#podship

[remcycle]

A legitimate strategy.

[doctor-dorky]

Recently did this piece, after someone on Discord gave me the idea. 3 of the 4 races here are fan-races(bluish crystal ships and spiky ship are mine, the red ones are from user SpectreKnight, I do not know if they have a Tumblr account too).

Apart from the sketchy background, I'm very happy with this piece, especially since environments are typically not my forte!

[andypantsx3]

𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 : 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: 1.7k of unedited alien prince shouto thoughts based on this post from the other day! sfw, gender neutral reader. several elements of this universe were borrowed from my fave sci-fi novel; see end notes for deets!

he's beautiful—the todoroki prince. tall and strong in his high-collared uniform, strapped with lean muscle and handsomely humanoid. he's the first thing that snares your gaze as your party is guided into the hall of the sun—the reception dome that overlooks the rise of the star yuuei in the morning sky, used by the ruling family to receive visiting dignitaries.

it is morning, in endeavorian planetary time, and the sun has begun to rise. its light is weaker than you remember from back home—almost watery, pooling like quicksilver in the panes of the dome's ceiling.

up at the front of the hall, it catches in the strands of the white half of the prince's hair. from what izuku has told you, it's the half that indicates he's part of the himura bloodline. the himura dynasty has ruled the yuuei system from its capital planet of endeavor iv for tens of thousands of earth-years. it's the second longest line of unbroken rulers in mapped galactic history, an impressive feat.

the other half of the prince's hair is a fiery red, like that of the man who stands next to him—todoroki enji, the general of intergalactic renown, who donated half of prince shouto's genome as well as his clan name. each time a himuran royal from the main line marries, izuku had explained, talking at lightspeed in the podship, they take a branch name, typically sourced from the primary gene-donator. it helps keep inheritance lines clear.

prince shouto looks like he's inherited empress rei and todoroki enji's genes in exactly half—his coloring split down the middle, though his features are perfectly, almost hauntingly symmetrical. he wears a pin of flint at his collar that symbolizes his gender—one of yuuei's thirteen official designations. from what you understand from izuku, it most closely aligns with earth designation "man".

it's embarrassing how much you notice about the prince as you file into the hall, stationing yourself right at the gap between izuku and tenya's shoulders, so you can still see todoroki shouto.

"you don't think they'll reject the treaty and kill us all, do you?" denki mumurs nervously as he presses in behind you.

"no, i don't think so," izuku's gentle voice drifts back to you. he's a three-star ethnologist, studying for a command ethnology post. subsequently he's the most informed of any of the cadets that have been sent along with the treatise party. you and denki are just mechanics, sent along in case anything goes wrong.

"the alliance would be too much trouble for the yuuei," izuku explains. "they have good relations with the surrounding galaxies and tight control over a lot of resources. but the alliance is really large now, compared to the last time they approached the yuuei. they'll likely want to accept at least a loose federation with the allies."

up on the platform at the front of the hall, prince shouto blinks long and slow, like an earth cat. you realize with a start it's the first time you've seen him blink at all, and the subtle reminder that he is not just an extraordinarily handsome human man but the prince of an alien species makes your skin prickle.

"don't you think it's weird they are all this pretty?" denki asks. "it's weird, right?"

"definitely weird," you laugh, your eyes trailing over prince shouto's blade-straight nose, his pert, perfect mouth. "possibly illegal under intergalatic law."

prince shouto stills all of a sudden, and there is the tiniest tilt of his head. two heterochromatic eyes flick over your way, and you are completely embarrassed by the way your stomach swoops in response. you just manage not to grab onto tenya's uniform to steady yourself.

one of the prince's eyebrow arches almost imperceptibly, and you wonder if he's heard you from this distance—but no, that would be insane.

denki picks up his commentary, emboldened by your playing along. you think the prince's eyes linger just a little too long on the gap between izuku and tenya's shoulders, but then you're distracted by the reception beginning.

the alliance treaty officer strides forward, flanked by a few of the other officials your crew had ferried here. she performs an elaborate bow, as do the other officials. from izuku's muttering you gather it's some sort of ritualistic greeting, and empress rei at least looks pleased with it, waving a gentle hand to gesture the party forward.

there is some shuffling as various aides set up a table and a series of holo-tablets, along with various inks, a leathery roll of endeavorian traditional parchment, and—

"is that a knife?" you ask, peering at the long obsidian blade placed on the table in front of the officials.

izuku's fluffy head of green curls inclines. "treaties are sealed twice. once in the alliance fashion and then again in the local custom, to make it binding per both systems. blood pacts have been used in yuuei for millennia."

the brush of something over your face has your gaze turning back to the prince—to find him staring straight at you, those unblinking eyes boring into you.

"izuku, weird question. can the yuuei hear across rooms?" you ask, suddenly self-conscious.

a green eye peers back at you. "only in the event of their pair bonds—the yuuei are documented hearing their matepair across approximately ten earth-kilometers. i think we're safe over here though. why?"

matepair. the world settles strangely under your skin, as the prince's eyes brush across it.

"uh, matepair?" you echo.

tenya gives both you and izuku a quelling look, but it's not enough to deter izuku from ducking down to explain in slightly quieter tones. "the yuuei look human but they pair differently. they form a parapsychic bond with only a single partner, which they maintain and uphold for life. it's not just cultural—it's like a physical compulsion. they cannot take another pair, and they cannot be separated for long periods or they grow sick."

prince shouto is still staring straight at you, and it's not quite comforting enough to know that he cannot possibly hear you.

it's only his role in the ceremony that seems to eventually break the prince's weird focus in your direction. he steps forward to perform his duty as empress rei's chosen heir. you almost flinch as the knife draws across the pale skin of his palm, and he adds several drips of silvery blood to the parchment, symbolizing yuuei's intent to uphold the treaty across future monarchs.

the flesh of his palm knits itself back together in seconds, and another little shiver goes up your spine. those mismatched eyes flash back your way as he steps back, and the various aides and officials once again converge on the documents.

there is a brief flurry of activity, various bows and oaths, some stilted endeavorian verse. the chief treaty officer looks relieved when it's all over, and the royal family steps down from the dais to greet the rest of the visiting party, as is the customary honor granted to allies to the yuuei. tenya ushers you into the queue near the back with denki, a symbol of your lower status as mechanics.

you don't mind, as the thought of reaching prince shouto has your stomach doing what feel like backflips in your gut. the longer the delay the better.

izuku had walked everyone through the appropriate greetings on the podship, a few murmured words and a hand touch at chest-level—extremely hard to mess up, even for you. but nevertheless your pulse kicks up the closer you draw to the royal family.

there's a long line of them you greet first. offshoot branch members, then general todoroki enji, whose enormous palm burns hot against yours and who looks he'd rather take your party's hands off than touch them. then rei's unchosen heirs—the princess fuyumi, prince natsuo—and a gap where prince touya would have stood, were he not offworld.

and then you're standing in front of prince shouto, your pulse pounding in your ears. he's extremely tall up close, clearing six feet easily, broad across the shoulders and handsome in a way that almost makes your teeth ache. the yuuei look deceptively human, but this near you can see the tiny details that separate them from you—the slight double-point to their ears, the silvery undertone to their skin, the prolonged space between their breaths and their blinks.

and of course their inhuman beauty. they don't quite look like regular people, and it sparks a tiny note of wariness in the primeval part of your human hindbrain.

prince shouto's mismatched eyes pin you, silver and blue, as a sudden, silvery flush creeps across his face. you hold your hand out in greeting, trying not to wonder if you've somehow managed to offend him already—but instead of pressing his palm against yours, his long fingers suddenly grasp yours, clasping tightly.

beyond him, empress rei freezes too. all at once you can feel every single himuran noble turn to look at you, hundreds of eyes pinning on you.

reflexively, words tumble out of you. "shit did i—what did i do? were you supposed to get a different hand thingy?"

you can hear the treaty officer's horrified inhale at the terms shit and hand thingy, deployed in crass galactic standard in front of a literal prince. you immediately wish you could take them back, but from the look on the prince's face, he's already heard them.

something at the corner of his mouth twitches, like he's trying not to smile.

