#He can’t read the instrument panel to save his life

[nightmarerodent]

The SF crew in a transport:

Cassie: Hey Jin, which way are we heading?

Kung Jin: The one we’re flying in Cass, the only way we can be going.

Cassie: Which is…?

Kung Jin: Towards our destiny.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Crawl Home to Her

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem BAU Reader 

Warnings: Religion is mentioned, slight mention of supposed homophobia, drug use, death and thoughts of dying, kidnapping (it’s Spencer’s POV of Revelations)

Author’s Note: I was listening to Work Song by Hozier and felt like it fits PERFECTLY for what Spencer was going through when he was kidnapped by Tobias. I took some creative liberties, but much of the plot lines up to the show’s episode. I linked the song if anyone wants to listen to it before they read or after, it’s such a beautiful song. Hozier is in my top three artists; his voice is just so beautiful and soulful. 

Summary: The only thing that’s keeping Spencer alive is the memories of his Heaven. Maybe someone how a faithless man will escape Death’s grasp on faith alone. 

Word Count: around 3.2K

Category: Angst 

Crawl Home to Her

When Spencer comes to the first thing he notices is the smell of burning. The stench permeates the air around him, filling his nostrils. The second thing he notices is breathing. Breathing that is not his own. A man stands before him and it takes him a second to piece it all together. The throbbing in his head takes much of his energy. He can feel the blood drip down the back of his neck and cake onto the collar of his work shirt. Strangely, all he could think about is the time his father told him a respectable man never wore a spoiler shirt. Well dad, look at me now, Spencer thinks grimly. He hates that his father occupies his mind even when he’s about to die. He has much more beautiful things to think about than the man who called him a failure.

“They’re gone,” the shadowy figure tells him. Tobias, Spencer thinks. Tobias is the unsub. 

“Who are they?,” Spencer asks, his voice must sound as cowardly as he feels. He hopes that Tobias didn’t get Y/N. He can’t live with himself if he let his partner, in more ways than one, get hurt. 

“It’s just me know,” Tobias answers, in such a way that it’s almost obvious. 

“Who...Who are you?” Spencer croaks. The lightbulb hanging above his head taunts him. He has the lightbulb, but where’s the ideas? Where are the answers? Where is the light of safety? 

“I’m Raphael,” Tobias says, standing to his full height, towering over a trembling Spencer. 

Raphael... The angel...Spencer’s mind turns but is halted by the horrible smell coming from his side. It invades his mind and nothing seems to make sense. 

“What’s that smell?” he asks.

“They’re burning fish hearts and livers. Keeps away the devil,” Tobias or Raphael answers, Spencer is not too sure who he’s even talking to at this point.

“They say you can see inside men’s minds,” 

“That’s not true, I-I study human behavior-” Spencer reasons, but is cut off by Tobias/Raphael’s passive shushing. 

“I’m not interested in the arguments of men,” Raphael tells him. He turns around to rummage in his pocket for something that Spencer can’t make out in the dim light of the shed. Between the lightbulb blinding him and the stench of the liver burning, Spencer’s senses are overloading themselves. Focus, Spencer, focus, he begs of himself. 

Don’t let him win. Don’t let him win. 

Tobias pulls out a revolver and a bullet. He toys the bullet in Spencer’s face, asking him “Do you know what this is?” 

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t breathe. 

“It’s God’s will,” Tobias says rationally. 

The cocks the gun and aims it towards Spencer’s head. If he pulls the trigger he’d shoot him straight in his head. Staring down death, all Spencer can think about is him suggesting that they split up. He was the one who left Y/N, he’s the one that’s responsible.

“You don’t have to do this,” Spencer tries to reason. 

“I’m just an instrument of God. This is your salvation, this is time to repent for your sins,” Tobias says, pulling a chair to sit next time. It’s strange, Spencer thinks, Tobias is not that much older than he is. This job has forced Spencer to think of the countless paths that he could have gone down. Part of him thinks that could have easily been on the other side, the angry part of him, the broken and sad part of him. 

“Tell me your sins, and may God forgive you,” Tobias says, his voice almost as fearful as Spencer feels. 

Spencer closes his eyes, trying to think of all the things he’s done wrong in his life. All the people he’s hurt or the mistakes that he’s made. But at this moment there’s nothing running through his mind by the thought of Y/N. The way she’d hold him after a case or the way that she’d listen to him with light in her eye’s. It’s nice to have someone who cares, Spencer thinks. Or at least it was. 

“I’m a good man, Tobias, I’m a good man. Like you, we catch the bad guys, Tobias--we are the same. We catch the sinners.” Spencer professes, trying anything to get out of here alive. He’d do anything to get back to Y/N. To get back in her warm embrace. 

“We all have our sins, including you. You just need sometime to sort them out,” Tobias says, and like that he’s gone with the wind. 

***

It’s early morning when Spencer wakes up, the sun bleeds through the cracks of the wood panel door. His clothes are caked in his blood and dirt. His hair is stringy and the blood from his ear clogs his hearing. But he’s alive, he's still here, breathing the same air as Y/N. Somehow that’s enough to keep him hoping that she’d find him- save him. 

The door opens with a sudden slam, Tobias walks in carrying a load of logs. There’s something different about him. Spencer thinks that there’s an air of arrogance, an air of superiority in his walk. 

“What are you staring at, boy?” Tobias- or at least the man who looks like Tobias Hankel asks. 

“You’re not Raphael?” Spencer reasons. 

Tobias throws the pile of logs into the box on the floor of the shed. He stands up to his full height, but there’s something that’s taller about him than last night. There’s something more intimating about the man standing before Spencer. 

“Do I look like Raphael to you?” Tobias asks, the sneer so apparent. 

Spencer decides to ignore that, answering this person, whoever he is, is not in his best interest. 

“Thank you for burning these, for keeping us safe,” Spencer says, trying to get on his good side for his sake, so he can go back to Y/N. 

Y/N. If Spencer can just close off his mind and focus on her, he’d be okay. He’d get through this. If he can just close his eyes he can just feel her touch or taste her lips against his. If her kisses make him a sinner then crucify him. Least he’d die a happy man, with the promise of tomorrow with her endless love. 

“Don’t try to trick me, you’re are filthy liar, you’re a disgusting sinner,” 

God, Spencer thinks, waits until he hears that he’s from Vegas and fell in love with a man. Spencer focuses on breathing, not the itch from being dirty with his own blood or not the thought of impending death. 

“It will be over if you confess, boy. Confess your sins!” Tobias yells. 

“I’m not a sinner,” Spencer says, almost defiantly. There’s a surge of strength in Spencer, and he swears that the small memories of Y/N makes him a stronger person. 

“We are all sinners” 

“The Lord spoke unto Moses saying, ‘speak unto all the congregation of the children of the lord’  and say unto them, ye shall be holy, for I, the lord your god, am holy,” Spencer quotes, the fear somehow seeping back into his voice. 

“You know Leviticus,” Tobias says, almost surprised. Yes, Spencer thinks, even heathens can quote the Bible. 

“I know every word of the Bible, I can quote it for you?” Spencer pleads. 

“Even the Devil can read,” Tobias tells him. 

