and replacing them with facts is probably like using an old VHS tape to constantly tape over old shows. Pretty soon the quality of the tape is fucked and you can't tell what the hell you're watching. And I don't want my brain to become an old VHS tape full of static and flip-flopping images! I'd rather it be full of crystal clear misinformation!

Popcorn for the kid and a large cup of bull semen for gramps!

These two nobodies have come to Gotham Stadium to see an exhibition put on by the Justice Society. They're all there: the ones with wings, the one with the bedpan on his head, the squat one that definitely gets paid to shit in people's mouths, the blind one, the one with a wood allergy, the one with the pill addiction, the gassy one, the possessed one, the furry, and Starman. You can tell they're an older generation group because only one of them is female and she's just a redundant copy of Hawkman. Clark and Lois are in attendance to sort of explain why the Justice Society aren't super old farts.

I guess I'll learn the details when I get around to reading Armageddon 2001 and its spin-offs. That was the crossover where Captain Atom becomes tyrant of the world in a dystopian future. Oh, sorry. It was actually Hawk and not Captain Atom because all the readers immediately guessed it was Captain Atom and the editors were all, "We need to surprise the audience! Make it a character nobody would have guessed or even cared about at all!"

Lois starts getting romantic and maudlin thinking about how she and Clark may get to spend as many years together as the Justice Society and she turns to him and says half of something romantic before she's interrupted by Clark saying, "Hey, there's the mayor!" What a scoop! Although why the fuck is Clark getting so excited about the mayor of Gotham? The mayor calls the Justice Society "America's greatest heroes" and Clark's boner doesn't subside because he's such a humble Kansas farm boy. Can't we agree that just because somebody was first doesn't mean we have to hold them up as being the best? I mean, George Washington was the first president of the United States but nobody considers him the greatest president. That was obviously Jimmy Carter. That wasn't a joke. Jimmy Carter was our greatest president. Change my mind. No wait. Don't change my mind. There's nothing I hate more than debating over the Internet. Just go have an ice cream cone and calm the fuck down. The mayor introduces all of the Justice Society for the young kids reading who are just thinking, "Who the fuck are these jerks?" The giant monster that crawls up from underground conveniently waits to attack until the entire team is introduced. Good thing or else I'd keep thinking, "Why is Jimmy Olsen on the Justice Society?" Now I know that's Johnny Thunder! Those of you paying close attention already know I knew that was Johnny Thunder when I referred to him as "the possessed one."

Don't you mean "What in Earth?", Hawkwoman?

Ha ha! I'm like the one asshole you time travel with who always responds to the person saying "Where are we?" with "Don't you mean 'When are we?'" Always such a good line that's been said five million times so it always seems weird when some script writer thinks it's okay to use it yet again. Fuck I hope nobody says it in the new Bill and Ted movie. Justin (the young man with the grandfather guzzling bull semen) gets so excited he leaps head first out of the upper deck. Hawkwoman saves him because the guys are too busy not being compassionate enough. Although did he want to be saved? I don't know. I might take the dive if I had to hang out with a guy who drinks large cups of bull semen. Medium or small, I could handle. I might even indulge in a small. But fucking large? And overflowing! So gross.

Oh the nights I've had that began with me thinking, "If I can only get a wirepoon through that Moby Dick!"

Superman swoops in to beat up the monster and steal all of the attention for himself. I guess he did bristle at the notion that the Justice Society were America's greatest heroes. He could have at least waited a few minutes to see if they could stop the monster without all dying of heart attacks. I suppose as soon as Sandman crumpled to his knees while clasping his chest and screaming, "I'm comin'!", Superman felt forced to intervene.

The pill popper is just saying what we're all thinking.

Superman mentions that this is the Justice Society's retirement party. That makes sense. I shouldn't have assumed that they were returning to reality to constantly battle the Ultra-Humanite. They just want their pension checks and some hard candies. Sandman is down and Johnny Thunder believes he's had another stroke.

Luckily Wildcat got to Sandman before the mouth shitter.

Later, Alan and Jay* go to a diner to indulge in some exposition (*Alan is Green Lantern and Jay is The Flash -- Nerd Editor Big Nerd Grunion!). They returned to Earth rejuvenated but now some of that is wearing off. I guess maybe in Armageddon Inferno, they returned much younger and now for this series, the writer wanted to get them back up to kind of old. But not super old like all of their wives and husbands! Not that any of them have husbands because they're all straight males (I think! This is before Alan became New 52 gay). They discuss how back in their day, they only had to fight "jewel thieves and bank robbers" while the new heroes now battle "mass murderers" too. Did they forget about all the Nazis they fought?! Maybe they just remember them as simple art thieves?

Oh, okay. They remember Hitler and the Nazis. It's just a seeming smallish footnote in their story, I guess.

While having coffee, Jay and Alan get their super hero news alerts just like they always have: a television playing in the background with the sound way up. Apparently some "anti-nuke loonies" have laid siege to a nuclear reactor. And they're not as peaceful as you'd expect people who are anti-nuclear power would be; they're armed and, um, loony?

Oh, I guess they are loonies! They're just not anti-nuke like Alan assumed. He is old so everybody fucking up the status quo is probably just another Goddamned hippie to him.

Who is that guy and who are the mutant wild life and why have they been imprisoned? It would have been easier to understand if they actually were armed hippies protesting against nuclear war by exploding a power plant. Oh, duh. That's Cain, leader of The New Order! How could I forget Cain and the New Order after only 28 years! The other members of New Order are Scud, Ammo, Corona, and...Pooch? They're not too experienced or maybe Alan and Jay are super experienced because Alan and Jay beat them like a schoolyard bully beats the new kid's younger sister while making the new kid watch. That was my last simile from my stash of bulk similes I had Pickle Boy write me a few months ago. I guess it was good enough. But now I'm going to need more! Green Lantern and The Flash decide they're not ready to retire after playing hero. But they don't decide it with dignity and gravitas. The Flash just says, "Retirement?" And Green Lantern embarrassingly responds, "Not!" Ah ha ha! Oh, 1993, how I miss you! I mean I don't but I'm not going to say the word that implies I didn't really mean that which makes the entire statement super funny because I'm referencing a film based on a short sketch that was totally hilarious. Justice Society of America #1 Rating: C. It's probable that this series was green-lit simply because DC management were nostalgic for the Justice Society. I'm sure the pitch was simply, "Picture this: the Justice Society of America! But older! But not too much older! Just the right amount of older!" And everybody was all, "Okay. Sure. Whatever. We're busy planning the death of Superman over here. Just do what you want." I guess that was good enough. I mean, I bought it and I was not very discriminating at all! You picked up a lot of comic books you didn't really care about when they were only a buck twenty-five per issue.