"y/n," he says, in a deep tone. it's crisply accented and just as beautiful as the rest of him.

it takes you a second to realize prince shouto has used your name, which he could not possibly know considering the uniform you'd been issued for the yuuei visit has no unique identifiers on it. you glance down at yourself, then back up at him, befuddled.

"how did you—? where did you—?" you garble out. "did denki put you up to this? how do you know me?"

prince shouto's fingers smooth over yours, delightfully warm, calloused and sure. "i would know you in any universe," he says, voice soft. behind you, you hear princess fuyumi make a tiny sound of delight.

you blink. "universe? what—uh, what universe? how would you—?"

but shouto leans in, tugging you closer with those deceptively strong fingers. he's so very warm up close, and so beautiful it makes your brain short circuit, especially as he lowers his face to yours. a shiver rolls down your spine as his other hand takes you gently by the chin.

and then he murmurs a single word before pressing his mouth to yours—

"matepair."

𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: credits where they are due!! the idea of a space general dna donator, an overarching space alliance pursuing a treaty, & the flint pin denoting gender were taken from my fave sci-fi novel winter's orbit by everina maxwell! (if you love heartfelt gay love stories in space i am actually begging you to read it).

[impossiblesuitcase]

Tu me Cherchais?

““Hello, Michelle.” His voice was a wearier version of the one she had adored all those years ago, but it still filled her with memories and loneliness and warmth.” 

Tell him hello

When Logan first brought Selene to Michelle, he stayed in the house. No one visited her anyway and he couldn’t go into town—not with the risk of being discovered. While Selene was still in such critical condition, he would need to watch over her. Once she was stable, he would leave.   

Logan slept on the couch in the living room next to Selene’s chamber. In her current state, she was at risk of a heart attack or capture from enemies. Michelle had offered them the spare bedroom, but the suspension tank couldn’t be brought up the stairs. Once, when she passed by the staircase, she remembered the portraits on her wall. Four-year-old Scarlet playing in a sandbox. Herself and her son, a rare occasion where they were both smiling. Michelle made no effort to conceal them. Logan was far too distracted to pay attention, but she wondered—if for a moment he did—would he look at the photo of her and a three-month-old Luc and notice that she looked around the same age as when they had first met?  

She hoped he wouldn’t. A bizarre fear persisted, that he would be disappointed in her if he learnt of her failings as a mother to his son. 

During the daytime, while Logan was down in the bunker preparing it to house the body, Michelle was tasked with monitoring the child. The form was so grotesque, so mangled and inhuman that she couldn’t bear more than a cursory glance. In the evenings she would prepare them a meal. Again, Logan would eat by the child, and though Michelle initially joined him, sitting on the lounge chair by the lamp, it became too awkward. The silence. The utensils scraping on ceramic plates. The hum of the alien pod.  

The meals became simpler as she began to run out of ingredients. She had put off her usual grocery run since his arrival, worried that if she left the property and one of her neighbours flew by and noticed a man leaving her podship hanger, it would arouse suspicion. Then she realised that if the locals didn’t see her at her typical weekly outing, they might come to the house to check up on her. That would be worse.  

She never bought fresh produce from the grocer, usually just the essentials—flour and sugar and meat. On this occasion, as she attempted to escape a conversation with chatty Madame Manon Bouchard, she spied a stand of fresh dragon fruit right by the milk aisle.   

“You don’t even have zucchini?” she had once asked Logan, as they stood together in his kitchen, his hands around her waist.  

He had laughed into her hair. “Now you’re just making up words.”  

Her attempt to make a good ragout with the limited ingredients in Artemisia had left her stumped. Seeing the luxuriant meals in the cafés and restaurants, she had assumed the sparkly city was teeming with cultivation. Logan informed her that that was only the case for the rich; the less fortunate—even a well-paid doctor as himself—had fewer options.  

She peeled the carrots, chopped them and tossed them into the pot. Then came the wine. Or what was left of it; the rest in their bellies.  

She looked over her shoulder, flicking his nose. “Don’t worry. If you come to Earth, I will make you all kinds of things. With zucchini and lychee and rhubarb and dragon fruit.”  

“Sure,” he agreed with a fond shake of his head. “I’ll try your imaginary dragon fruit.”  

Michelle was struck by such an unexpected pang of emotion that she didn’t notice Manon’s offended scoff as she wandered over to the stand mid-conversation.  

That evening, she made dragon fruit tartlets for dessert. She thought, briefly, to pair it with a ragout. But she thought that might be making it a little too easy for him.  

After dinner, Logan brought the plates into the kitchen and washed them in the sink. She never asked him to do this. He always did.  

“Here,” she said, placing a plate by the dishrack. Atop it sat a perfect tartlet, drizzled with cream from her cow and strawberries from her field. “This is for you.”  

He glanced at it. “Thank you.”  

Once he was done at the sink, he sat at the kitchen table and ate. His brow was furrowed, his mind always a thousand light-years away.  

“It’s dragon fruit,” she ventured, tracing her eyes over that brow, waiting for recognition.   

Logan nodded, took his final bite and brought this plate over to the sink. “Thank you, Michelle.”  

A jolt of pain rippled through her. She turned away from him, heading to the living room. “I’ll, uh, check on the princess.”  

His grunt was all to indicate that he’d heard her. But the fruit, the memories, she knew he hadn’t remembered at all.  

———

“She couldn’t imagine how this child could sleep for her entire life and then be expected to become a queen upon her return to society. But that would be Logan’s job, whenever he returned. There were years still before anyone would know who this child was going to become.” 

———

Eight years later, Logan stayed in the bunker while they were waking Selene up, as did Linh Garan. Scarlet could never learn of their presence, yet Michelle was beginning to suspect that even if her granddaughter was removed from the equation, Logan wouldn’t risk leaving the princess’s side. He was cautious, yes, but most of all, he was manically paranoid.  

She hadn’t believed he was losing his mind, but after weeks of observing him, in surgery and in conversation and at meals, she began to believe him.  

The risk of Scarlet discovering them put her on edge, too. Thankfully school had started up again that week, so they had at least a few hours in the daytime where they didn’t need to be as surreptitious. Even then, Michelle would tense; Scarlet—the little hothead she was—tended to get into arguments at school and stomp home without any warning to her grandmother. Today was a Sunday, and Michelle had sent her off to the neighbour’s house. Old Madame Boudreaux had needed someone to help her set up a new netscreen, and fortunately for Michelle, she had a propensity for forcing all house guests to learn the history of every knick-knack and porcelain doll in her museum of a home. Scarlet wouldn’t be able to leave for several hours yet.  

This was the only time Logan was willing to be parted from Selene, no, Cinder, five days before she was to be taken away to the Eastern Commonwealth. She was caked in gel, an insect freshly emerged from its egg, slimy and tinged green. She needed to be bathed.  

Michelle had been more than hesitant to bring the child into her home, but there was no running water in the bunker. It was too difficult to carry the girl up the ladder with old bones, so the task had fallen to Garan. Although the man was set to be her adoptive father, he was rather unnatural in holding her. She hoped it was simply a product of unfamiliarity and not a sign of what kind of father he would be to the princess.  

They took her inside the house while she was still asleep. It wasn’t much different from her waking state, except for the groaning and squirming. Then Logan and Garan left Michelle with her in the bathroom. She woke as Michelle began running a warm soapy cloth over her arms, dissolving the crusted gel. A proper bath would be too aggressive for her fragile skin, the joints between flesh and prostheses still red and inflamed.  

Michelle wished the girl had stayed asleep. Odd as it may seem, Michelle wasn’t quite adept at interacting with children. Her rather disastrous upbringing of her son proved that. She only bonded with Scarlet so easily because the little hothead was just as stubborn as herself. But with this blank slate of a child, Michelle felt almost awkward.  

She grasped the shower head and gently cupped Cinder’s scalp under her palm. “All right, Cinder. Let’s wash your hair.”   

Though the water was a safe tepid she flinched, eyes tearing open and hands scrambling to grasp the corners of the bathtub. Michelle murmured soothing shhs and it’s okay’s. For the first time since waking, she looked at Michelle, awareness filling her gaze, but with it, harshness.  

Logan had assured her that the child would not wake with the mental faculties of a toddler, that the brain stimulations had successfully advanced her to the comprehension level befitting her age. Michelle was secretly unconvinced. The girl moved in a haze, more like a newborn than even a three-year-old, as though she had regressed during stasis.  