Spencer’s wound bleeds down his neck, the throbbing almost pounds to the beat of his heart.

“It’s time to confess, Spencer Reid,” Tobias whispers, leaning into Spencer. 

“I’m a good man, Tobias. I finally found someone who puts back the pieces. I found someone who loves me, and I can’t leave her like this. I can’t do that to her.” Spencer confesses. 

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs,” Tobias quotes, and as he does his face seems to drift off. It’s like he's there with Spencer, but not there at the same time.

“First Corinthians, Verse 13,” Spencer recites. 

“Hmm, so your parents did raise a believer,” Tobias reckons. 

More or less, Spencer thinks. He might not believe in God the Almighty, some entity in the clouds watching over him, but he does believe in love and maybe even an afterlife. He has to believe in an afterlife, because if he doesn’t he’d fail to give Y/N forever. 

“Yes,” Spencer says, settling on playing the part of a righteous believer. 

“Yes, my parents read me the Bible. They are good people too,” Spencer tells him. 

Spencer’s not really sure what happens next, but the blow to his head makes the world go black and the sweet memories of Y/N fade into the distance. 

*** 

A cool rag presses against Spencer’s head, where he figures where “Tobias” hit him, or whoever was there with him. 

Dissociative Identity Disorder. DID. DSM-5. 300.14 (F44.81). Tobias has three personalities, Spencer thinks. He remembers the day vidily. Reading about DID with Ethan, they sat on the lawn of the park near school. His memories are distrubed by a very confused looking Tobias, who hold bandages and a wet rag. 

“What’s your name?” Spencer asks, hoping that whoever was there last night is gone. 

“Tobias,” he says, almost meekly. Spencer recognizes something in that, somewhere deep inside him, he recognizes the fear that Tobias wears like a shield. The man here last night must have been his father... 

“Who was here last night?” 

“My father, Charles,” Tobias says. “I’m sorry if he hurt you.” 

Tobias turns to reach in his bag, he brings out a vial of clear liquid, a needle and a long piece of cloth. He ties the long piece of cloth around Spencer’s arm, who with a sudden realization fights to get away from Tobias. 

“NO! Please, NO!” Spencer yells, trying his hardest to fend off the inevitable. 

“It helps, Spencer. I’m trying to save you from him! It’s gonna help, it helped me,” Tobias tells him, continuing to tie the fabric in a tight knot above Spencer’s elbow. 

“Please! I don't want it!” Spencer pleads as the room folds in one him, the darkness is not welcoming, it's suffocating. It’s sucking the life out of him and he can’t escape it’s clutches. 

***

There’s another person in this shed, Spencer thinks. He tries to strain his eyes to make out who it is. It’s not Tobias, the shadow is too short for him. 

Y/N. 

She’s wearing a dress, the blue dress that she wore on their first date. He loves that dress on her. He’s sure he’d love any dress or anything she’d put on to wear for their first date, because well, it’s their first date. 

“Spencer,” her voice is even more comforting than usual. It’s syrupy sweet and he feels like he’d get a toothache just from listening. 

“Sweet Spencer, you need to come home to me, okay? Come home to me baby.” 

He tries to call out to her, but it’s futile. She's a ghost, but she looked so real. Maybe he’s the ghost and his eternal damnation is to haunt her. He’s able to see her, but never able to get close enough to feel the way her hands caress his checks or the way her eyes light up at his touches. 

The spooky beauty of his girlfriend is whisked away with the familiar shoots of two tall, skinny figures. His parents. His father sits there on the table with a sneer on his face. His mother has this faraway look on her face. Spencer’s twelve again, listening to his father yell and slam the bedroom door as he rushes out the door, never looking back. 

The shadowy figures are gone as soon as they came and are nothing but a reminder to Spencer that he’s not worthy of love. He feels guilty. He really does, but the needle going into his vein brings back Y/N and for now he wants nothing more, but to see her, even if it’s not real. 

***

Spencer’s not sure if he craves the clear liquid in the vial because he gets to see Y/N or if he craves to see Y/N because gets to the liquid coursing through his veins, the slightest reminder that he’s alive. 

He’s alone in the shed, but there’s a bright green light blinking. A computer, he wonders. Is this the way from the Ninth Circle of Hell? Is this his way home, his way to Y/N? 

His thoughts of home and of their warm bed are interrupted by who he can only assume is Raphael, enough time has passed for him to be rising to the surface. Part of him misses Tobias, they’d probably would have been friends growing up. Two outcasts raised by a parent who meant well, but did do irreparable harm in the end. 

“It’s time to choose,” Raphael announces. He points to the computer screen, which lights up. Spencer can only assume that his face is being streamed across the internet. Garcia, and probably the entire team are watching this, watching him at his lowest moment. He swore that he’d never show Y/N himself like this, even though he knows that she’ll love him still. 

“Choose a member of your team to die. You are all sinners in the end, but it’s time for you to choose who dies.” Raphael tells him, his voice booming, a stark difference from the nervous murmurs of Tobias. 

“No,” Spencer shouts. “Kill me, kill me instead!” 

“Choose or they all die!” Raphael yells. 

Think, Spencer. Think. He looks around at the shed, trying to think of an out. His eyes latch on to the shovel sitting in the corner of the room. That’s new, he realizes. A cemetery, a grave... 

“I choose Y/N,” Spencer says, not truly believing what he’s saying, but praying that she gets the message. 

“Why?” Raphael asks. 

“She’s prideful and careless,” Spencer reasons, trying his hardest to appear nonchalant. 

“Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before the fall,” Raphael quotes. 

“Yes, John 14:27,” Spencer says. And with that his fate and Y/N is sealed. It’s funny in a twisted way, he always knows that his fate would be forever linked to hers, but not just in this way. 

“Come on, boy. Get up,” Raphael orders him. 

Spencer makes it to his feet and the pair make their way into the night. 

***

Spencer’s not sure how far he’s walked, but his feet are numb and he can’t feel anything in his arm. The inside of his arm is littered with marks, a constant reminder of the cravings he’s feeling. No, he tells himself. What he craves is Y/N. He makes his way up the rocky terrain of the cemetery, hoping that she’s on her way to rescue him, hoping that she’s there to wash away the dirt and kiss his scars. 

Raphael is at his side, pulling him along. It's a strange similarity to Dante and Virgil and their journey to the depths of Hell. Maybe in this scenario Spencer isn’t Dante, maybe he’s Beatrice waiting for his Dante to rescue him. 

“Please, I need rest. I’m exhausted,” Spencer tries to argue, but it’s no use. Raphael’s grip on his arm only tightens. 

“Keep moving,” 

They arrive at the cemetery. Spencer is not ready to die. He’s not ready to die and leave Y/N. He wishes he really did believe in God because maybe, maybe he wouldn’t be as scared as he is right now. 

“Dig,” Raphael tells him, tossing the shovel on the ground at Spencer’s feet. 

As if he’s shaking Death’s hand, Spencer reaches down for the shovel and starts to dig. Each deposit in the mountain of dirt is a cry for help. Each time he cracks his neck in pain or rubs his hands in exhaustion is a goodbye kiss for Y/N. 