[alicescripts]

Part 2, Chapter 8: Absent Family

There is more here than I understand. Which is, I guess, true of all people true at all times of their life. We never see the big picture, even when we think we do. We see a reconstruction of the big picture, from the bits and pieces we picked up and tried to put into the right order. And I have a lot of bits and pieces. Bay and Creek, a vast organization run and financed by – who? The Thistle Men? Which are what? And they’re allied with the US government somehow. And now this person in a hoodie. And over and over, this name. Praxis.

When the big picture gets too hazy, it’s time to return to the details you’re sure about. I’ve been to a Bay and Creek base. For some reason, they let me leave.

It’s time to go back. And this time, I am not leaving.

Alice Isn’t Dead by Joseph Fink. Performed by Jasika Nicole. Produced by Disparition. Part 2, Chapter 8: “Absent Family”.

There was the farmhouse, as I had left it. By all appearances, a shell of what had once sheltered people. A family who staked their lives on the health of the fields, only to be undone by age or disease, or those same fields, or a desire to move on and try something else. Or more probably, never a family. Every broken plank of wood, every sagging wall a reconstruction, a fake.

I went inside, moving quickly so that I could not be stopped before getting to the entrance. It was later afternoon. There was no use waiting until nightfall. Certainly, my approach would be seen. There was no sneaking into this place. I was going to face them directly and force them to deal with me, one way or another.

Except I wasn’t going to even be able to do that, because turning on the dial stove did nothing. No pitch down into darkness and back into underground light. Looking more closely, there was a layer of real dust upon the painted-on dust. The dial was clean of fingerprints, except my own recently applied. The base had vanished.

But no. What I had seen had been voluminous, a massive space with hundreds or thousands of people inside of it. There was no way that a base that big was moved or abandoned, not over one person. Even with all the money in the world, that would be ludicrous.

But this particular entrance had been sealed off. And who could I find another entrance when it could be a… dying tree at the edge of the creek a half miel from here? Or a certain stone left innocuously by the highway?

Instead, I dwelled on the more pressing question, there in that dusty kitchen that had once been an elevator. To seal off an entrance like this that had been so elaborately set up was still a phenomenal waste of time and money. It would have made so much more sense to just kill me. So why didn’t they kill me?

There is an undeniable romance to travel. And there is a stranger, more specific romance to traveling constantly. Rootlessness can be attractive, it really can be. The map it creates in your head. When someone brings up Oklahoma City, or Boise or Chicago or Portland, Oregon or Portland, Maine – and for each of those, you have a memory. Being able to think: oh yeah, I’ve been there. You remember how it felt in a personal way. How Oklahoma City was surprising, because it was more hip than I expected. How Chicago in the summer feels happy in a way many other cities don’t. The exact smell of an antique store in a small town in Texas.

Direct knowledge of the world is a fundamentally seductive thing to acquire.

I sat on a faded green couch covered in dust and pollen, hoping that nothing was currently living inside of it, and I tried to think through why I was alive. Why am I alive? It’s a basic question that a lot of people have asked, but my angle was different, more focused. Why am I alive now, in this moment, when Bay and Creek should have changed that whole situation for me in a big way?

Possibility one is that they do not kill innocents, a firm moral stance. They are fighting on the side of good. But I don’t buy it. That base I saw was massive. Their  operation runs at the least nationwide. There is no way to hide a secret that large if you’re not willing to kill to keep it. If they had a firm code of never killing innocents, then that secret long ago would have slipped.

Which leaves me with the other possibility. That they wanted me to see and then walk away alive with that knowledge. A personal memory of what it was like to be inside their halls. But why? They are at war. If they want something, it would be because it helps them in this war. So I can only conclude that I have a role to play in this conflict, that Bay and Creek knows what that role is but I don’t. And in order to guide me toward that role, they have allowed me to glimpse their operation and survive.

Me, lonely me. Anxiety-ridden me. [scoffs] There’s no way I have a role in anything except my own sleeplessness.

If I’m important to Bay and Creek, it likely means that I am troublesome to Thistle. Which would explain, perhaps, why I was targeted so early in my search by that – creature. But Thistle wouldn’t give up just because they missed me once. If I’m important enough for them to target, then I am still a target. Thistle must still be coming for me. And I swear, it was right when I reached that conclusion that I heard the car approaching the abandoned house.

There is the other side of constant travel, of course. This sense that you never belong anywhere. Or this forgetfulness about where you’ve been, or worse, where you are. The franchises amplify this, of course. I stopped for lunch in a Chili’s because it’s there, and there’s a lot of room to park my truck. And I look around and realize, I don’t even know what state I’m in. It’s a feeling of bottomlessness, like the floor has disappeared. Like a shitty magic trick. I’m falling, but also I’m not. I’m eating a chicken fajita salad in a plastic booth.

Beyond that, there is the gap that forms between you and other people. They all are going to be here tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. Me, I barely know where I’m going to be tomorrow. I have no idea where I’ll be next week. I couldn’t begin to guess my locations for the year, not even within a 300 mile radius. Romance and sadness have always gone hand in hand, of course, and the romance of travel never more so. The bloom of excitement is so quickly replaced by the quiet despair, and looking out another motel window at another motel parking lot, and the highway on the other side of the tall wire fence. And this knowledge that no matter where you go, it’s still you, standing in a room with yourself, looking through the same eyes, thinking the same thoughts.

My usual anxiety exploded into panic. I should have run the other direction, but terror pinged around my brain and no thoughts could connect amongst the chatter. Instead, I crawled to the front window. There was a police car, its headlights obscuring any detail except the basic shape of it. It was staring to be quite dark, so I couldn’t tell who was inside. The headlights switched off, the door opened, and as it did the interior light came on.

Sitting in the passenger seat was a man in a police uniform. He was dead, with wounds all over his neck and torso. I don’t think his death had been quick. Coming out of the driver’s seat was a woman I had met once before, on a road near the Salton Sea, and I hoped would never meet again. She was dressed haphazardly in something like a police officer’s uniform, but the details were all wrong.

“Keisha?” she shouted. “Keisha, you in there?” She leaned on the hood. “I mean I know you are, so I guess that was a dumb question. My bad!” She brushed off her hands in three quick slaps. “I followed you here. You’re very easy to follow. I can smell you.” She tapped her nose and laughed. “I can smell you from three states away. You smell really good. So I guess uh, take that as a compliment. OK, I’m gonna come in now!”

I scrambled up and back toward the kitchen, past the ruined staircase, not stable enough to climb, and anyway I’m not gonna corner myself. I made it to the back bedroom, a child’s bedroom, but now a ruin, like all the rest of the house. I heard the front door open.