But then she would cast a look at Michelle, long and loaded, and she would feel that she had been complicit in some crime.  

Nevertheless, the hair had to be washed, so Michelle used her free hand to still the girl as she soaked the hair from roots to ends. Cinder eventually gave up in squirming, limbs still too weak to offer any form of escape.  

She made quick work of the shampoo and conditioner. With her body carefully untouched by the stream, Cinder began to shiver.   

“All done, Cinder,” Michelle assured. She sat her up and wrapped a towel around her. “Do you want to try your walking?”  

Cinder remained motionless but allowed Michelle to lift her. She groaned as she heaved the child out of the bath and set her on the ground. “Ready?”  

Cinder took the smallest step forward on the tile and immediately lurched forward. Hands at the ready, Michelle was quick to stop her from falling. Righting her, she guided gently, “That’s okay. Let’s try again.”  

Garan had been teaching her to walk and had partial success thus far. A look of concentration encased the girl’s face now as she lifted her stiff foot and forced it in front of her.   

Cinder wobbled but stayed upright. She gripped Michelle’s hand tighter.  

Through several arduous steps and a few stumbles, they reached the bedroom. Michelle considered but decided not to repeat Garan’s encouragements. “You’re doing well,” “almost there,” “good job.” They were perfunctory. No number of pleasantries could coax a ship to fly or teach a horse to run. Cinder alone would decide if she walked.  

Michelle lowered her to the bed, reaching for the outfit she had laid out. “These are your new clothes, Cinder. I have another set for you to take as well.” 

Well, they weren’t new. They came from a box of Scarlet’s old clothes from last year. Michelle had planned to donate them to the local boutique de charité and that’s where Scarlet believed they currently were. Michelle had since found an equally charitable cause for them. She would wash the ones Cinder had lived in for the past week before sending them off in a duffel bag with the girl in tow.  

The goosebumps on her skin calmed as the fleecy cotton covered her arms. Cinder weakly tugged at the sleeves, trying to pull them down with little success until Michelle intervened.  

“You’ll have a new mother soon. She’ll help you get dressed if you’re still not ready yet.”  

Michelle shimmied the pants up her legs. Her fingernail accidentally grazed the link between flesh and metal on her thigh and Cinder whimpered. Michelle flinched.  

“Désolé, chérie.” She patted her leg soothingly, moving onto the socks. Then she stepped back to evaluate.  

She would be warm, at least. Not much could be done yet about the unnatural pallor of her skin. The hair, clean but still tangled, with split ends running up to the roots, now she could do something about that.  

Michelle found her salon scissors and brush, heaving onto her knees on the bed behind Cinder. Her muscles groaned as they rested on the unsteady surface and she swayed, but the scissors stayed firmly gripped in her fist. Cinder couldn’t be trusted around them yet.  

Her fingers picked up some chunks of hair and raked through them. The girl whined even at the slightest tug. “I know it doesn’t feel nice, Cinder” she said as she worked the brush through the ends. “But we have to push through the pain to make it better.”  

Her words had run ahead of her. As the bristles danced through the brown strands, she continued, “I’ve had to do that many times in my lifetime. As will you.”  

Cinder’s shoulders drooped. With the worst knots untangled, she was a statue. 

Satisfied, Michelle lay a towel on the quilt to catch the hair and began cutting. It was long—eight years’ worth of growth—and yet it was still uneven. Michelle had a vision of this girl as a 3-year-old with oozing pus in patches over her burnt scalp. They had since healed, but the hair was brittle in some parts more than others. A good ten centimetres off should even it out.  

Michelle feathered the ends, brushing the loose hair from her shirt. “All done. Would you like to see?”  

To Michelle’s astonishment, Cinder seemed to nod. It wasn’t exactly obvious—perhaps just a meaningless reflex—but perhaps it had been intentional.   

Michelle set the scissors on the towel. It took another test of patience to help Cinder stagger back into the bathroom and Michelle’s arms were aching with exertion from carrying her by the shoulders.  

Cinder took the last few steps on her own and gripped the bench, staring at herself in the mirror. Michelle watched her.  

No expression. No recognition. There was no mirror in the bunker. Did Cinder realise this was the first time she’d seen herself since she was a toddler? Did she even comprehend that it was her? Despite how much Logan swore that she had been educated, caught up to speed on normal childhood development, had it failed?  

Was this girl not a girl, but a dead soul’s consciousness forced into a machine, functioning only through robotics and wires and machinery?  

Michelle had to grip the towel rail to steady herself.  

How could this child become queen? How could she save them all?

“Selene,” she said suddenly, then immediately shook her head, “no, Cinder. You must listen to me.” She released the rail and took the girl’s shoulders into her hands. Cinder turned to face her.  

“Cinder. I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know if they will come for you. But whatever happens, you can’t let them take everything from you.” Michelle pressed her forehead against Cinder’s, awkwardness dispelled by the divine need to impart this instruction. She conjured every ounce of motherly wisdom that she had lacked with her son, and thought about what she would tell Scarlet, had Scarlet been the girl before her.  

“They have already taken so much from you. They will want to make you a leader. They will forget that you are just a girl.” She pulled away, her eyes imploring. “When they ask you to fight, you must learn to say yes. But when they ask everything of you, you must learn to say no.” Exhaling every breath she’d taken in over the past eight years, she asked, “Okay?”  

Cinder blinked slowly through full lashes. A minuscule light darted back and forth in her left eye. A bionic eye. Fake. Her heart. Brain. Lungs. All of it.  

Maybe synthetic eyes couldn’t light up with joy or with recognition. Maybe they couldn’t convey sadness or understanding. So maybe Cinder had been understanding Michelle this entire time. Michelle was the one who had been blind. 

Cinder’s mouth opened. She began to nod. Again, it could be a meaningless tick, but then, in the quietest voice Michelle had ever heard, she spoke.  

“...O–kay.”  

———

“Grand-mère, who is Logan Tanner?”  Her grandma brushed a light kiss against Scarlet’s forehead.  “He’s a good man, Scarlet. He would have loved you.”

———

 

Cinder began speaking sparsely, mostly nos and yeses and whys. She voiced her first full sentence on the day she left. 

“Where are we going?” she asked Garan as he buckled her into her seat in the hover. 

“We’re going home, Cinder,” he explained with a light tone. Once she was strapped in, he stepped away and the door slid shut. 

Garan turned to Michelle and Logan. “Well…” he trailed off. 

“Thank you again, Garan.” Logan said sincerely, taking his hand and shaking it. “This could not have been accomplished without your skills and discretion.” His tone became grave. “And for the danger you have inflicted upon yourself, I am truly sorry.” 

Garan shook his head. “Don’t be, Logan. I am honoured to play this role in shaping history.”  

Thus far, he had seemed to Michelle a curious savant, enticed more by the prospect of having a Lunar subject for his inventions than by the theophanic-like encounter with a resurrected myth. Yet he demonstrated now a trace of comprehension in his tight brow. He understood the risk of accepting this burden.  

He offered Michelle a nod and rounded to the other side of the hover. “Good-bye then.” Garan opened the door and slid inside. 

Michelle’s attention was entrapped by Cinder. She was staring right at her, blinking slowly, and Michelle suddenly felt cruel to not have parted with a hug, a kiss, a promise that everything would eventually work out. But Michelle could not feed such lies to this child. Cinder was somehow entirely different to the girl that had haunted the ground beneath Michelle’s feet for the past eight years. That had been Selene. Cinder was the one who had woken up. 

Mostly, Michelle was sad to send her off, sure in the deepest fissures of her heart that her new life in the Eastern Commonwealth would not be as ‘fine’ as Garan promised it to be. 

The hover lifted from the ground and picked up speed, yet Cinder’s searching brown eyes lingered down the full length of the driveway. 

Once the rattle of whirring motors faded and the disturbed dust had drifted back to the ground, only Michelle and Logan were left. 

They looked out to the road, three arm lengths apart. 

Michelle exhaled shakily. “Well, there she goes.” 

A grim nod. “She has to.” 

Michelle shifted slightly, halfway facing him. “You don’t trust him?” 

“I do…” he sighed. “I trust he won’t betray her to the authorities or treat her badly, I just don’t…” He pursed his lips. 

“Don’t what?” 