Spencer stands to his full height. He’s nearly as tall as Tobias, somehow he still feels like a child. 

He suspects that Tobias feels the same way. Maybe one day Spencer will come to regret his choice. Maybe one day Spencer will be grateful that he reached into the very depths of his strength to fight to the very end. 

“Tell Tobias I’m sorry,” Spencer says, the tears flooding his eyes. 

Spencer bangs the back of the shovel against Tobias’s head. His limp body falls to the ground and suddenly he’s terrified that Tobias is somehow still alive. Spencer scrambles for the gun and pulls the trigger. He’s not even sure how many shots he fires but the body is punctured with bloody holes. Spencer, clutches are Tobias’s lifeless body. As if he can squeeze him back to life. 

He thinks he’s imagining it. He thinks that he’s on the brink of death. There’s a light, a soft yellow light beckoning him home. A voice calls out to him, clear and strong, it’s drawing him in and Spencer is crawling from his own grave to the voice that he could recognize anywhere. He’s teetering between Heaven and Hell. Y/N’s voice and light tether him home. 

“Spencer!” she calls. Finally, he thinks. Finally, she’s close; he lets himself believe he’s safe. 

“I’m here!” he shouts, surprised at the force of his voice. 

“Oh Spencer,” she says, running to him. 

She falls to the ground next to him. Spencer is scared that she’s not real, that it’s the drugs in his system again making him believe that she’s nothing but a cruel figment of his mind. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I knew you’d find me. Please forgive me, I didn’t mean it,” Spencer cries, his face tucked into the crook of her neck. 

“Shhh, baby. I’d find you anywhere. Hmm, let’s get you out of here. You are safe now Spencer,” she tells him softly. 

Spencer may not be a man who believes in God but he has to believe in Heaven, because Heaven is holding him in her arms. 

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! 

[t4tlawlight]

YOU'RE AN AVENGER, A DEATH ANGEL. YOU KILL PEOPLE WHO ASK FOR IT, WHO DESERVE TO DIE. YOU'RE A WATCHDOG, A PROTECTOR OF THINGS DECENT. YOUR COMFORTS ARE SACRIFICED FOR EFFICIENCY -- YOU CAN'T DO WHAT HAS TO BE DONE WITH PEOPLE MOANING AND CLINGING TO YOU, YOU CAN'T STRIKE WITH POSSESSIONS WEIGHING YOU DOWN. YOU HAVE A CLEAR HEAD AND NO REGRETS. YOU CAN TAKE OUT ANYONE BECAUSE YOU'RE STRIPPED DOWN AND YOU DON'T DEPEND ON OR TRUST A SOUL. YOU ARE EFFECTIVE BECAUSE YOU DON'T LOVE ANYBODY OR ANYTHING. YOU'RE A ONE- MAN FORCE, THE PERFECT INSTRUMENT OF DESTINY.

– "INFLAMMATORY ESSAYS 5" by Jenny Holzer

(this is a companion piece to Love and Belonging, my early drama light analysis! [LINK] i heavily recommend reading it before continuing this analysis, as i reference events and ideas explained in that post.)

in my previous analysis of drama light, i focused on the events that led him to become the man we see in the beginning of the drama: a gentle, kind man who is underachieving but still brilliant, who takes a maternal role in his household after the death of his mother. This is all crucial to understanding Light’s character in the drama and how the events leading up to him becoming Kira change in line with his altered characterization, but that analysis only barely skimmed the surface of Light’s character development throughout the drama, and especially after L’s death.

the drama fandom--including me!--is somewhat guilty of making blanket statements about drama light’s morality as opposed to his manga counterpart, that drama light is kinder and gentler in comparison to manga light. this may be true early on, but i would argue that as the series progresses, drama light willingly and deliberately throws away his love and humanity just as much--if not more!--than his manga counterpart.

to understand what i mean it’s important to compare light’s relationship with his father between the adaptations.

in the manga, light grows up idolizing his father, loving and admiring him and wanting to follow in his footsteps as a police officer. his morality that leads to him ultimately becoming Kira comes from Soichiro, as does his dissatisfaction with the world as he sees his father work himself to the bone trying to eradicate crime that seems to never end.

there’s a lot more that can be said about the nature of their relationship and about how Light desperately seeks his father’s approval, but instead of typing out an entire analysis i’ll link you to this post by tumblr user mikami [LINK], which is a very good analysis of the two of them in the manga.

conversely, in the drama Light begins much the same, but Soichiro choosing to chase a criminal instead of being by his wife’s deathbed--leaving his children to witness their mother’s passing alone--strains Light’s relationship with him. Light has much of the same morals and worldview as manga Light, but now believes that his father’s morality is more or less worthless, since he had to give up his family to pursue justice.

Light: When my mother died when I was a kid, my father was off chasing a criminal… I thought my father’s form of justice couldn’t be worth much, if he had to sacrifice even his family to see it through.

– Episode 7

however, it’s important to note that while Light is cold with his father and resents his occupation, that does not mean that Light does not still love and idolize his father. he wants his father’s love and support, and he cares as deeply for him as does his manga counterpart. in fact, drama light only becomes kira out of a desire to protect his father--after his first, accidental murder, he throws away the Death Note and tries to forget about it. however, his father is taken hostage by a criminal who intends on seeking revenge for Soichiro putting him in jail years ago, and Light is forced to retrieve the note and write the criminal’s name to protect his father.

[photo: a zoomed in shot of the Death Note. Light is writing the name “Otoharada Kuro” in Japanese. the penmanship is shaky and nearly illegible from how hard Light’s hand is trembling.]

– Episode 1

Light is literally shaking with terror as he writes the name of the man about to kill his father.

and this is not something Light does lightly--after he saves his father and it’s announced that Otoharada is dead, Light is absolutely stricken with guilt and horror for murdering two people, including the man who was about to kill his father. he saved his father’s life at the price of another, because he loves his father--and his entire family--very deeply.

it’s also worth noting a slight difference between the manga and the drama; after the mock execution, drama Soichiro admits that he believed Light could be guilty and was prepared to die. Light--who at this point has no memory of being Kira and thus completely believes himself to be wrongly accused--does not blame his father for not trusting him. Light, who desperately wants his father’s approval, does not blame him in the slightest: instead, the subject of his anger is Kira himself for putting Soichiro in this position and making Soichiro suffer.

Light: I… I hate Kira. Kira, who made you suffer this way… I hate him so much. Soichiro: Light… Light: Please catch him. I believe that you can catch Kira, Dad.

[photo: Light and Soichiro in an abandoned parking garage. the two of them are crouching beside Soichiro’s car. Soichiro is hugging Light, who weakly raises his hands to hold his father in return.]

– Episode 6

the two of them embrace and weep before collecting themselves and returning to Countermeasures.

by this point in the story, it’s obvious that both versions of Light love Soichiro very much. Light is creating his “new world” for the good of humanity but also for the people he loves the most--his family.

later, the emotional death of manga Light comes after the passing of his father, which he never wanted nor planned for. he never wanted Soichiro to be in a position to get hurt and he is never, ever the same after Soichiro's death, especially because he never gains his father’s approval for his actions as Kira--in fact, Soichiro leaves him with an outright rejection of Kira entirely.