“Why are you poking around this place again? Is there something here for us to find?” Movement and clatter as she rooted around the living room and the kitchen. “You don’t have to answer that. If there’s something to find, we’ll find it. When faced with a problem, we tear at it and keep tearing and tearing and tearing and eventually, everything gives.” The window was broken, (chunks) of glass around the frame, but there was no choice. I started to wriggle through it, doing my best to end up with only light scratches. “Keisha, it’s OK! This doesn’t have to be difficult. It’s time.” Her voice was so close. My legs were caught in the frame and I pulled hard. The glass popped and I fell free, and as I did, she rounded the corner. Her eyes glinted in the darkness. “There you are!” she said. I was already rising to run, but she didn’t sound in any hurry. “Hey listen! I have a job to do now. Here we go!” And she leapt forward, her laid-back energy compressing and coiling out in a burst of violent movement, and she was at the window, and her hand as unyielding as a handcuff around my arm. And I took the chunk of glass that had come out with my exit, and I drove it through her chest.

She made a soft involuntary sigh and stepped back, her hand loosening for a moment. I tore away and back toward the front of the house. I’d left my truck a long walk distant to avoid - and this seemed darkly funny to me just then, to avoid attracting attention, and there was no way I was gonna make it back there on foot before she caught me. So I went to the cop car and [sighs] mercy of mercys: she had left the key in the ignition. I fell into the seat and I started the car.

The cop had been dead for a bit, and the smell was a lot. I tried not to think about his proximity to me, about what any of this meant. I concentrated on the motions. I turned the key, the engine started. Already I was on drive, and on the gas, a sliding squealing turn back toward the road. As I drove as fast as the car would go on the dirt, I looked behind me and saw in the red light of my escape the woman, glass sticking out of her chest, absolute determination on her face, pumping her arms. And for a moment, I couldn’t believe it, she gained on my speeding car.

And then the gear change kicked in. And I finally saw her fade into the blue twilight of the just set sun.

There’s a sense of family that I think forms between people who have to travel a lot for work, no matter what that work is. Corporate suits flying to sales meetings twice a week, a drummer who sits in the back of the van eight months out of the year. People like me, driving our trucks. You can recognize the look in the other’s eyes, this feeling of having seen too many miles in too short a time. You can compare stories about Cleveland, and about Ann Arbor and Birmingham and Fort Lauderdale. They know the romance and they know the despair, and so you don’t have to talk about either. You can just ask them how the Hampton Inn is in Madison, Wisconsin, and they’ll know exactly what you mean.

I started this by lamenting the amorphous nature of my search. And, well, that’s been addressed. All other options have been taken away. Now I know I am being pursued. And so my only way forward is to run. Which direction doesn’t matter. What matters is distance. What matters is speed.

I wish I could tell you where I am. But even if I could, then what? Alice, our paths are different now, I suppose. You were on your way to saving something bigger than us all. And me? I am only going to be able to save myself, and maybe not even that. Besides, by the time I told you where I was, I would be somewhere else.

Just never stop moving. Because she is coming. She is fast behind me. And I cannot even imagine what she would do if she caught up.

Bay and Creek wanted me to see what they are, and they wanted me to live to remember it. There is a role for me in defeating the Thistle Men. What that role is, I have no idea.

Maybe you knew, Alice. Maybe that was another secret that you kept from me.

I only know that I need to live long enough to figure out what my place is in this war.

[sighs] More soon, Alice. I hope. [whispers] Shit. I hope.

Joseph Fink: And now, a knock-knock joke.

Knock-knock. [left speaker] Who’s there? [right speaker] Hoo. [left] Hoo who? [right] Like an owl, get it? [left] Yeah, I get it. [right] You’re not gonna let me in, are you? [left] No I’m not. [right] But who would make owl puns for you? [left] I’m going back to bed. [right] Listen, wait. Listen. [left] Yes? [right] There’s this brick wall where no two bricks are the same size, within which there’s this window with a perfect map of the world and fingerprints. Below which there’s this heater coughing up the first dust of winter, on top of which there’s two jackets, one scarf, three gloves. Anyway, I saw a van tip over on 26th Street, and it reminded me of you. [left] I’m going to bed. [right] OK. Good night! Good night. [sighs]

[renaroo]

Double Time (14/24)

Disclaimer: Red vs Blue and related characters are the property of Rooster Teeth. Warnings: Language, Canon-typical violence Pairings: Tuckington, Chex Rating: T Synopsis: [Hero Time Sequel] After the events of Hero Time, the city and Blood Gulch are prepared for the true return of superheroes in a big way. But while Washington is attempting to adjust to a new relationship and a new living arrangement, the call of new heroes and a new mayor mean major changes for his professional life as well as his personal one. How will the balance of values fare when his new partners come to test everything he’s made of.

A/N: Plot plot plot we’re starting to come all together and I’m so excited to be on this ride wth you all <3

Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, @notatroll7, @analiarvb, Enmuse, Yin, @a-taller-tale, @thepheonixqueen, @spooky-circuits, @washingtonstub, @icefrozenover, and @the-space-nerd-97 on AO3 and tumblr for the wonderful feed back! I truly appreciate it more than you know.

Delegation Time

“I hope you have enough brains to realize that it’s completely ridiculous how high tech your apartment equipment is but you never use the internet,” Church grouched, hood up and robotic eyes glowing through the shade as he typed on Tucker’s laptop. “I mean, who doesn’t have a personal computer these days? And you’re asking me to use the keyboard from Mister Stickyfingers himself.”

“Hey, don’t hate on me. I never thought anyone else would be touching my computer,” Tucker defended, leaning against the back of the couch coolly. It was his feeble attempt to seem like he wasn’t losing his mind trying to make sure that Church wasn’t looking at anything embarrassing.

Washington didn’t quite understand the paranoia the situation held for Tucker. 

“This would go a lot quicker if you let Church hook up directly to the interphase like he suggested earlier,” Wash pointed out to Tucker. 

Tucker’s eyes flickered immediately toward Wash. “Yeah, that’s not happening. Or did you forget we have...”

Wash squinted back at him. “We have what?”

For a moment, Tucker attempted to sign something to Wash with the raising and lowering of his eyebrows a few times. When that didn’t work he went for a full body shrug. “Wash, the... the photos.”

Staring back at Tucker blankly, Wash tilted his head. “Photos?”

“The photos,” Tucker pressed. 

Suddenly, Washington perfectly understood the paranoia the situation held for Tucker.

“Why are you keeping those on your computer!?” Wash demanded. 