Logan clasped his hands together, not meeting her eyes. “Michelle, there is no one on Earth or Luna I trust more than you. If it hadn’t been so threatening to both her and your safety, I would want her under your protection for as long as possible. I don’t know that Garan will manage this burden in the way you have.” 

The honesty rocked her. So confessionally sweet, and yet so obvious in its failings. Because he shouldn’t trust her so, not when they had such a brief connection to begin with. Not when he probably had a life on Luna after her, maybe a wife and children; children that perhaps looked vaguely alike their own son. There was no room for such unbosoming, not for co-conspirators in treasonous affairs that would surely catch up to them both. 

But perhaps, wouldn’t have been nice if there was no Selene at all? If he had simply escaped Luna to find her, and if he could sleep in the house rather than the bunker? Sit across from her at the dining table and tell stories to Scarlet, whom he would surely adore?    “We are older than Garan,” she said soberly. “But he will learn—as we did.” 

He nodded distractedly, perhaps disappointed. Was he disheartened that she did not acknowledge his praise towards her?     If he was, he didn’t dwell on it. “I leave tomorrow. It would be too suspicious for me to follow the hover. Granted I’m still sane by the time I reach the Commonwealth, I’ll check on her, just for safety.” 

Right. He was losing his mind, or so he said. He seemed always to be present with her, but she did notice him losing his train of thought when conversing with Garan and becoming fidgety when Cinder would refuse their gentle prompts to practise walking. “...And if you’re not sane?” 

His eyes bored into hers, distant as though foreseeing the forthcoming years. “I’ve already done my work.” 

Her port chimed, an alarm reminding her that Scarlet would be due home soon. Michelle had essentially forced Scarlet to go spend the afternoon at a friend’s house, but she wouldn’t be deterred for too long. Logan needed to hide. “You’ll have to retire to the bunker for the night.” 

He stepped away. “Of course. Then this is goodbye.” 

She startled. “I won’t see you off tomorrow?” 

“Tomorrow is Saturday. On Luna, school children have the weekend off. I’m assuming it’s the same on Earth.” 

She’d forgotten, so terrified of Scarlet uncovering the confidential mission happening right under her nose that the days had blurred into insignificance. Logan never spoke of Scarlet, but they had all been aware of the oblivious bystander preventing them from acting in the open. “Right. I hadn’t realised.” 

Logan appeared to contemplate what he said next. “I am truly grateful to have known you, Michelle.” 

She pressed her lips, feeling twenty-nine again in everything but body. “Take care of yourself, Logan.” 

And then he was walking away. No embrace, no handshake or nod as Garan had exchanged.  

The wind whipped through her hair and the sunset before him cast a silhouette—an old man tramping through the crops. 

She hadn’t said it. That she trusted him impossibly more than anyone else, too. That this trust had long blurred the lines of devotion. Their fling was remembered as having lasted an entire lifetime. She wondered if she would soon regret her silence. 

Michelle turned and strolled back to the house. Two—diametrically opposed in direction, no longer having Selene to tether them together. But, with a hand on her chest, Michelle resolved that if Cinder reclaimed her throne, freed Luna and opened the way for Lunars and Earthens to have peace, she knew who she would fly to. 

———

“On Luna, I knew the man who brought you to Earth and performed your surgery. I tracked him down in an attempt to find you, but by then he’d already started to lose his mind. All I could get out of him was that you were somewhere here, in the Commonwealth.”  

Tell him good-bye

“Where is she?” 

Logan was shoved backwards, head lolling as the whiplash caught him. He dumbly flailed his hands but was too blindsided to direct a blow.  

Sage Darnel was much shorter than Logan, but he towered over him as Logan’s knees gave out. He crumpled to the ground. 

“Is she alive?” Sage demanded again, lugging him up by the collar. His sky-blue eyes were stormy and fierce and Logan couldn’t hold them. 

His breaths were shallow and irregular, mind vague and unfocused. He couldn’t remember where he was, why he was here… 

“Logan!” Sage barked. 

“Alive,” he gasped, wincing as nails dug into his flesh. “Alive. Barely.”  

When Sage had ambushed him outside the android dealer, Logan had taken off with the tenacity of a sprinter. But his internal compass failed him and Sage chased him down, cornering him in this alleyway.  

Sage snarled, his canines gleaming in the moonlight. “What do you mean?” 

“Broken,” bubbled from his lips. “Too broken. Bone and skin and ashes.” 

“What are you saying, Logan?” he spat. 

Princess Selene’s burnt corpse flashed past his vision. Blood and pus oozing from welts. Bones and skin mangled. Her charred eyes in his hands. Pieces of her brain sitting on his operating table. “I had to fix her.” 

“Fix what? Her body? From the fire?” 

Chopping and stitching and sawing and praying. “Metal and grafts.” 

His anger wilted with realisation. “She’s a cyborg, isn't she?” 

Stupidly, Logan thought that this shift might give him an advantage. He wrestled against the iron grip, sneering, “Levana sent you to take her!”  

Sage shoved him further up the wall, invading his space so closely that Logan could feel his breath on his chin. “I want to rip Levana apart with my own two hands and return Selene to her throne.” 

“Why?” he choked. 

“Because she killed my daughter. What’s your reason?” 

He had none, no personal stake, except for the sake of his country. “To fight her,” he settled on, not really knowing what it meant. 

“Good. So where is she?” 

Stars, how did they ever take this man’s daughter away from him? Logan was certain he was only a millisecond away from smashing his skull against the brick wall. 

“Logan!” 

“Commonwealth! The Eastern Commonwealth!” he cried, awaiting the blow.  

“Where? Where in the Eastern Commonwealth?” 

He couldn’t feel the blow, but it must have come. Why else was his brain screaming? His body burning hotter than a playhouse in a toddler’s nursery? Incoherent spluttering vomited from his mouth, breaths coming out but none able to come in. He was asphyxiating. He was bleeding. He was brainless. 

Sage’s frantic blue eyes were not enough to keep Logan’s attention. It was fixed at the end of the alleyway—a figure drenched in moon light approached. 

“Where?!” 

“Yes Logan, where? Where did you put her?” mocked Dr Eliot, her silhouette growing clearer. 

“I saved her, I swear!” Logan protested. 

Dr Eliot shook her head, expression vacant. Blood began to trickle down her scalp in rivulets, dripping down her eyelids and lips. Then the trickle turned into a stream, swimming down her white doctor’s coat and staining it, the blood black in the moonlight. 

“I did, I-I promise,” he stammered, “I did, I did, I did.” 

Thud. He was dropped to the floor. He barely noticed.  

“You’ve lost your mind,” Sage snarled and stomped down the alleyway, walking straight through the bloodied ghost.  

It began to rain. 

Logan lay on the damp, cold cement, heart palpitating and eyes unseeing. 

Yes, lost my mind, his mind thought, as Dr Eliot’s blood drifted from the sky and blanketed him. 

Yes, yes, yes, yes yes yes yes. 

———

Before he had lost his mind, it had been kind to him. He needed enough mental clarity to perform Selene’s surgeries. With that accomplished, his sanity promptly handed him a letter of resignation. 

Three months. Logan had elected to wait three months after leaving Michelle before following Garan into New Beijing. Three months before he surreptitiously checked on the child. Time was needed to put distance between Logan and Garan, to stamp out any suspicions of a connection. 

As the reins of timekeeping flung out of his hands—another consequence of the Lunar sickness—three months turned into two and half years. It was then that Sage Darnel found Logan and pinned him to the wall of the alleyway. How long Sage had been on Earth, Logan didn’t know. He no longer remembered how long he himself had been on Earth. 

His encounter with Sage only worsened his fear. It became even more imperative that he avoid the princess. He could only hope that Sage either never found her or that he was true to his word; that he too wished to see her enthroned. 

But any others lurking around, searching for the princess, may not share those motives. 

Logan lived as a nomad, moving from place to place, province to province and never staying long enough to become a local. When he had escaped Luna for Earth, he had left the pilot helping him all his assets, his home and his investments. In exchange, the pilot converted all of Logan’s savings into Earthen currency registered under his new false identity. He had enough to sustain him over the years, knowing there was no possibility of him working again. Not as a doctor, with a mind so demented. Not with the chance of another Lunar finding him. 