[panel 1: a close up of Soichiro’s eye. he looks like he’s in pain. the speech bubble above his head reads, “I still have the eyes. And according to that Shinigami… Ryuk, I can’t see the lifespan of someone who owns a notebook.

panel 2: Light is standing above his father’s prone body. Matsuda stands behind him, bandages on his face and arms. Soichiro continues, “Light, you’re not Kira… I’m so glad…” Light looks shocked in response, a speech bubble above his head reading only “!” Matsuda says, “O-of course he isn’t! You were still worried about that?"]

the fact that Light can never gain that approval leads to him becoming incredibly dissatisfied and simply going through the motions--it’s what leads to him treating other people like cogs in a machine that will listen to him without any free will of their own, which is what makes him not foresee that Mikami might take action of his own accord. this is how Light gets caught in the end.

in the drama, however, Light experiences more than just his father’s rejection. Soichiro confronts Light directly about being Kira, catching him in the act. this is, of course, Light’s worst case scenario--he does virtually everything he can to lie his way out of it, to get his father back on his side, but fails. Soichiro acknowledges the fact that it was his fault that Light turned out this way, and also that he failed to notice that Light was suffering up until now--and then begs Light to turn himself in, in a scene that echoes L’s confrontation with Light from a couple of episodes prior.

when Light refuses, Soichiro begins to write his own name in the book.

Light: No way. Dad… Stop it. Dad! Stop it! Dad! Soichiro: There’s a struggle going on in your soul right now, isn’t there? That’s what it means to take someone’s life. That’s the weight of a human life. Do you understand, Light? Light: If this suffering is the real thing, I really can’t forgive criminals. I realized it, Dad. Even someone like me… There’s something even I can do to serve the world. Soichiro: How does killing people serve the world?! Light: I’ve sacrificed a lot of things, too! You of all people must understand how I feel! We’re working for the same thing. To protect the peace for everyone. With that notebook, I can create a world without crime! I’m just like you! Soichiro: You’re wrong. Open your eyes, Light. Come back, Light.

– Episode 10

with this ultimate rejection of Light’s actions, Soichiro finishes writing his name and Light allows him to do so. it isn’t as though Light couldn’t have stopped him if he really wanted to, either; on one level, turning himself into the police as Soichiro requested would have saved his father. on another, we see him rip the Death Note from Soichiro’s dying hands moments later as his father attempts to burn the book. Light is perfectly capable of saving the book and only acts when the Note is in danger, not his beloved family member.

of course, we never see manga Light exactly in this position, either, and I can’t say that I think that manga Light would have turned himself in or physically ripped the Note from Soichiro’s hands. both Lights did virtually everything they could to never be in a situation where they had to choose between the safety of their family members and being Kira, and I doubt manga Light would have done well emotionally with Soichiro outright rejecting him, his actions, and his ideology.

however, their actions and behavior immediately after Soichiro’s death is extremely telling. when manga Light is rejected by his father, who died as a result of a plan gone awry, he is completely devastated.

[photo: a panel of Light Yagami screaming over his father’s body. tears are running down his face, and he yells, “Dad! Dad! Don’t you die, damn it!”]

he sheds tears--which are rare for manga Light--and he mourns over his father’s dead body for quite some time. as i said previously, he is never the same man again after his father’s death.

drama Light sheds tears as Soichiro writes his name and is clearly upset by his passing, but his mourning period is immediately interrupted by desperation to get the Note back. he spends Soichiro’s last moments wrestling with him for the Note, and once his father collapses he takes the note, wild-eyed, and holds it to his chest protectively. in this instant, he cares more about the safety of the book than his dead parent--because he had just chosen the notebook, and being Kira, over his father.

after Soichiro’s funeral, Light thinks this:

Light [internally]: Dad really did open my eyes. If I am to become a God, sacrifices are inevitable. No matter who it is that pursues Kira, I will erase them.

– Episode 10

this is Light implicitly saying that sacrificing his family members--sacrificing Soichiro, the man he began killing in order to save--is inevitable if they oppose Kira. of course, this is very similar to the way that manga Light distances himself from Soichiro after Soichiro’s death, to save him from the hurting that it caused him.

[photo: a panel of Light Yagami’s face, zoomed in close so we can only see one eye, his nose, and most of his mouth. He is scowling, most of his eye cast in shadow, and he’s sweating and panting. He asks, “Dad? Are you talking about Soichiro Yagami?”]

of course, all of this begs the question of how drama Light--who began a sweet, gentle boy who was more or less coerced into using the Death Note to begin with--got to a place that even manga Light didn’t have the chance to get to, where he was more willing to save the Death Note than his own father. it’s important to consider another relationship that drama Light has that’s much different from manga Light’s--his relationship to L.

manga light respects L's intelligence and sees him as an equal, as entertainment at times, but he doesn’t like him. not even during yotsuba arc, where they’re ostensibly on the same side--in fact, i would say yotsuba Light has more reason to dislike L, seeing as though he believes L to be falsely accusing him and having tortured him for virtually no reason. they're not actually friends--it’s a manipulation tactic. moreover, L sees him the same way. they were not friends and they both intended on killing each other until the bitter end.

by comparison, drama light and L's relationship starts that way--with the two of them wanting to kill each other, with a pretense of friendship that is actually an excuse to get close to each other to try and test for weaknesses--but the difference is that they, well, fall for their own bullshit. during yotsuba arc, Light’s memories are rewritten in such a way that he believes that L and light are genuinely on friendly terms, and L finds himself over the course of the arc going from respecting Light’s talents and thinking him as something interesting to genuinely wanting him to not be Kira and seeing him as a friend.

if you want to know more about L’s thought processes during the series and specifically the blue scene I recommend reading my analysis about him [LINK] but what is important to note is that L does not want to kill Light anymore by the time episode 8 rolls around. like Soichiro later will, he attempts to convince Light to confess--with the intention, we later find out, to potentially give him a way out. of course, Light doesn’t understand this and believes, for the moment, that it’s a fight to the death--so he writes L’s name in (what he believes to be) the Death Note.

this is intrinsically different from the way Light kills L in the manga. manga Light convinces someone else to do the dirty work and he is absolutely gleeful when L dies, gloating over his dying body--but up until this point L has made manga Light’s life an absolute hassle and expressed time and time again that he intends on executing Kira, who he believes to be Light. L wants to kill him, and they are not friends. while drama Light also believes it’s a “me-or-him” situation, he cannot deny that he actually likes L, that he wanted to be friends with him--he wanted, like Soichiro, for L to accept him and to be a part of the world Kira would create.

[photo: Light, cast in blue light, is bent over double. we’re looking at his face from below, from L’s point of view on the floor. his face is contorted with grief, face wet with tears and spit. He says, “I’d have wanted to be your friend forever.”]

– Episode 8

these are what Light believes to be his last words to L, so he has no reason to lie. he’s weeping as he says it, seeming absolutely heartbroken. this is the first time that Light kills--or attempts to kill--someone he cares about, and it’s the moment he decides to throw his humanity away. if he hadn’t cared so deeply for L before deciding to kill him, I don’t think the scene with Soichiro would have played out quite the same. Light even says it himself right before he writes L’s name:

Light: I can’t afford to lose to you. I’m creating a perfect world, without crime. To see that happen, I… L: Light… Light: I… I’ve decided there’s nothing I won’t do!