“Why do you think the keyboard is sticky!?” Tucker fired back.

Church held up his hands to stop them both. “Stop! Desist! I cannot keep pretending to be deaf here. Okay? I’m going to delete my entire memory of this conversation as soon as everything’s settled here. And I hope you both know you’re fucking stupid and act like horny teenagers.”

Taken aback, Wash waved to his chest. “Me? A horny teenager? I understand saying that about Tucker--”

“What the fuck, Wash,” Tucker said, throwing his arms in the air. 

“Okay done,” Church declared, shoving the laptop from his lap to the coffee table. “Both of you shut the fuck up, I finished your stupid pet project, and it’s time for you two to leave me alone even if I’m your tech guy because putting together a compilation of all the angles and footage of this non-event for you is one thing, but having to listen to your relationship up close and personal is honest to god mortifying. May we never speak of this again.”

"Thank you... Church... I suppose” Wash said, though the sentiment seemed foreign and distasteful on his own tongue. 

Tucker took a moment to glance back and forth between them before shoving Church out of the way and sliding into his preferred spot on the couch. “Yeah, yeah, what the fuck ever, Church. I don’t want to hear it. Do you know how many nights you and Tex were having sex and I could hear you through those paper thin walls? Fucksake. How’s a guy supposed to masturbate?”

“Oh, like it stopped you,” Church snorted, crossing his arms. 

“Yeah, it probably helped,” Tucker said back before physically freezing. “Wait what.”

“Wait what,” Church said at the same time. 

There was then a long, uncomfortable silence between the former roommates as if there was a dawning realization on them both. Washington really wasn’t sure what to think about it. “Tucker? Church?”

“Oh my god I forgot about that night,” Tucker gasped.

“We’re never supposed to talk about that, you promised,” Church responded almost viciously. 

“You were crying--”

“GODDAMMIT, TUCKER, I TOLD YOU IT WASN’T THE BAD KIND OF CRYING--”

Not sure what else was within his powers to do at that point, Washington held up his hands and released a resounding clap to draw the other two supposed-adults’ attention back to him and the present. Tucker looked amused and befuddled, Church simply looked irate.

“The video! Please!” Wash begged. “I... I literally cannot take another word of this conversation.”

Tucker grew a put off expression. “Wash, ridiculous fucking conversations are my entire life. On repeat. You have to accept that part of me as much as you accept the part of me that takes pictures in the bedroom.”

“I never accepted that part, it just happened! And you’ve got them saved on your computer now!” Wash cried out. 

“So you don’t like the me that takes photos of us?” Tucker asked. 

“What is with you lately?” Wash demanded, nearly grabbing for his hair. “How come you turn everything I say into an argument? I don’t understand--”

“Because you never fight back!” Tucker yelled.

“I don’t want to fight you!” Wash snapped.

“No, you just want to sit back and judge and make snide comments about things in my life you don’t approve of while I’m not allowed to have any say so in the parts of your life that annoy the goddamn shit out of me!” Tucker snarled. 

“What do I do that annoys you?” Wash demanded. “Tell me or I can’t fix it, Tucker, that’s how communication works.”

“Does it, Wash? Because I thought communication was for you to roll out of a moving vehicle rather than spend time with me and my friends when we’re not fucking or dealing with your superhero bullshit that you bring home!” Tucker growled. “Not to mention the fact that now you’re taking Junior and putting him out there on the line, too! Like what the fuck kind of conversation do you want to have?”

“Fine! I’ll stop being snide!” Wash agreed. “But you have to stop having yelling contests with me rather than just tell me what’s bothering you!”

“You know what bothers me?” Tucker demanded. “The fact that you shed on the pillows and bed linings!”

Despite himself, Washington reflexively gasped. “I told you I have a condition. I can’t help that.”

“Yeah, the condition is you’re part goddamn cat and you fucking act like it! Never cuddling when I want it, just when you want it, and then randomly you’ll bring up the fact that I wear socks to bed and scoot away!”

“It’s not that you wear socks to bed, it’s where you wear your socks that isn’t as original or funny as you think it is after the eighteenth time!” Wash cried out. 

“Oh my fucking god, it is my responsibility to humanity to put a stop to this conversation before it gets more disgusting,” Church announced before reaching forward and pressing play with the spacebar only for the spacebar to stay down. “Jesus christ, Tucker, I’m buying you a flesh light. This is disgusting.”

“Good, because I know who’s not getting any,” Tucker decreed.

Washington opened his mouth to protest that that wasn’t as much of a punishment as Tucker seemed to think it was when the videos all began playing on the screen. 

Each video was timed to correspond despite being from very different angles, and some squares were left blank, only to join up and sync with the others as the videos progressed. 

Instantly intrigued, Washington leaned in and tried to get a sense of the videos and how they were all in one way or another pointed toward the building which had exploded just in the moments before its explosion. For the moment being, it was him and Felix on the roof talking. But there was no sound. 

“Why can’t I hear anything?” Wash asked.

“Yeah this is kinda boring,” Tucker huffed.

“Because I was annoyed listening to thirteen different teenagers either narrating a livestream like they’re the first geniuses ever to catch superheroes on camera, or mouth breathers who were fucking with their shit and causing nothing but rustling,” Church answered, leaning back against the couch with his arms crossed. “You’re welcome, by the way. I also took care of the shaky cam because none of these fuckers have apparently heard the virtues of stabilizing before.”

“None of what you just said makes sense to me,” Wash said, watching the screen intently. 

Still, he could feel Church’s eyeballs burning into the side of his skull.

“What century are you from? Goddamn,” Church marveled.

“This one?” Wash deadpanned as he continued to watch the footage. 

It was annoying that he could not hear their conversation -- for some reason, while he remembered the gist of it, the specifics, their words were a fog in Wash’s mind. Like he had barely witnessed it himself at all. A part of him was hoping to clear that up through the camera but apparently that was all for naught. 

Then, he could see it. Wash watched himself jump back reflexively from the bright spark of one of Locus’ explosives land between them. 

But, weirdly enough, Felix did not have any reaction at all. He was standing confidently, staring at Wash as if nothing had just crashed down between them. That was odd to Washington, since he had not figured Felix for that sort of inexperience. But what truly bothered him was how smug Felix looked despite the intensity of the moment.

Surely he hadn’t appeared that cocky in their conversation. Wash hadn’t remembered the desire to outright punch the fellow superhero. 

Then, there were two flashes, one after the other. So quick, it was difficult to tell them apart, but Wash caught the faint difference.

Those Felix reacted to, but not in the way that Washington had been anticipating for him to. Instead of bounding away from the ensuing explosion, he seemed to turn his attention toward the streets.

And Wash...