He was pitied by some, ignored by most. More than once was he asked if he had wandered away from his nursing home. Once he was robbed, his portscreen stolen from him. It had all his connections to Linh Garan, but Logan had programmed it to delete all incriminating evidence if ever it was opened by someone other than himself. Now he really had to trust in Garan, because he wouldn’t soon be able to reach him. 

Between harrowing visions that reduced him to a trembling ball on the floor and sleeping and eating and shuffling about, he had memories. His younger brother tossing him a ball. His elderly patient sobbing as he delivered a terminal diagnosis. In the library, reading about the atmosphere of Earth. The pictures did no justice to the true colour of the sky, someone had once told him….who? 

One day as he wandered aimlessly around a grocery store, bumping into androids and accidentally knocking over shelf displays, a kindly-looking young woman stopped him and asked if he had a wife she could call to come collect him. 

I don’t think so, he had said, and she smiled pityingly. 

Logan had almost married twenty years ago. Bright and cheery Evelyn Eliot, with the mousy blonde hair and always concerned grey eyes. She was the aunt of one of Logan’s students and an engineer in Artemisia’s maglev system. Logan grew to care for her. He never revealed to her how truly malcontent he was against the regime—he didn’t think she shared such sympathies. But she was kind, and he would not be unhappy with her. 

One afternoon, two months before their wedding date, she burst into the medical centre, face flushed with sweat beading her forehead. In a low whisper, she hastily told him that two guards had visited her at her work and reassigned her to outer sectors to strengthen the security of the maglev system. The people were becoming defiant, the risk they might try to cross borders growing greater. Evelyn didn’t want to leave. She promised him that she wouldn’t go. 

Perhaps Logan should have confessed his hatred of the monarchy to her, because perhaps then she would have been resigned to the knowledge that refusal was not an option. 

That night, Evelyn disappeared. Bioelectrically manipulated onto a maglev shuttle and shipped over to her new assignment in the outer sectors. With the laws prohibiting travel between sectors, she was never to return. With the two of them unmarried, Logan could not follow her. 

He resolutely gave up on all inklings of companionship and love after that. 

A week later, he’d stumbled upon his former student, now Dr Eliot, tearing up her office in a fury. She threw vitals scanners to the floor, smashed vials under her feet.  

“They took her!” she screamed, wrestling with a lab cart. It crashed to the ground with a furious smash! “They stole her just because they can! We’ll never see her again! I hate them, I hate all of them!” 

She raised a stethoscope, ready to hurl it but startled when she realised she was aiming it at him. 

A hand whipped over her mouth. “I don’t, I didn’t…I don’t despise the monarchy—I swear—” 

Logan hushed her with a held finger. “Be careful who you say those things around, Doctor.” And then in an impossibly low murmur, “Not everyone around here shares the same sentiments as we do.” 

Her eyes widened. 

They never spoke again of their shared resistance. But their bond was always stronger after that, even stronger than that of a mentor and a student. More than that of once-to-be uncle and niece. 

That must have been the reason why, when the nursery went up in flames, she sent for him rather than one of the younger, fitter doctors who could have raced over much sooner. Why when she was taken in to be questioned by Levana and her obsequious snake Sybil Mira, she entrusted Selene into his care. 

All he could remember now about Dr Eliot was the blood stretching the lengths of that alleyway. 

———

“I’ll try to keep an eye on her for as long as I can, but I’m not sure I will still be lucid enough to tell her the truth once she’s ready. It’s possible that responsibility will fall to Garan.” 

———

Linh Garan. ID #0082700743. Deceased 121 T.E. Cause of Death: Letumosis. 

It took a week for the understanding to pass through his haze of incomprehension. 121 T.E. That was four years ago. The girl must be now…oh…fifteen? 

It had all been prompted by a ring of blue bruises covering a dead man’s arms. Logan’s roommate—a young man kicked out of home by his ex-wife, almost as vague and aimless as Logan—had stumbled into the share house one day panting and dead-eyed. Logan’s medical training resurged, winning over his incognizance. He triaged the man, asking his symptoms, observing his breathing. When Logan took his wrist to check his pulse, he saw the bruises. 

The blue fever. He commed for an emergency hover from the man’s port and hid when the med droids came to collect him. 

Surely he had contracted it himself. It could take days for the symptoms of the plague to manifest, and they slept on opposite sides of the same room in twin beds. But if the med droids found him and took him, they would discover that he was Lunar. 

No, if he was going to die, he would do it here, hidden away. 

After three days of mania, fasting and acceptance, no symptoms arose. 

He couldn’t fathom a reason why he hadn’t caught it. No Earthen had ever recovered from the disease. Immunity. It had to be connected to his Lunar genealogy. Logan began to posit that Lunar defectors like himself had brought it to Earth in the first place. 

The second realisation came as he was absentmindedly watching a newsfeed about the cyborg draft in the Eastern Commonwealth. If Selene was called in for the draft, exposed to the disease and found to be immune, she would become a subject of curiosity. Garan must be warned. 

He had never once contacted Garan since he took the princess, dreading that someone could hack his portscreen and connect the dots. But as he now searched his profile on the portscreen he claimed from his deceased roommate, he discovered the truth. 

Garan was dead. Gone only weeks after he’d taken the princess away. Now who could tell her of her own identity? Garan and himself were the only ones who knew. Sage still evidently had not found her. 

And… 

And Michelle. 

He hadn’t consciously thought of her in a while. He was occasionally reminded of her; a French voice in a newsfeed, a smell of earth and dirt reminiscent of her farm, some dish filling his belly with the warmth of one of her stews. 

Even now, just at thought of her, a taste of something fruity and tangy coated his tongue.  

He expelled the aching from his chest. Michelle was so much wiser than him. She could help the girl become queen. If he could find Selene and bring her back to Michelle…no, that would endanger Michelle. He couldn’t. 

Logan would find Linh Cinder and tell her the truth himself. 

———

It took three months to reach New Beijing from where he had been decaying in Uzbekistan. Travel was near impossible with no mental legs to stand on, and Logan kept going in circles, catching the wrong maglevs, seeing visions along the way that caused him to flee in the opposite direction. This he could try to push past, but gradually he became more and more certain that he was being followed. Something was chasing him, observing him, but every time he turned around, the pursuer disappeared. 

Finally, a backpacker took pity on him and took him under his wing, guiding him through maglevs and hostels until they reached a suburb just outside the grimy, charming capital of the Eastern Commonwealth. They parted ways amicably at the doorstep of the Linh residence, a squat home among rows of identically small abodes, all with worn awnings, chipped paint and litter strewn across the footpath.  

The house immediately to the left had a broken window, glass shards spilled on a patch of weeds. Logan was well accustomed to less than pleasant lodging, but even this street curdled his stomach. 

“I hope you can find your grandson, my brother,” said the kind traveller. He flashed a two fingered salute. “Peace and love, man.” 

“Thank you,” said Logan, sort of wishing he remembered the free spirit’s name. Once the rickety shuttle hover trundled away, Logan pressed the bell. 

Silence. He pressed the button again two more times. This was the address listed under Garan’s name; Logan had confirmed it at least fifty times a day. Finally after the fourth ring an anxious looking woman appeared, cracking the door open by a sliver and peeking out. 

“H-hello,” he stammered. “Are–are you...Linh Adri?” 

She shook her head quickly. 

Breathing heavily, he frowned. “You’re not?” 

“No.” 

Logan blinked rapidly. As the woman began to close the door, he shouted, “Wait!” 

Her hand halted. 

“Do you know where Linh Adri is? Or…Linh…Linh Cinder?” 

Her guarded eyes softened, the most infinitesimal change, but noticeable in her tone when she spoke, “The mechanic?” 

“...Pardon?” 

“That girl. Linh Cinder. I don’t know where she lives now. But the neighbours here remember her. She used to fix their water heaters and portscreens. They say she’s a mechanic now.” 

“Where? Do you know?” he blurted loudly, stepping closer. 

She backed away, hands braced defensively. “New Beijing Market. That’s all I know!” 

Then she slammed the door. 

Linh Cinder. He never dared to netsearch her name. He struggled even to say it aloud. Every corner he turned, some vision was there to taunt him, singing the name again and again in a dissonant melody, mocking him. They would find her. They would take her.  