– Episode 8

these words are immediately followed by Light attempting to kill L. this is the fundamental moment that Light throws away his humanity, literally deciding that he would do anything for his new world, including killing his friends if they stand in his way. this culminates in him letting his father die and ripping the Note from his hands. he believes that the ends justify the means and that this is the only option he has.

it’s important to note that it isn’t that Light stopped loving his father, or stopped liking L--it isn’t that he lacks guilt over their deaths. it’s exactly the opposite. while their deaths--and the deaths of the Countermeasures team that he planned to take place, as well as the FBI and countless other people--are a necessary evil in order to make the world a better place, Light has to absolutely jump through hoops to justify it to himself and compartmentalize the guilt. as I said earlier, Light saying that Soichiro’s death was inevitable is a way to distance himself from the pain and guilt and rejection he feels, but as he’s dying that guilt cracks back open wide. when he sees that the Death Note is on fire, he panics and begins crawling towards it.

Light: Not yet. I can still do more. If I give up now… What was it all for?

– Episode 11

this is immediately followed by a flashback to Soichiro’s death, where Soichiro questions him about how killing people serves the world--after he crawls a little further, he flashes back again to L, recalling L’s desire to be friends with him.

these flashbacks go to show that Light feels a deep and profound guilt for killing both of them. he’s justified and rationalized it to himself as being for the good of the world--he chose being Kira over both of their lives. however, this means that if Kira fails, if he dies and the world goes right back to the way it was, then all of it was for nothing. he gets himself into a situation where he has to keep killing and killing people he cares about because if he stops then it means that all of it was for nothing.

it’s honestly an incredibly sad situation, that someone so full of kindness would become ultimately cold-hearted in an effort to cope with guilt.

[captainrexforever]

Trials and Tribulations 2/2

Rating: T

Word count: ~6k

Summary: The reader discovers that she has formed a force bond with her Mandalorian companion. This has some unforeseen complications during the events at the Imperial refinery on Morak.

Warnings: angst, fluff, canon typical violence, more Dad! Fett, awkward! Din, use of in-universe curse words

Note: Part 2 at last! There are quite a few pov. changes, so I hope that they don’t interrupt the flow of the story too much. Happy reading, and I hope you enjoy! 

Pt. 1

After settling into the cockpit alongside Fett, the only thing you can do is wait for Fennec’s signal, but that doesn’t mean you have to be bored. 

“Is it too much to ask for a tour of the flight controls?” 

“I’m surprised it took you this long to ask.” He speaks honestly. 

You can only chuckle in response and shrug. “What can I say, I’m not used to holding a conversation with my crewmate.”

“I take it Mando doesn’t talk much.” 

His eyes search your face, and although you attempt to hold his gaze, your eyes fall to the floor as you answer. “No, he doesn’t.”

Fett only nods in response, and you have a sudden urge to change the subject. “So, I noticed that you wear your helmet while flying, even though all the screens are displayed on the console.”

He must note the change in topic, but he doesn’t bring it up. “Yes, I tied all the tracking technology into the visor of my helmet. That way if I have to aim at something while in flight, I can observe it through the viewport and follow the object with my eyes, as if aiming a real blaster.”

“Woah, that’s really cool.”

“Indeed. It’s an idea my father often shared with me, although he didn’t get the chance to implement the changes. I was finally able to make the alterations myself.” There’s a little bit of nostalgia in his voice, and you wonder if you should feel bad for bringing up a potentially sensitive topic. “Perhaps I can let you try it on the retrieval run.” Boba continues. 

“Oh, no, no, no, maybe later, thank you. I don’t want to jeopardize the mission with my novice flying skills.”

“Is that so? You project the aura of a competent pilot.”

“Yes, but it’s been a while since I’ve sat behind the controls of a ship.”

Fett raises a hand to his chin, as if stroking a non-existent beard. “So you didn’t fly Mando’s ship?” It’s definitely a question, but it comes off more like a statement. 

“Well, I...I usually left that to Mando, I felt like it was almost a form of relaxation for him and I didn’t want to take that away.”

“Can I give you some advice?” 

That throws you off a little. 

“Sure.”

“A Mandalorian’s ship is a precious possession, not as important to them as beskar or their code, but still. A ship represents a Mandalorian’s freedom and individuality. If you were allowed to live within that ship for what I estimate to be several months, there was something else going on.”

It feels like someone lodged their fist into your chest and squeezed all the air out of your lungs. Surely he couldn’t mean...“What, what do you mean? Are you saying he was desperate for help no matter the cost?”

Fett wants to bang his head on the console, then bang it against your head to knock some sense into you. No wonder you and the Mandalorian get along so well, you’re both absolutely clueless. 

“Do you know that he carried you up the ramp of this ship last week when you were on death’s door, demanding medical attention from me?” Your eyes widen in response. “When we eventually realized you were losing too much blood, his first instinct was to infiltrate a medical station to obtain the necessary blood samples for a transfusion. Lucky for him, I had some sequencing instruments aboard, and we were able to identify your blood type. By some miracle, you and he happen to possess the same blood.” The atmosphere is becoming more tense by the second, and you can only sit there as Fett recounts the events surrounding your recent injuries. “He stayed by your side during the entire two day flight to Nevarro, refusing to eat or sleep. With the amount of time he spent providing blood to the transfusion system, I was sure he would pass out from blood loss before we arrived.” A choked sound leaves your throat. “The second we landed, he was on his feet, clutching onto your body as he carried you to the Marshal’s office.” 

He lets his words sink in for a moment as he pins you underneath his gaze once again. “I have fought countless battles, lost many comrades, and seen fellow warriors suffer horrible injuries. But I have never seen a man so stricken with grief and despair at the thought of losing a fellow comrade-in-arms. It’s obvious you mean much more to him than either of you realize.” 

He notices that you’re in shock after taking in all of that information, and he opens his mouth to say one last thing. “If you want to take a seat in the hold and let yourself process all of that, I’ll let you know when I receive the cue to take off.” 

The sentence is uttered with kindness, and you can only nod, thankful for his understanding. In a second you’re slipping down the ladder to the main hold of the ship. 

Kriff. 

Tears bite at the corners of your eyes as you suppress a sniffle with your forearm. That damned Mandalorian has been holding out on you. It all makes sense now. The affection you sensed earlier, the brief moments where you often notice his gaze linger for a millisecond too long. He cares about you. The thought has you releasing a muffled sob into your palms, why has he never told you? You would have welcomed his affection and returned it a thousand fold, if he had ever offered you the chance. 

A spike of fear races up your spine suddenly, and you tense in response. There is a familiar tickling sensation in the back of your mind, and you realize that Din is unintentionally projecting on you. After what happened earlier, you’re sure that you are the last person he wants to communicate with. His fear washes over you again, this time accompanied by panic, and you know that something has gone terribly wrong. Feelings be damned, you need to know what is going on down there. A firm nudge against his thought process grants your mind access to his, and the singular pulsing thought that envelops your brain gives you an immediate headache. 