Well, to Wash’s astonishment, he wasn’t there after the flashes at all, and suddenly the explosion occurred, the building went up in flames, and soon Locus emerged dragging Felix. 

A few of the cameras panned across the street to where Washington appeared almost miraculously. 

“Whoa,” Tucker said, glancing in Wash’s direction. “When’d you start moving that fast.”

“I can’t,” Wash said simply. “I have no idea how I got out of the explosion. Maybe a concussive force from the explosion, but I didn’t feel like it--”

“Dude, no concussive force would have that trajectory for you to land perfectly on the other side of the street.” Church snorted. “Trust me, I went to the academy and they wouldn’t shut the hell up about this shit. By the way, letting your guard down, Wash? Newbie mistake. If I were still arching? You’d be stone cold dead for sure.”

“Whatever, Wash would kick your ass,” Tucker snorted. 

“Not my ass, don’t you remember my Alphabots?” Church argued. 

“Oh, yeah. Where’d those things go, anyway--”

“Wait,” Wash interrupted. “Didn’t either of you notice that Felix had no reaction to the bomb? I mean, I may have let my guard down. Maybe. But he never had a guard. He was more worried about where I went than the explosion under his own feet.”

“Sounds like usual goody-two-shoes hero bullshit to me,” Church said with a huge roll of his eyes. 

Ignoring Church’s usual bastion of optimism, Wash pointed toward the screen. “Church, can you take the footage back some and slow it down? To the second where I disappeared from the roof?”

That earned Washington an indignant look if he’d ever seen one. “Do you two not know how to do anything beyond plug in an Xbox?”

“Dude, how dare you suggest we wouldn’t ask you to do that, too,” Tucker joked.

“Please,” Wash tried with about as much sincerity as he could muster. Which, given, was not much considering the circumstances. 

Church continued to give him a dull look before opening up the video files again and beginning to move his fingers so quickly across the keyboard that Tucker’s disgusting buttons could hardly keep up.

But when they finally operated accordingly, Wash got what he wanted -- slowed down video of the moments that took him from the rooftop to the safety of the sidewalk in the instant of a flash. 

He had been right. There were definitely two distinct flashes, one before the explosion, and one pursuing it. And it was within the pursuing flash that everything in the images where Wash was blurred to a single, pixelated mesh of color. Gray, blue, yellow. 

But, for a moment, Wash could swear there was more blue than the moment before. 

Then he was gone from the screen until the pan down. 

“Something happened there,” Wash said decisively, pointing at the screen “Can you see it?”

“What? The blur? Or the blur?” Tucker asked with a yawn. 

“How can you say that’s just a blur? This saved my life, the least we can do is get to the bottom of this,” Wash said, putting a hand to his chin. “My hero partner back when I was with the sidekick program taught me the basics of detective work. I need to go back to the scene and look for clues. Find Felix and talk to him about what he remembers. Then I need to ask the Reds to cover patrolling Blood Gulch for the night. Maybe I could get someone else to cover training tomorrow and--”

Wash looked up when he heard the most disgusted noise a robot could make coming from Church who stared at him dully.

“You have something you need to say, Church?” Wash asked with a raise of his brow. 

“Yeah, you’re a goddamn idiot,” he said lowly before looking toward Tucker for a moment and then back to Wash. “Biggest fucking idiot, I swear--” 

"Watch it, Church,” Wash said in warning, his patience officially at an end.

“No, you watch it,” Church snapped back. “I’ll get a hold of Tex and the Reds and get this city protected. You can phone your Mayors in between them campaigning for an election no one actually cares about to get them to talk to this Felix chump for you. But before you call in sick to the kiddie heroes, how about you take care of house.”

Tucker looked exasperated. “Church--”

“No, dude, I’m sick of this,” Church said, heading toward the door. “And you two better use this time to actually talk.”

Washington blinked a few times, flinching when Church slammed the door closed behind him, and then looked in surprise to Tucker, who seemed significantly less shocked by Church’s declarations. He only seemed annoyed. 

“He acts like he knows what’s going on between us,” Wash pointed out.

“Yeah, well, he’s my best friend,” Tucker reminded Wash. “What we do is... talk.”

“Which... we don’t do,” Wash admitted slowly.

“We do, but I.. It’s like we talk at different levels. You never hear what I’m saying under what I’m saying, you know?” Tucker tried with what seemed to be great difficulty to explain. 

“Honestly, Tucker, I don’t know,” Wash replied. “I... I know everyone jokes that I get cryptic at times. But... I always say what I mean at the end of the day. I’ve never had a problem where that wasn’t the case.”

“Yeah, and some of the things you say probably coulda stood to be kept to yourself,” Tucker noted bitingly.

Despite his first instinct to argue the point, Wash took a breath and sat down on the couch too. “Okay. That’s fair. But I also think it’s fair to point out that sometimes... if you’re frustrated that I’m not seeing through your words to a deeper meaning, you could at least give me a hint. It’s been a while since I was in AP English. I’m not used to looking for metaphors.”

That got Tucker to actually snort. “You woulda been a nerd.” He exhaled. “Yeah, but you’ve got a point. It goes both ways. Like me.”

“See, I got that reference,” Wash joked. 

“Don’t be an ass,” Tucker laughed. “But... Okay you know how the other day we were on the phone... and you just said the thing? The big thing?”

“Love?” Wash asked, brows knitting together. 

“Yeah. You just said it and I know you mean it but like... I don’t know if I can ask you to like... show it instead of just running off trying to fight out of giant pyramids with riddles and mazes,” Tucker pointed out. 

"Those aren’t really something outside of the comic books.” Wash pointed out. “Kind of like capes.”

“One of your new proteges wears a cape,” Tucker pointed out.

“Yes... well we’re just glad he wears at least that much considering his powers are basically to... well, sparkle,” Wash shrugged. “Tucker... I’m... I’m sorry if my words don’t always match my actions. And I know that, at least on some level, the excuse that I’m a superhero and that’s just part of what I do isn’t nearly enough to cover it. So instead I’m going to ask that... Ask that you give me something I can do to prove that I’m serious. Really serious this time.”

Tucker squinted at him. “This is sounding like a setup for something else to go the way of linner.”

Wash sighed. “I know.”

“We’ll be vaguer then,” Tucker decided. “What Church just did earlier? Delegating some of those responsibilities of yours that you hold so dear? Why can’t you do that, I don’t know, more long term?”

Confused, Wash tilted his head. “What do you mean?” 

“Why can’t you spread around some of the territory, let other heroes and trainees take care of things that aren’t immediate. Don’t patrol every night. Trust other people to be part of this team you’ve got building up here,” Tucker offered. “If you delegate more... you’d have more time for things like linner and going to the park with Junior and me.”