A flash caught his eye. Something, someone appeared—just for a moment. He scanned the street, trying to identify the figure, but there was nothing. Goosebumps erupted on his arms, but he shook off the panic. Still, some premonition deep in his gut insisted the apparition was real. Was familiar. 

Logan stumbled away from the porch, took out his portscreen, and punched in New Beijing Market. 

———

“Scarlet couldn’t bring herself to tell her grandmother that Logan Tanner was dead. Had gone crazy. Had killed himself.” 

———

The hover spat him out at New Beijing Market. It was exactly the sort of place Logan hated to be now; crowded, loud, confusing and hot. His internal compass misfired amongst the cramped booths and overwhelming din. In places like this, he would only escape once the sun was setting and shopkeepers were pulling down the rollers. 

He stumbled forward, moved by a greater purpose. 

His eyes scanned every booth around him, searching for anything resembling a mechanic’s haven. He remembered Garan’s tools and contraptions, the gleam in his eye when Cinder’s metal toes twitched for the first time as he tweaked wires and screwed joints shut. Perhaps he had trained her as a mechanic... 

No. It had only been weeks after he collected the princess that the plague had claimed him. Had Garan blamed her for catching the disease? Did he blame Logan? 

He turned a corner, and there Garan stood. 

His stomach climbed up to his throat. It was him. He was the one who had been stalking him across the Commonwealth. Garan stared at him, eyes unblinking and bloodshot. His arms were ringed with bruises, fingers blue and shrivelled. Green foam spluttered from his lips. 

“Logan,” he growled, clear all the way across the lane. “Come here.” 

Logan turned and bolted. 

Startled pedestrians jumped out of his way as he charged past, clutching their bags to their chests. Mothers tore their children off the path. 

Soon, visions were everywhere. Sage Darnel slithering out of a booth and grabbing him by the throat. His roommate’s corpse writhing on the ground, crying out, cursing him. He was already expecting Dr Eliot’s bloody appearance. Though she taunted him, he was familiar with this vision.  

Visions. That’s all they were. Unreal. Psychotic. 

The ground swallowed him up. The traffic of the passersby threaded around him—all at once, he knew every single one of them. Thaumaturges. Doctors. Aristocrats. The entire city of Artemisia was here on Earth, at this market, trampling him. His eyes squeezed shut. A hand lifted his chin towards the sky. 

He squinted painfully up into the sunlight. 

Queen Levana crouched over him, blood trickling down the tines of her crown and dripping off her lashes. 

Pebbles dug into his palms as he scampered away, but she made haste to follow.  

“Sir!” came from her mouth, unnaturally earnest from those smirking lips and ravenous eyes. “Sir, are you okay?” 

“Go–go away!” he shrieked. 

“Sir, what’s wrong? Do you need a doctor?” Do you have someone I can comm to get you? Children? A wife?” 

Logan scrambled to his feet and barrelled away from the queen. 

A wife. Yes, he had once almost had a wife. Steady hands calloused from digging into dirt. Teasing brown eyes. 

No…the woman he had almost married—what was her name?—she’d had blonde hair and grey eyes. Who was he thinking of? Who was he looking for?  

He was looking for…looking for… 

“Logan.” 

She stood amidst the crowd, ten paces away. Every shouting vendor and sizzling frypan silenced in the void. 

“Michelle,” he uttered. 

She was as young as she’d been when they met. Melting brown eyes. Lips beckoning him. 

Her smile was warm. “Come on, Logan. Let’s go home.” 

People swarmed around him. A woman blocked his view momentarily and once she passed on, Michelle had disappeared. 

His head whipped around frantically, searching for her in every direction. Her voice was ringing in his ears. “Michelle!” he shouted, blindly crashing into a fruit stand and hobbling away, completely unaware of the surprised gasps and curses chasing him. 

The visions transformed. Michelle’s redheaded granddaughter peering at him from a booth table. A boy tossing a ball at him, he recognised as the boy in the pictures on Michelle’s wall. The boy who looked so much like his own brother. 

Twisting and turning through lanes, only spotting glimpses of her hair and smile before they’d disappear again, his calves finally seized up. He folded over his knees, intaking needy breaths as his eyes scanned around desperately. 

They landed on a girl. 

Despite her decent height, she was obviously young. She stood behind a table in a shaded booth, tools splayed out before her. Grease was spotted over her exposed arms and gloves. She was staring in concentration at the body of a woman who lay on her table, limp and dull-eyed. Logan cringed as she reached a hand into the woman’s open stomach.  

Had he wandered into some illicit part of the market where someone would dissect a person so openly?  

It wasn’t until the girl tilted the body slightly that Logan saw her innards of cogs and wires. The body was an android. One of those escort droids, perhaps. 

The girl huffed, blowing miscreant hair from her brow, and looked up. 

At first, she darted her gaze away upon noticing being observed, tugging her left glove higher up her wrist. But then a flash of curiosity caught her face, and she returned to him. 

Confusion. Something else. Recognition? 

Logan wondered if she would be able to help him with his search. She looked kind. Trustworthy. He needed help to find… 

“Logan.” 

Michelle smiled down at him. She appeared this time, not as her younger self, but as he’d last seen her. Greying hair, smile lines and jowling more beautiful than ever. The same spirit and open hands, a magnetism drawing him to her. 

“It’s time to come home, Logan,” she said, eyes twinkling. 

“Not yet,” he spluttered, “I have to find someone. I have to tell…” 

She shook her head in amusement, turning and gesturing to him to follow. “You already found me.” 

“I—” 

She was gone. He couldn’t pinpoint the moment she was there and the moment she wasn’t, but he knew she had been there. That was she out there somewhere, waiting for him. 

Sweet, Michelle-flavoured adrenaline pumped through his veins. He always wanted to find her. After nearly forty years, she was still the only one to have truly owned his heart. He needed to find her and tell her… 

He staggered to his feet. He wasn’t supposed to be here. There was nothing for him here. His gaze again caught on the young girl in the booth. Shoulders set in a hesitant confidence. Brown eyes—cautiously curious.  

His feet willed him away on their own towards the bright sunlight. 

“Logan,” the voice called again, sweet as a dragon fruit tartlet. One he could almost taste as his dry lips formed around her name.  

No, he wasn’t looking for that girl. He was looking for Michelle. 

———

“I hope you’ll meet him someday. Tell him hello for me. Tell him good-bye.” 

———

Notes

Tu me cherchais? = Were you looking for me?

I am aware that I am delusional and no one else is as invested in them as I am.

Fun bit of impossiblesuitcase trivia--the hair cutting scene is actually a deleted scene from my Cut, Comb, Detangle, Repeat series! I think probably only one person remembers that series 😂

Eagle-eyed readers may be able to notice which escort droid Cinder is working on 👀

@cindersassasin @hayleblackburn @spherical-empirical @salt-warrior @just2bubbly @gingerale2017 @slmkaider @luna-maximoff-22 @kaixiety @snozkat @mirrorballsss @skinwitch18 @bakergirl13 @cyborgcourt @linh-cindy @therealkaidertrash21

[freddycartr]

friendly reminder that jacin mf clay is smug as fuck when he and thorne first meet:

the guard respectfully inclined his head and moved to follow her commands.

careful, said thorne. it wasn't an easy connection. required some real precise maneuvering. in fact, would you like me to come disconnect the ship for you? just to make sure you do it right?

the guard eyed him smugly as he passed, not as empty-eyed as he'd appeared before. but he didn't respond as he slipped into the corridor, heading toward thorne's podship.