“This is for the kid. The kid needs me, I can do this for him. I can do this for the kid.”

“Din, what’s going on?”

“You need to leave right now.”

“Din, what’s going on, let me help.”

There is no response. You’re so frustrated right now that you want to punch him, and you must be projecting because he allows you to see one more thought. 

You gasp in disbelief and shock. 

“Din...no. You can’t take your helmet off.”

“This is for the kid, Y/n. There is no other way.”

“Your creed, your way. What will you do after you take it off?”

“I...I don’t know. This is the only way I can save him.”

A tear rolls down your cheek.

“I understand.” Then you pull yourself from his mind. 

Even faced with death, while you cried over his limp body, he had refused to remove his helmet. 

No, you don’t understand at all.

~~

By the time Mayfeld and Mando board the ship, you’re seated in the cockpit once again, desperately trying to keep a firm hold on your emotions. The ship rocks with the force of an explosion as Boba makes a hasty retreat. 

“We got company. Hang on.” He announces. 

The ship swerves to the side as he maneuvers away from the blasts of two tie fighters, and you watch in fascination as the scope on his helmet automatically drops into place in front of his visor. 

“These Imperial pilots can’t hit a damn thing.” He complains to you.

“Isn’t that a good thing for us?” You ask.

“I suppose. It isn’t much fun though.”

Wow. Maybe he and Din aren’t so different after all, or perhaps all Mandalorians are just crazy. 

“You wanted to learn about the controls, right? Flip that gold switch I’m pointing to.” He requests.

After grasping a hold of the pilot seat to keep yourself upright, you reach for the control panel and flip the switch. 

“Excellent, now take my helmet.” He removes it and holds it out to you. “Let me know when the two fighters are within 80 meters of each other.” 

You take the helmet eagerly, desperate for some type of combat action to block out your overwhelming emotions. The visor remains dark until the helmet thunks into place around your head, then it bursts into life. There are so many readings on the display that you are overwhelmed for a moment. 

“Look at the top right corner of the HUD, it’ll show you the close-range scans and a distance measurement for the two targets.”

“Got it. The display measures the distance at 100 meters.” 

“Alright, just wait a second. Standard flight path protocol will have them grouping up soon.”

Sure enough, the number plunges down to 90, then 85, then 82. Just a little bit closer…“Now!”

A light flashes somewhere on the HUD as a click filters through the helmet’s speakers. A glance at the top right corner of the display reveals a projectile moving towards the two tie fighters, and you grin at the resulting explosion. There is still a satisfied smile on your face when you hand the helmet back to Fett. 

“Nice shot. And thank you.” You hope that he understands your referring both to the advice he shared earlier, as well as his recent actions.

He nods. “Any time, vod.” 

“Vod?”

“It’s Mando’a, the closest term in Basic is ‘comrade’.” 

That spikes your interest and there is a burning question on the tip of your tongue, but you leave it for later.

“I’m gonna set the ship down, you might want to take a seat.” Fett breaks the silence. 

You scramble to follow his advice, and once the landing cycle is complete he rises from his chair. “Just a moment.” He elaborates, as he descends down the ladder. 

His absence leaves you with a quiet moment to reflect, and you hold your fisted hands out so you can list some facts and organize your frazzled thoughts. Ok, you tell yourself as you take a deep breath. 

One, Din cares about you. 

Two, you care about Din. 

Three, he cares for the child like a son. 

Four...what’s another fact? Dank farrik!

Four, you repeat as you rack your brain. Ah yes, Din’s Creed forbids him from revealing his face to another being.

Five, Din obviously knew he had no choice but to risk breaking his code. The choice was to either reveal his face, or abandon the child to a fate that could be worse than death. 

Six. Well, now that you think about it, you are being a little bit petty. You would also be willing to risk anything, if it was the only way to save the kid. Now that you’ve gone and said it, you feel a little ashamed. Poor Din doesn’t deserve to deal with the loss of his child and your foul mood at the same time. 

You decide to continue your list.

Seven, Boba Fett’s ship is cool as hell.

Eight, Din is kinda hot. Wait, what?! Hold on a second.

Eight, Din is...alright fine. He’s pretty hot. 

Nine, He does have very nice thighs.

Ten, He’s really attractive when he’s fighting.

Eleven, He’s...Wait, you only have ten fingers! 

You really need to get yourself under control, this is completely out of line. 

“Let’s hold tight up here for a moment, Mando’s putting on his kit.” 

You let out an undignified squeak, caught entirely by surprise. What you said earlier was becoming more and more true by the second, Mando and Boba weren’t so different after all. 

~~

Meanwhile in the small fresher, Mando is in the process of attaching his beskar chestplate when you start projectingly very loudly. A blush rises to his cheeks as you approach the end of your mental list. He has always hoped that you felt some semblance of affection towards him, but the thoughts you are currently entertaining are on a whole new level.

After the events in the refinery, he’s still a little shaken, but he feels he owes you an explanation for his recent behavior. Once the last piece of Beskar is attached to his figure, he prepares to ascend the ladder to the cockpit. But, when he approaches, he can distinctly make out your voice, as well as Fett’s.

“There are two words that I sometimes hear Mando use, and I think that they are from Mando’a. Would you mind translating them?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“I did once. He didn’t answer.”

“What are they?”

“‘Verd’ and ‘ika’.”

“Interesting.” He strokes at his chin again. “It’s actually one word, verd’ika.” (Little warrior)

“Oh. What does it mean?”

“It means…” 

Oh no, Din thinks. I need to break this up right now. 

“What’s the status on Cara and Fennec?” He blurts out. Affection and amusement fill him when he notices you jump slightly in your seat at his sudden appearance. 

“They should be approaching our position at any moment now.”

Din nods. He realizes he’s awkwardly lingering at the base of the ladder now, but he can’t let Fett share that translation with you. Not yet. Not until he is able to explain himself.

“Fett, could you provide me with the materials to replace the cooling core in my blaster? All my spare parts and tools were on my ship.” 

Boba stares him down. He knows exactly what Din is trying to do. Din sighs, he is far too fatigued, mentally and emotionally, to deal with this right now. He’s just about to give up when Fett gives him a sharp nod, plops his helmet over his head, and rises from his chair before descending into the hull. Din notices him shoot you an apologetic look, which you respond to with a tight-lipped smile. 

Now that at least one disaster has been avoided, Din turns to follow through with his made-up task. A voice crackles through the speakers in his helmet, and he startles when he recognizes Fett’s voice. He hasn’t heard a fellow Mandalorian’s voice transmit through his helmet’s audio channel since the destruction of the covert. 

“I know what you did back there.” Fett states.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I meant in the refinery.” Fett clarifies.

Din tenses in response and whirls around to face Fett again. How could he know?

“I was monitoring all Imperial communications from inside the refinery as a precaution, just in case there was a complication. The Imperial terminal in the base uploaded a facial scan that wasn’t registered to the computer’s database right after you two arrived.”