“I...” Wash began to protest but he took a breath. “Okay. I can... delegate more. But I still want to find out what happened there at the explosion,” he said with a nod to the blur.

“Yeah, sure, okay. But if anything you should take that as a sign,” Tucker shrugged. “Even when bad shit’s happening to us... it always seems to work out, doesn’t it?”

“Is that what I’m taking from that?” Wash asked critically.

“Work with me here, Wash,” Tucker all but demanded.

“Okay,” Wash sighed. “I’m working with you, Tucker. We’re working on this. Together. Hero’s honor.”

“Oh, that’s reassuring,” Tucker laughed, but he seemed to actually mean it.

At least, Wash hoped so.

[afterspark-podcast]

G1 Episode 36: Transcript

[This can also be found on AO3!]

[Stinger]

O: I'm gonna say he's a cleric who has somehow aligned himself with the god of death.

[Intro Music]

O: Hello, and welcome to the Afterspark Podcast, an episode by episode recap of the generation 1 Transformers cartoon.  I'm Owls.

S: And I’m Specs.

O: And today we're gonna be talking about episode number 36: Desertion of the Dinobots, part 2. Let's talk about giant robots today, shall we?

S: Sure.

O: Welcome back to the Desertion of the Dinobots, Part 2. If you'll remember, last time, in Part 1 the Autobots and Decepticons neglected to take their vitamins to disastrous effect and the Dinobots have run away from home to Cybertron.

S: Carly and Spike have followed behind in Carly's car and last we saw them they were being held at gunpoint by Shockwave.

O: Dual-wielding, no less! It's not enough that Shockwave has a gun for a hand but he's holding another one, too.

S: He's- he's compensating. Shockwave poofs Carly's car out from underneath them which. Yeah.

O: [Laughter] Goodbye pink convertible, we hardly knew ye!

S: Did he send it to another dimension? It just sort of, um, faded away. Cuz it didn't, like, poof, per se.

O: Uh, Shadow Realm? [Laughter] That exists in this universe, right?

S: Maybe? Carly's- [Laughter] Carly's response is great because she's effectively, like, “That was my car, not an Autobot, you dumbass!!”

O: And Spike and Carly flee from Shockwave who's apparently in no hurry, as he just sort of walks slowly after them.

S: He's [not] got better things to do here than pest control, I guess? Because he continues to shoot his disappearing gun at various things they're hiding behind so I guess he doesn't care if any of that stuff vanishes. 

O: I mean, yeah, cuz he's, like, what we assume in his own lab and he just does not seem to care?

S: I don't understand.

O: I don't understand many things about this show.

S: True. Spike seems to think they're safe be- hiding behind things even after Shockwave has, you know, done this- sending things to the shadow realm multiple times.

O: They duck into a narrow opening in the floor which Shockwave can't follow them into.

S: Yeah, he expresses his disappointment in about the same tone as someone who's been chasing down two mice and those two mice have escaped.

O: He is not happy about this human infestation. I'm sure not having to deal with organics on a daily basis is one of the highlights of him being posted in Cybertron.

S: Yeah, honestly, I don't- I feel like he would do very well on earth.

O: I don't think he would, either, and I legitimately think that's why he stays on Cybertron.

S: I don't think he would have really enjoyed it if the planet had actually ended up by Cybertron-

O: No.

S: Or by earth.

O: No. But if the planet had exploded like Megatron had intended, I suppose he wouldn't have needed to care. 

S: That's true. They would have had a lot of resources they could have used potentially.

O: Yeah.

S: I don't know. Spike and Carly look around the room that they found themselves in, which appears to have a glowy pool in some sort of recess in the center of the room.

O: And Carly seems to realize they're in Cybertron's master computer. I don't entirely know how she figures this out but all right.

S: She's a Technomancer, I don't know.

O: [Laughter] Carly is amazing. We already know that, I'm just saying, I don't really know how that thought process happened.

S: Same. Spike uses the silly thumb radio to call Teletraan 1.

O: And to the Ark!! All the Autobots are passed out on the floor.

S: They really look like they've had a super wild night.

O: Sounds like they got all of the hangovers and none of the fun.

S: Yeah, looks accurate. Sparkplug, however, is awake and manning Teletraan 1, which considering he's not a giant robot from outer space makes perfect sense.

O: [Laughter] Teletraan helpfully pulls up a diagram of this Decepticon computer brain Spike and Carly have found themselves in, Decepticon misspelled with a ‘K’, no less. 

S: The little pictures of Spike and Carly look, like, pretty awkward. Spike is super buff for some reason and the fact that Teletraan 1 just has these schematics is kind of... out there.

O: Well then- Carly so, like, demure in this little picture of her and I’m just like- that's not Carly. Have you met Carly? Carly's like I'm gonna go plant a bomb in the Decepticon base because I can.

S: Yeah, that's Carly. 

O: That's Carly. Carly attempts to gain control of the space bridge by going through the computer's wiring.

S: Breaking into the nearby panel in the wall with her car key because she is - she is a can do lady.

O: The pink convertible will have its revenge yet! 

S: Yeah. I imagine it hasn't quite hit her yet that it's gone and now she's going to have to buy a new car.

O: Yeah-

S: It kind of sucks. I wonder if the Autobots will finance it.

O: I wondered too, I mean, she did do it helping so maybe?

S: Yeah. But she's shocked when a big ball of energy travels through the wiring and hits her panel and then she's tossed backwards towards the glowy pool.

O: Epic music plays. 

S: Electrocution: not much fun.

O: [Laughter] 

S: And so the computer decides to throw a wild ass rave party and then explodes, and the glowy pool goes dark. And then Spike pulls a flashlight out of his ass that Wheeljack apparently gave them.

O: This information was important enough to tell the audience, apparently. That and it is brighter than any other flashlight on earth. Apparently. Again, why don’t any of you patent your shit?!

S: Yeah, they could make so much money. But, I mean, this was something just to sell toys.

O: I know, I know- we're attributing far more thought to this then the writers probably ever did.

S: I want- I want there to be plot and background and, you know, good writing and-

O: Ahhh, ahhh, that- that- that's what other shows are for in their franchise. It's okay. 

S: I- I know, I'm glad that the newer ones are getting better writing.

O: Me, too.

S: And, unfortunately, Carly has twisted an ankle sometime a- during this wild rave party and Spike jumps down into the recessed pit to- to help her except unfortunately now neither of them can get out.

O: You know, because Spike definitely thought this through. 

S: Yeah, and it's steep and, I mean, well, he could have pulled out wires, I guess-

O: Maybe-

S: And made a-

O: And could have gotten into the panels.