[mcbitchtits]

the most horrifying part of alien romulus is the fucking facial cgi (as always)

pretty fantastic movie otherwise though, excellent horror. more in line with the original alien than any of its sequels, although it does feel like a lot of the beats are also like "DO YOU REMEMBER ALIEN (1986)??? see what we did there?!"

the writing starts off strong with what felt to me personally like a very interesting approach to, you know, the horrors of capitalism and mining (poverty, dead parents, teen pregnancies, trapped by the remoteness of the environment, company towns and company stores), and it does a fair number of interesting things contrasting that to the parts in orbit (gravity fields, etc.) and, frankly, some absolutely fantastic horror visuals that make you feel like they are really innovating with both creature design as well as like they maybe used to work in halloween haunt mazes? very... personal shots? which i appreciate because i feel like covenant et al were more cinematic, which was fine, but also less horrifying in some ways. the acting was pretty good.

however the facial cgi for [spoiler character] was fucking terrible! this has been my #1 complaint about cgi for going on decades now and i have to be honest, this was some of the ugliest finished work i have ever seen. textures not mapping cleanly, form distention with animation, just real shit work. dunno if it's lack of budget or a bad art/animation director or the ever-present crunch because SFX is ununionized, but jesus fucking christ i hate this shit. it was bad in I, Robot and it was slightly less bad in Tron Legacy and it sucked all over again in Rogue One and The Mandalorian and Dial of Destiny! learn some fucking lessons from animators and rediscover the uncanny valley!!! watch jaws and spend a metric asston of time considering why we see so little of the shark! APPLY THE LESSON

(or, like, you've already got a half-destroyed character, just lean into it and make their mouth mechanics destroyed by acid or something. or make it look even more unnatural on purpose! it's a horror film! there are a lot of solutions and bad cgi is the worst one always!)

anyway i just really DO appreciate any time the alien sequels really dig into the birth/body horror. it's good! more of them should be better at it! fuck off james cameron! (sorry had to get that dig in there) (also, i mean, specifically, all the growth and rupturing and body-breaking, and to a lesser extent all the giger-styled vulvas etc; the actual uh babies and so forth are less interesting to me from a horror perspective. definitely weird and unsettling but also a little slenderman-was-born-on-the-something-awful-forums, you know?)

also effective use of treating the facehuggers like spiders or tarantulas. underrated approach to reinterpreting their horror. (unfortunate time to have a fur gremlin running around the house.) what i liked most about this movie is it managed to take a lot of the existing horror elements of the alien franchise and make them feel fresh and new and horrifying in completely new ways. real good shit.

also i see you weyland-yutani "W" podships, i see you AD and props. go prod team

love the score also. felt almost williams-ish and kinda raidersesqe (in the ark horror sense) and i vibed with it severely

[therampicncrew]

@words-of-tomatoes liked for a starter from Scarlet!

———

Months had passed in slow succession since the Rampion and her crew had dropped Scarlet and Wolf off at Benoit Farms and Gardens with a series of goodbyes that held no real sense of finality, but sometimes, Scarlet still felt like she was there - fighting for Wolf, fighting for her life, fighting for their freedom. In the darkness of her room, with Wolf’s arm draped heavily over her waist, she could almost ignore the chirping cicadas and the sound of the wind buffeting her windows, and imagine herself in the cargo ship once again, lying awake in one of the crew quarters.

Everything had fallen apart there. Her pillow was full of the tears she’d spilled for her grandmother, and she still couldn’t standing in the podship docks without remembering the press of an unfamiliar gun in her hands and Wolf’s blood dripping onto the metal floors as Sybil Mira twisted the very thoughts inside her head. But, everything that could had fit back into place there too. It had been the first place she felt she could really breathe after her captivity in Artemesia. The first place she really felt safe, even after their victory. She had so many dear friends now, not just Emilie, and she had Wolf now. She would do it all again for him - all the torture, all her weeks in captivity, every nightmare that had plagued her sleep since. All of it was worth it for him.

Scarlet reminds herself of that tonight as visions dance behind her closed eyelids, pumping adrenaline into her veins and speeding the steady beats of her heart. Acutely aware of Wolf’s too keen senses, she counts her breaths, focusing on a rhythmic pattern that almost seems natural.

One. Two. Three.

With every breath, her fingers trace small, slow circles across the back of Wolf’s hand, willing him to stay sleeping though she wouldn’t be surprised if he was already awake, waiting to see if she could calm herself this time.

Four. Five. Six.

She catches on to shift in his own breathing, and with a frustrated huff she turns onto her back. When she looks towards him, their noses are mere centimeter apart.

“You can drop the act,” she whispers, though she’s not really sure why. There’s no one else here to be mindful of. “I know you didn’t sleep through that. Sorry. Again.”

[words-of-tomatoes]

Wolf waits for Jacin’s response anxiously, holding his breath until the words he wants to hear are spoken into reality. He aims the same expression of gratitude towards the doctor that he did toward Myha’s kindness before his features shift into one of hardly contained disdain as he glances towards the corner where the scientist still sits silently. Now that another person has taken his side - this one with medical knowledge - he cannot help but feel more dislike for the woman who was so easily prepared for cruelty before anything else. 

His gaze shifts back to Enya at the return of her cries, fingers twitching as he watches her struggle uselessly against Jacin’s grip. Even when Jacin is finished, he can feel the tension in Enya’s body, the way she wants nothing more than to snatch the needle from her skin and throw it as far away as possible. And he knows, he understands. He’s been there before. But she can’t, and he prepares himself to stop her if she makes any move to go through with her wishes. 

“It’s okay, Enya,” he says gently. “Jacin is going to help. This is going to help.” 

He doesn’t respond outwardly to Jacin’s orders, but he does move to stand, holding Enya as still as he can as he finds his footing and begins to leave the podship. He winces with each step that he takes, knowing that there’s no way to take away the movement completely, no matter how badly he wants to. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats instinctively as he moves toward the Rampion. 

The old ship is a welcome sight as they approach the ramp, the sight of their friends even more welcome. But Wolf barely spares them a glance as he passes by. He takes no time looking at the ship; it isn’t as if this is his first time seeing it. He simply makes a path straight for where he knows the med bay to be.  

Continued from x; @words-of-tomatoes

[jrcasaart]

“Escape”

Digital (PS, Procreate), 3.5 hrs

[andypantsx3]

as promised in my last ask, making a quick poll!!

unconventional spinoff: pro hero bakugou x fanartist reader

You’d turned up to HeroExpo with the expectation of good food, interesting panels, and steady merch sales. What you didn’t expect was a declaration of war from the number two hero himself. (In which you are a fanartist, and Bakugou Katsuki is not a fan of your work.)

warlord bakugou x reader fantasy au

After seizing Yuuei's throne in a violent takeover, warlord Bakugou Katsuki demands the daughters of conquered nobility as war prizes. You, the daughter of a barely-noble family on the fringes of society, are sent as tribute—where you discover there's more to the barbarian king than anyone might have guessed, and an underlying motive to his demands that will make or break the empire.

hell is empty (and all the devils are here) : demon prince touya x reader

A bartender with a rough past and a predatory manager, your life is pretty complicated. And that’s before you accidentally make a blood pact with Todoroki Touya, the first prince of hell, and get dragged into a succession war even more complicated than you or the demon prince could have ever imagined.

pilot shouto x mechanic reader sci-fi au

You’re a podship mechanic trying to get back into leadership’s good graces after getting a little too free installing your own homemade code. Which would be easier to focus on if your crush, pilot Todoroki Shouto, hadn’t recently been grounded for his inability to sync with another guide—and if, after accidentally crossing paths with him on base, the very same impossible sync bond hadn’t unfurled between you like it had always been there.

also i think this goes without saying but just in case, please don't jank these ideas!! (if you want to work on something similar please message me and we can work something out!!)

[impossiblesuitcase]

I adore how much kai kisses cinder’s head in the books

I may be forgetful but I can only remember Kai kissing Cinder's head twice? Once in Winter when Cinder before Kai leaves in the podship and in Stars Above before he proposes. Maybe I'm missing some. Unless you meant kissing her hand, if so yes, he does many times and it's very gentleman-like of him. Sweet boy.

[sarkaz-expletive]

when are yall gonna give me more podshipping content?

[unofskylanderspages]

Wrecking Ball was originally called Force Field Grub, having started out as Nat Loh's creation but he couldn't finish the character. Lead Designer Toby Schadt had a very particular vision for this character that he wanted to personally develop. 

The one ability that Nat had originally designed that did not quite make it through was the Power Belch. In the original design, it functioned much like the Mycon Podship's semi-sentient Plasma ball attack. This was a small homing projectile that was very strong at its start and got bigger but weaker with time. The inconsistent nature of its damage ultimately made that iteration of the ability a casualty of the design process.

[psalloacappella]

SSM21 Day(s) 10 & 11

Pairing: SasuSaku Prompts:  Day 10 (Distant) & Day 11 (Safe and Sound) Title: but I think I’m a believer, I believe in something new Tags: Space AU/Space opera; Rebellion; Drama; Romance

Ao3 | twts 1 & 2  | full series link | @ssskmonth

"By the time this finds you, beloved, I'll be a fragment of a star."