Din’s hands clench into fists, if Fett saw the scan…

“Don’t worry Mando, I never saw the image. But, I did have to perform a fair bit of technological jargon to approve the scan. And, I made sure the image was deleted from the Imperial database immediately after the files were downloaded.”

Din’s figure visibly relaxes, those were just two more favors he owed Fett. 

“You know, you owe your companion a lot of explanations. Or should I say, gar verd’ika.” (Your little warrior)

If Din didn’t feel so exhausted he would put up a bigger fight, but he can’t help the way he immediately gives in to Fett’s unspoken inquiry. 

“She is...important to me, I just don’t know how to tell her.”

“Well you’re going to have to do better than that. Think about it, then come talk to me. We will figure it out, as brothers.”

Din nods his approval. 

“Are you two done staring into each other’s eyes? Because you’re kind of freaking me out.”

Mayfeld.

“Shut up Mayfeld.” Boba and Din huff in unison as they shoot him two identical helmeted glares.

Later, after Mayfeld is relieved from the crew, Boba and Din agree that they should fly to the nearest friendly planet so that they can restock their food stores and ammunition. While the ship is in hyperspace, Din takes a seat to prepare the message he plans to transmit to Moff Gideon. It only takes him a moment to agree on the wording. He decides to repeat the same lines that Moff Gideon arrogantly delivered on Nevarro several months ago, with a couple key differences. The message will serve as a warning, an omen of what is to come. 

The last line of the speech suddenly gives him an idea. Perhaps he knows what to say to you after all.

~~

Now that Mayfeld is gone, (you don’t even bother to ask why you are leaving him behind) you are free to sit down in the hold once again. But, after spending so much time in the cockpit, you find yourself wanting to stay. Boba Fett still sits in the pilot seat, wearing his helmet as he pilots the ship. Mando sits in the furthest corner of the hold, facing the clear viewport, as he and Cara discuss their next steps towards retrieving the child. You assume that Fennec is also down below, most likely passing the time by polishing her beloved rifle.

Fett breaks the comfortable silence that reigns over the cockpit. “As I recall, I promised you a chance to fly. Even though we’re in hyperspace right now, it’s good practice to just sit in front of the controls and familiarize yourself.” 

“Are you sure?” You’re secretly jumping up and down with excitement, but you don’t want to annoy Fett right as he’s offering you the opportunity to fly his ship.

“I’m quite certain.” He stands up, offering you the seat. 

You sit down immediately, running your fingers lovingly over the controls. It’s been a long time since you’ve been behind the console of a ship as unique as this one. After you’re done gawking, you look over to Fett, only to notice that he’s staring off into space. At least, you assume he’s staring off into space, you can’t really tell while he is wearing the helmet. He looks over to you after a second and removes his helmet, offering it to you for the second time that day. 

“Are you sure I need the helmet?” Please say yes.

“Go ahead, you might as well be familiar with all the aspects of the in-flight instruments.”

You offer him a beaming smile before settling the beskar over your head. “I’ll be right back.” You hear him say, along with the sounds of him descending the ladder. Odd, you think, he seemed to be in quite a hurry.

~~

 As Din discusses his plan with Cara, he hears Fett’s voice crackle through the speaker in his helmet. “You ready to have that discussion? Your companion just announced she’s heading to the fresher, so we have time for a brief chat in the cockpit.”

“I’ll be there shortly.” Din responds.

Din continues his conversation with Cara, and when he notices a blur make its way down the ladder from the cockpit, he politely excuses himself. 

He makes his way towards the ladder, the echo of his feet meeting the rungs causing nerves to bubble to life in his chest. One foot meets the durasteel flooring of the cockpit, then the other follows. He stands there awkwardly for a second, the back of the pilot chair and Fett’s helmet in clear view, then abruptly spills his thoughts.

“I know what to say.” He clears his throat as his voice cracks a little. 

~~ 

Fennec stands from her seat, affectionately patting her rifle as she props it against the side of the chair. As she passes by the supply closet on her way to the refresher, she notices Fett warily peering out from the doorway.

“What are you doing?”

Boba Fett, the famed Boba Fett, actually jumps at her words, hushing her as he continues to peer in the direction of the cockpit. She wrinkles her brow in confusion and glances towards the cockpit as well, wondering what exactly she should be watching for. 

~~

A few moments later, Cara notices that there is not a soul in sight, and she rises to her feet, determined to figure out where everyone has disappeared to. A quick sweep of the hull doesn’t reveal a sign of Mando or Fennec, so she decides to check the hallway on the other side of the hold. As she rounds the corner she notices both Fennec and Fett peering out of the doorway of what appears to be a supply closet.

Her eyes narrow as she stares them down. “What---”

Both Fennec and Fett shush her immediately, their gaze fixed upon the cockpit. Thoroughly bewildered, she too looks towards the cockpit, worried that something has gone awry. 

~~

Meanwhile, you are sitting in the cockpit, trying to scrape your jaw off of the floor as you examine each of the control panels. This really is one unique ship. Just as you are taking a closer look at the targeting instruments, a voice breaks through your thoughts.

“I know what to say to her now, Fett. I will tell her that she means everything to me, that she means more to me than I can ever put into words.” 

You are completely dumbfounded. Does Mando know who he just said that to? 

Fett...that sneaky little bastard...he set you two up, didn’t he. 

Well, you are not one to look a gift taun-taun in the mouth, so you take off the helmet, stand up, turn around, and level your gaze with Mando’s. 

“The feeling’s mutual, vod.” (Comrade)

He panics, because one second he’s standing in the cockpit, and the next he’s disappeared from sight. The clang of beskar meeting durasteel, along with a grunt of pain, echoes through the hold as you drop the helmet and scramble into motion. 

You rush to the top of the ladder, staring down at Din’s splayed out form in shock. A snicker breaks the silence and your gaze flies to the hallway where your other three companions are smothering laughter into the palms of their hands. You can’t help yourself, the ridiculous sight has you falling into a fit of giggles as well. 

“This is not funny!” Din’s voice echoes through your head.

The abruptness of his statement startles you, and one second you’re standing on firm durasteel, the next you’re falling through the air as you too plummet towards the flooring at the base of the ladder. Except you don’t hit the floor. You hit two warm arms that absorb most of your fall, then a beskar-clad chest. 

A pained grunt escapes Din’s helmet. 

“You’re heavy.”

“Yeah? Well you are busted, Mando.”

“Busted?” It sounds like he is still straining for breath.

“Busted.”

More laughter peals through the recycled air of the hold, and you and Din turn simultaneously to fix all three of your crewmates with a glare. 

“You see what you’ve done.” 

“It’s not my fault you're clumsy, Din.”

“Clumsy? You’re the one who fell on top of me!”

“You shouldn’t scare me all the time!”

“Are you two gonna get up, or are you just gonna lay there on the floor?”

“Cara!” You exclaim, your cheeks bursting into flames. 

“I can’t wait till this mission is over, you all need some serious help.” Fennec grumbles, but she’s hiding a grin as she stomps to her chair, retrieves her rifle-just a precaution, she mumbles-then enters the fresher. 

As for Fett, he has a shit-eating grin on his face, and you can’t help but notice that he looks like a proud father.