S: Yeah. Oh, well. Sparkplug calls in and says that there's a way out at the bottom of the area they've fallen into.

O: So right where that glowy liquid was.

S: Yaaay, um, good plan everyone. 

O: I'm sure it's perfectly safe. 

S: I have many concerns.

O: [Snicker] They go down a ladder.

S: Why is there a ladder there?

O: Why is it so small and, comparatively, human sized? Is it meant for Minibots? Do Minibots do all the computer repairs in this world?

S: Well, maybe-

O: We found Rumble and Frenzy’s actual function. [Snicker] I don’t feel like they'd be good at that.

S: Well, I feel like they'd end up pulling out wires to basically have an impromptu wire fight- like a snowball fight.

O: [Laughter] Yeah, that seems right. That seems right. 

S: Oh, and so Spike and Carly make it out to the hallway.

O: Meanwhile, in the space bridge room, Megatron calls and tells Shockwave to send their damn vitamins over.

S: But this is impossible because the space bridge is inoperable until the computer is fixed but, i mean, I guess- how did you call him Shockwave? Or how did Megatron call him?

O: He said the computer’s out, not the phones. This was the 80’s, perhaps they weren't synonymous at the time. I know they are now but, eh?

S: Maybe. I mean, they definitely weren't synonymous in the 90’s but I don't know about giant robots.

O: [Laughter] Yes, giant robots have different lines, or have different lines going for their computers and their phones obviously.

S: And, I mean, how is Megatron getting that camera angle? Did he set up a camera on the ground?

O: Ah, well, you see, it's the birb cam. Laserbeak, obviously, is also on the ground so he's just sort of propped him up to get the angle he wanted.

S: That is entirely conceivable, so yeah.

O: [Laughter] 

S: Megatron threatens to reprogram Shockwave for maintenance if he can't stop the humans. 

O: Not sure how he's gonna manage that if he's dead but okay.

S: Megatron will come back as a ghost and do it. He will totally do that- I mean, considering what Starscream does later. I feel like he'd go out of his way to do that.

O: I'm 100% ready to believe that Transformers can come back as ghosts later out of sheer spite.

S: Shockwave sends a giant ass robot of questionable sentience after the kids but they manage to shut a door on it and get outside, heading towards Wheeljack's lab. 

O: Carly's ankle is still giving her trouble.

S: They're doing a pretty good job of showing her limping throughout all this- and then Spike picks her up and carries her because-

O: [sings] Macho! Macho man! 

S: [Snicker] Yep, they wanted- wanted to do that. And then Carly spots a shadow nearby but it runs away.

O: It was clearly Swoop, guys. It was cleary Swoop.

S: Well, maybe Carly hasn't had enough interaction with them but Spike really should recognize their silhouettes.

O: Swoop saved their asses in the last episode when Grimlock tried to smash them, remember? 

S: That is true. Then again, she may not have a whole lot of- they're also on another planet and she may think that this is just another robot that may have a similar silhouette.

O: That's- that's fair, I mean, to be fair there's a lot going on right now. 

S: Yeah and when you're in pain you're not concentrating as well as you can- or you could otherwise.

O: Also true.

S: So, at this point, they reach Wheeljack's lab and Carly manages to get them in by using the control pad on the door. She is a super genius cuz alien languages.

O: I mean Chip managed it, she managed it- they're both geniuses.

S: Yep and so they hear something or someone banging on the ceiling from outside and Spike manages to grab a spare gun out of a closet.

O: And, yet again, we have the teenager with a giant robot sized weapon.

S: That is bigger than him.

O: And he shoots it before the commercial break.

S: [Laughter] We return and Spike shoots the mysterious shadow that's come through the ceiling because, of course, the- the ceiling is caving in.

O: And, naturally, the shadow is poor Swoop.

S: All Swoop wants is an adult.

O: Him and the rest of us. Uh, he tells Spike- by Spike, I mean, the audience- that the Dinobots were caught almost immediately after coming through the space bridge.

S: Yeah, Swoop was able to get away because he remembered that he could fucking fly and, unfortunately, the others didn't.

O: No, they did not. Teletraan 1 directs the group to the Cybertonium pits and they head out.

S: But not before a Spike realizes that Carly is no longer limping and she just replies, “I- I think it's better.”

O: That is not how any of this works.

S: They wanted to push that romance angle.

O: Ugh, through the power of love your ankle will heal itself. Through the power of having a man around, your ankle will heal itself! 

S: Well. I suppose it is kind of conceivable that not having her weight on it for a little bit of time might have made it feel a bit better but it shouldn't have helped that much.

O: Yeah, yeah, like if feeling better would be fine but she's walking normally after this, like the entire rest of the episode.

S: Yeah, cuz I remember when I screwed up my ankle earlier this year and it was like, “Ha, ha, ha- No!” That would not work. Once outside, Swoop scoops them up so they don't have to climb up some giant robot sized stairs.

O: Aww, Swoop you're a sweetie!

S: He is, indeed, the sweetest dude.

O: The three get on some sort of mass transit vehicle and head down a tube.

S: It's a surprisingly small mass transit vehicle for being a mass transit vehicle, and they get flipped around and they end up thinking though they're gonna go up.

O: Spike even makes a NASA reference. 

S: They go- vooooooo- down instead.

O: [Laughter]

S: Backwards. It sounds- it would honestly- it would be super unsettling, and Swoop is confused as to why the humans are upset.

O: Spike says it's because, “They've left their stomachs up there!”

S: And Swoop is quite happy to not have a stomach.

O: Understandable. They get stopped when the tube ahead of them is broken.

S: So, Swoop just- well, they get out and Swoop picks a direction and starts walking, and then they come across some inactive robots, and Carly makes the leap that they're the Autobots ancestors.

O: Or they could just be like the Sentinel drone thing Shockwave was using but okay and then after that five-second scene we move on.

S: And then they, apparently, set off some ancient booby traps that involve axes. 

O: Swoop gets clipped in the wing but is otherwise okay...

S: Foreshadowing!

O: [Laughter] 

S: Then they almost get smooshed because walls that start closing in on them but um, Swoop just smashes a hole through the wall and they walk right on out.

O: Then some heat-seeking missiles come after them.

S: Ooooh, Swoop transforms and attempts some fancy flying to get away from the missiles but they all end up crashing to the ground before he suddenly remembers he can transform.

O: Yes, I know he just transformed from robot mode but he didn't remember he could transform back into robot mode. Just- just don't ask. Just don't ask.

S: Like, he had some issues with his wing.

O: Yeah.

S: And then he just shoots the missiles with his own that pop out of his chest. 