Excerpt:

It’s getting harder to breathe, in this thin and fraying air.

There’s a sharp, honed scent; it burns and withers the tip of her nose. Another ship system is failing. These emergency podships weren’t meant to last.

Sakura’s laugh cantillates as gentle chimes, a facsimile of breeze where there is none. Tears keep slipping, undulating, and she hopes this all reaches him.

“Ah, what else can I say?” she murmurs, tilting her head. “I’m remembering the whole of my life now, as you do when you sense the end. The mind knows, rips you through a thousand memories in fractions of seconds. I see my graduation as I remember earth’s soil, our first meeting as I remember killing my first man, and all they do is fall on top of one another until the context disappears.”

Lights on the command panel flicker and snuff themselves out one by one, beginning as a single bulb here and there, as raindrops swallow dry dust in the desert by way of pinpoints until it all becomes a sweep.

“But never forget,” she says quietly, swallowing around the sob in her throat, “that we caught fire and changed the world, and I’ve never wanted to do that with anyone but you.”

[cindersassasin]

Well since you asked here!! A headcanon for the prompt “this is the part you hug me and kiss me on the forehead and tell me it will be alright.🥺” hope that’s what you wanted?! Anyways thanks byeeeee💛

Thank you, anon !! 

Going to attempt to write something random, sorry if it’s crappy !! im a total beginner whoops (also decided to change it a bit, hope you don’t mind!) (Also, don’t think I’ve mentioned this: English is not my first language, and while I have studied it for years and speak it on a daily basis due to school, I sometimes confuse grammar or some of my wording don’t make sense due to my poor translation, hopefully you don’t mind lol)

Also this would technically be my first fic I post here (still working on my other Kaider one but im positive ill finish editing that one soon) So while we wait, here, have some Iko x Cinder brotp

Word Count: 704

taglist: @arushahisatroll @cerenoya @addies-invisible-life @salt-warrior @winterrhayle @elysian-starbucks-frappe @starry-tea-party @cindersnightmare @strawberry-seraph (let me know to be added or removen !)

Physical Contact

Iko stood in-front of the bathroom’s mirror to take in her new look. The glowy tan skin, the braids with the several hues of blues, and the golden eyes with the subtle shades of brown and green made her, for the first time, feel beautiful. She was more than satisfied with the new body Thorne had gotten for her. She finally felt closer to accomplishing the dream she would never fully achieve: to be human. But she didn’t let that thought bother her. At least now she looked human, and that was enough to make her happy.

But most of all, she was finally able to interact with the people around her. She wasn’t this invisible being that was just there whenever she was called upon. She could finally move around and see people, which then again, went back to feeling more human. 

Iko realized how much time she had been wasting staring back at her reflection and left the Rampion’s bathroom. Tomorrow they would be arriving to New Beijing to attempt to tamper the wedding. Iko was filled with elation to fulfill her role in the plan. For once, she would be contributing in the action and not just staying idle and waiting for their return, unable to do anything incase they failed. She prayed to the stars that it would work. The thought of Kai getting married to that witch made her wires fry. 

Iko was heading towards the galley before her attention was caught on something in the cargo bay. She didn’t have to walk more than two steps before realizing that the figure was indeed Cinder laying down in the centre of the room. Iko let out a laugh - or a sound that was meant to be a laugh - and walked towards her best friend.

“What in the world are you doing?”

“Huh?” Cinder turned her head toward her and sighed. “Oh. It’s you. Thank god”

Iko was confused with the confession, but didn’t complain as she sat next to her. “Glad to hear my presence is wanted.”

Cinder let out a weak laugh as she sat up and scooted closer to Iko. She crossed her legs and Iko tried to hide her immediate giddiness when she realized their knees were touching. 

physical contact. something humans do.

“I just needed to talk to someone, if that’s okay.” She hesitated, before beginning to fiddle with the hem of her work gloves. “I was just down at the podship dock before I realized how nervous I was about this whole thing and just came to lay down here.”

“Nervous about tomorrow?”

“Terrified. So many things can go wrong. As dumb or far-fetched as it sounds, the future is in my hands. It is up to us to defeat Levana. If we succeed, it will be up to us to end the war as well. I am just scared that I won’t be able to do any of it, and that I will let people down.”

Iko couldn’t feel anything but sympathy towards Cinder. She sometimes thought about how unfair it all was. Cinder was practically dragged into this whole mess and as determined as she is to end it, she is terrified that every small move she makes will end in Levana dominating the planet. Gross. 

“Is this the part where I hug you and kiss you on the forehead and tell you it will be alright?”

Cinder met her gaze and gave her a wry look, followed with a soft giggle. “Are you using this as an excuse to touch me because you finally have a body?”

She shrugged. “Maaaybe. Maybe not. But can I?”

A small smile touched Cinder’s lips as she opened her arms wide and moved towards her. “Come here.”

She did not hesitate to return the hug and gave her a small peck on the forehead. She felt Cinder flinch slightly at the touch but therefore did not react. “Trust me. It will be alright,” Iko muttered into her ear. Cinder only nodded and hugged her tighter.

With this, Iko finally understood what had infatuated her so much about humans. It was the feeling of love and safety that was brought on by physical contact. 

-----

SORRYTHISISBADBUTIHOPEYOUENJOYICAN’TBELIEVEIMPOSTINGMYFIRSTMINIFICORWHATEVERANYWAYENJOYORNOTORGIVEMESOMECONSTRUCTIVECRITICISMKTHANKSSORRYITSBAD 

[riseoftheradiotrons]

Broken Screen, Needs Repairing (Part 1)

Blurr shook his right arm as fast as he could, watching the wheel-lock fall off. With a sharp kick to his right leg, careful not to hit the wheel, he knocked the other wheel-lock off, too, and was successfully free of the wheel-locks.

The alt-restrictive backpack... would pose a slightly bigger problem, but that was what his modified pedes were for.

He folded his pedes back up into wheel-guards, and pushed himself off the table, now successfully standing on his wheel. Using his pedes would be too slow, and awkward, and he was so used to this form of moving himself around, anyway. He leaned forward to take off...

And his spark was dangling from his chassis.

His eyes went wide and he desperately pushed it back up into his chassis, so afraid of it falling out.

This... would become a problem.

Not only was his Infinite Speed Factor connected to his spark, so was... literally everything else. If he went too fast, it could fall out, or be hit by something, or any number of things that would snuff out his signal in an instant.

He couldn’t see anything that could help create some sort of replacement chassis plating, not even any tape, so he’d have to do the most difficult thing he’d ever had to do in his entire life. Regulate his speed. He just wanted to leave this scrapyard, but if he went too fast his entire life signal was on the line.

He groaned. Please let there be some sort of podship for me to leave this place with.

He carefully skated his way through, one hand over his spark so it wouldn’t decide to come loose all of a sudden. It’s just an escape plan that could literally kill my signal if I messed up, what could possibly go wrong?

No, that doesn’t help. Just stay alive. You’re Blurr. You’re great at staying alive.

(Shhh, nobody tell him.)

As far as he could tell, everyone was recharging - he’d received word from Probe that today would be the day for recharging, so tomorrow someone could leave and find Nanotube. If someone left tomorrow, they’d only be watching Blurr more closely. This was his only chance to make an escape. He had to make it count.

He skidded to a stop, letting his pedes keep him rooted to where he was, and took a look at the password pad for the laboratory door, the final obstacle to him exiting this place.

Scrap.

He didn’t remember seeing Greenscreen type anything in, didn’t have any sort of idea what the password could possibly be or how long it was. All the pad had were the standard ten Cybertronian numerals, and groups of letters below each numeral.

He thought for a moment.

PROBE. 7-7-6-2-3.

Code incorrect.

GREENSCREEN. 4-7-3-3-6-7-2-7-3-3-6.

Code correct.

The doors hissed open, and he snickered at the fact that Greenscreen made the password to his private laboratory his own name. But... if anything, he had to thank Greenscreen’s pride.

For bringing him one step closer to freedom.

He stepped out onto the asteroid, lifted his pedes back up, and continued skating.