O: Never mind that he has some on his arms but I guess that would be too obvious.

S: They didn't want to deal with having to animate them being gone, maybe? 

O: Just have them regenerate or something! Or pop back out after, I don't know.

S: Yeah, so they arrive at some sort of outdoor area before entering a room that has some sort of viewing screen that looks, weirdly, like Shockwave’s head. 

O: Then we get a mini history lesson that, I am utterly convinced, is also narrated by Frank Welker. Did Megatron moonlight as a documentary narrator at some point? 

S: Maybe.

O: Regardless, some of Shockwave’s Sentinel bots arrive and take the kids captive.

S: And they talk. That's a person!

O: Well, I guess that's our precedent for Vehicons in Prime, then.

S: I guess? Yeah. And, so, getting captured was somehow the best way they have for finding the Dinobots because they basically get escorted to them. Except something is clearly wrong as all of the Dinobots appear to be happily working for the Decepticons.

O: Carly manages to fix them by comparing their circuits to Swoops’ and realizing the Decepticons have bypassed their memory circuits.

S: They're also at the Cybertonium pits.

O: Yes, conveniently, of course. Plot contrivance.

S: Yes, yes, yes and due to Carly fixing the circuit issue they all thank her.

O: She's already an honorary Dinobot now. That's my headcanon, thank you, thank you very much!

S: Yep. Spike and Grimlock- So they come up with a sneaky, sneaky plan.

O: Of course!

S: Spike- Spike and Grimlock stage a fight to get the force field/fence dropped.

O: All the Dinobots then transform and melt the Sentinels.

S: They escape and head towards a tube with no car. 

O: When Spike points this out Grimlock says, “Me Grimlock need no car,” and picks Spike and Carly up as all the bots enter the tube.

S: Well, I mean, they can fly so-

O: I- yeah, they seem to just sort of be carried up to through the tube. I don't know if they're actually flying or not, or if the tube’s doing it, to be honest.

S: I don't know, but I wouldn't really trust the tube with a human. On their own.

O: Also true. 

S: Sparkplug and Teletraan have managed to hack into the Decepticon computer and changed the spacebridge’s destination, unbeknownst to Shockwave. I have a number of questions about this and I’m never going to get any answers.

O: I was about to say- Sparkplug, most interesting man in the world, knows how to hack computers! [Laughter] Unless that was completely all Teletraan!

S: Eh, could have been. I don't know.

O: And then, apparently, Shockwave this entire time was but a tube ride away from the Dinobots.

S: They took so long to get down there.

O: Obviously, the- the writers wanted us to see the scenic sites of Cybertron.

S: Well, we had to get some sort of exposition in here.

O: Hm-mmm.

S: Oh, the group arrives in Shockwave’s control room and Swoop knocks him over as they all get into the space bridge.

O: Poor Swoop loses part of his wing for the trouble but he does manage to get in with everybody else.

S: Oh, that's a relief. Well, not losing the wing, but him getting in with everyone else.

O: Yeah.

S: So they arrive back on- back at earth with a little trouble.

O: Well, a little additional trouble, anyway.

S: Yeah, afterwards Optimus makes Spike and Carly honorary Autobots and just tells the Dinobots, “Good job.”

O: Where's their medals? Why is he like this?

S: Poor kids. Optimus is not the best dad.

O: No, no. Wheeljack and Ratchet are reasonably good dads, though. They- I hope they gave their Dinobots some hugs after this.

S: Yeah. 

O: So, what's- what's our important takeaway for today, Specs?

S: Take your vitamins and eat your veggies, kids.

O: Otherwise, you, too, may fall from the sky and have to rely on a bunch of Dino babies to save your ass.

S: Maybe.

O: And join us next time for: Blaster Blues! It's one small step for bots, as everybody ends up on the goddamn moon and things get supreme. Omega Supreme. 

S: [Laughter] Yes, and we have some fanfic recommendations for today one from me and one from Owls. So my recommendation is: “The Light and the Smile” by KoiLungFish. It's in the G1 cartoon continuity, it's rated T, it's Gen because there aren't any pairings, uh, there's, yeah, no pairings, and it's entirely original characters, so your mileage may vary. In summary, “A group of failed Decepticons is sent to a remedial training base. Unfortunately, something has followed them.” 

S: It's an all OC cast and it's got some really interesting world building and, like, culture exploration for the Decepticons.

O: Which, quite frankly, there needs to be more of and there's like, none in a lot of continuities.

S: Yeah, this was actually one that I was planning on having as a fic rec for that episode where Megatron gets everyone's power rectifier chips.

O: Hmm.

S: Because that sort of thing is actually, like, relevant to the plot of this fic.

O: Oh, gotcha. 

S: And so the character/theme rec uh, or for why I chose it is like- remember that room with the bodies from the episode? It made me think of this.

O: Oh, that's, again, just not- that- that- that bodes well. That bodes well. That sounds healthy.

S: And, also, the power rectifier stuff but that's not especially relevant to this episode except that the Decepticon- or yeah, not really relevant. Well, it's also the fact that that Decepticon, sort of, grunt or whatever, that- the fact that was a person, also made me think of this, because that character I don't think anyone's explored. 

O: Yeah.

S: And it's the one shot. [It is not a one shot, it is a complete fic with four chapters, if I remember right. ~Specs] If there aren't any the- KoiLungFish didn't do anything else in- with these characters as far as I'm aware.

O: Gotcha.

S: It's a well-written, entertaining story and I would definitely recommend it. So let's go to Owl's pick.

O: My wildcard pick for today is “Confirmation” by Interstellar_Child. It is in the IDW continuity, it is G, it is slash, it is Minimus Ambus/Megatron, and they are our two characters for this. And, in summary, “The phrase, “Can you confirm it,” used over the different points of their relationship.” It's a one-shot, it's short, it's sweet. I just sort of picked it for my random ones because I like MiniMegs.

S: Okay, that sounds like it's neat.

O: I said, it's just sort of short, sweet, and quite frankly, sometimes, though, it's the only kind of fics I can focus on right now. 

S: Yeah, it's just like that sometimes.

O: It just be like that. Yep.

S: And that about wraps it up for us today.  Remember to check us out on Tumblr or Pillowfort as Afterspark-Podcast for any additional information, show notes, or links we may have mentioned.  You can also find us on Facebook and Twitter at AftersparkPod (all one word) and various other locations by searching for Afterspark Podcast such as AO3, iTunes, Spotify, and Youtube, just to name a few.  And feel free to send us questions on Tumblr, or Youtube, or AO3!  Till next time, I'm Specs.

O: And I’m Owls.

S: Toodles

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