“Well, Mando, I think we solved your problem.” His grin falters a little. “Or, at least, one of your problems.”

Fett shoots you a wink as he steps over your prone form and ascends the ladder. “Good luck with that one, you’re gonna need it.”

Cara also walks past your sprawled out bodies, taking a seat as she pointedly looks away from you and out the viewport. 

You look down at Mando, a soft smile overcoming your features when you notice he’s been staring at you. One of the hands that was used to brace your fall is now settled on the small of your back and it holds you firmly to his chest. The other hovers in the air beside your left ear, hesitating, and you give it a glance out of the corner of your eye. You so desperately want him to touch you with that hand, just like you’ve always imagined. So you give him a little nudge. 

“Could you brush that piece of hair out of my eye for me?” It’s practically a whisper as you refrain from shattering this tender moment.

A shaky exhale rattles from beneath his helmet, and then his hand moves slowly to fulfill your request. Seconds drag by like hours...and then his touch finally greets your skin. With a tenderness that is so shocking it hurts (has he thought about this too?) the tips of four fingers meet your forehead, sliding down your temple oh so slowly until they glide through your hair, finally curling around the shell of your ear as any stray strands are tucked away. 

You shut your eyes for a moment, every nerve ending fizzling out in complete bliss as you bask in the warmth of his touch. Neither of you move for a long while, and you would think he’d fallen asleep if not for the incessant chatter that hums through your mind. 

“You’re smiling.” His voice surfaces through the haze of thoughts. 

“I know. I can feel you, your voice, your thoughts...I thought you shut me out.” 

“Never.”

You open your eyes and he is still in the same position as before. His hand curled behind your left ear, his visor staring up into your face, and the hand on your back still radiating the same warmth. After another shaky breath, he drags his hand down the side of your face, curls it around the back of your neck, then slides it upward over the base of your skull. Each movement is drawn out, as if he’s moving in slow motion. You both know that he’s only trying to prolong this moment, along with each gesture, for as long as he possibly can.  

It’s your turn to sigh when he bends your head down, closing the distance between your faces so that your forehead rests against the top of his helmet. Your palms, that had previously been supporting your weight, abandon the floor to splay themselves over Din’s beskar chestplate instead. The closeness is suffocating in the most beautiful way, and you’re sure that if he wasn’t wearing a helmet you would be begging for a kiss by now. 

“You’re thinking very loudly.”

His voice has you blushing, but you can’t bring yourself to feel ashamed.

“I can’t help it. You’re just too damn hot to handle.” It’s meant to tease him, but the response you receive is the complete opposite of what you expect.

“Yeah, especially when I’m fighting, am I right?”

There is a dramatic pause while your brain stalls to a grinding halt. “Were you listening earlier, Din? Why the nerve--”

He backpedals immediately, trying to reconcile his previous statement before you decide to jump up and clock him in the head. “Do you know that we’ve been kissing this whole time.”

Huh? Kissing? Your lips haven’t even touched! He must have hit his head harder than you thought. 

“Are you coherent right now?”

He chuckles fondly, the sound echoing through your mind, and you’re sure it's the most beautiful sound you have ever heard. “This gesture, our foreheads touching...it’s called a keldabe kiss. Since my people do not remove their helmets, that is how we show affection to our loved ones.”

“Oh.” You can feel his nerves pulsing through your mind. “It’s perfect.” A searing warmth blossoms throughout your whole body, and you know it is the result of his happiness. “Will you tell me--”

Fennec emerges from the fresher and shocks you two out of your stupor. “Are you two going to stop gazing into each other’s eyes and take a seat?” 

Fennec and Cara both share a chuckle at the way you and Din jump at the sudden intrusion. You are too immersed in your lovey-dovey emotions to even glare at them so you just huff in response. A glance towards Din’s helmet doesn’t reveal much about his current thought process, so you rely on your bond and just let yourself feel. 

The emotions he possesses are so powerful they are blinding, so you guide yourself to his loudest most current thoughts.

“...how’d I get so lucky? I wonder if she will let me kiss her again.”

You just shake your head fondly. “Come on Romeo, let’s go sit down.” You offer a hand once you are standing, and he grumbles, eventually taking it even though you both know he requires zero assistance to lift himself from the floor. He doesn’t release you though, even when he reaches his seat and settles into the chair. Just as you’re about to turn and return to your own seat, he tugs on that hand and sends you barreling into his lap. A wide-eyed look of shock is the only expression you can manage as you fumble to keep yourself on his lap without tumbling to the floor. 

And now he’s laughing into your bond again...great.

“Stop laughing and help me, you buffoon!”

Din quells his chuckling and finally moves to help you right your figure. His hands attempt to settle you into his embrace, but he can’t help but notice that you still seem uncomfortable. He looks to Cara for help, only to realize that her gaze is still directed out the viewport. Instead, he looks to Fennec, and the gaze that she eventually gives him screams you’ve got to be kidding me. He glares at her from beneath the helmet, raising a hand in desperation as he gestures towards you. Fennec glares back, and then mimics the pose of a droid, with her arms out, legs limp, and an impassive gaze on her face. Then she gestures back towards him. He gets the hint immediately, blushing red beneath the helmet, and nods his thanks. She just waves him off and continues to polish her rifle. 

For the first time in his adult life, the Mandalorian slouches in his seat. His spine rounds as he curls himself around your form, providing a protective shell around your body. Both hands guide you into a sideways position, similar to a wedding carry-he blushes even harder at that realization-and then he tucks your head into the crook between his helmet and chestplate, where his cloak will cushion your head. You give him a sleepy smile and snuggle closer to his armored chest, looping an arm around his neck as you get comfortable. 

“So will you tell me what it means?” You attempt again.

“What does what mean?”

“Verd’ika.”

“It means ‘little warrior’.”

The smile that overtakes your face is almost blinding. You fall asleep with the echo of that thought in your head, and wake up to the gentle snores of a certain Mandalorian. There’s an incessant needling in the back of your sleep-addled brain. There’s no way Din would have fallen asleep with the rest of the crew watching. You blink your eyes open, and panic a little bit when you realize that hold is quite a bit darker than earlier. There are a couple blinking lights from the cockpit that shed some light on the room. And after a second, you scan the area only to realize that there is no one else in sight. 

Abruptly, your back twitches in pain and you realize that Mando’s vambrace is digging into your back. You shift slightly, trying to adjust your position without leaving your warm perch. Din mumbles in his sleep, shifting a little bit at your movements, and it causes the hand you slung behind his neck earlier to thwack him rather violently in the back of the head. He shoots to a standing position immediately, and you squeak, clutching onto him like a koala as he nearly sends you hurtling towards the ground. 

His blaster is drawn in a second, and your sluggish mind struggles to connect with him through your bond in order to calm his frantic motions. He must break out of his trance before you are able to form a connection, because he suddenly settles back down into the chair with a tired exhale. 

“Sorry, you startled me.” He apologizes.

“It’s ok.” 

He adjusts you into a more comfortable position, fussing as he tucks you back into his chest. You just hum against his neck, basking in the warmth that he produces. Surprisingly, the beskar itself is also warm, and you note that it must maintain the same temperature as his body. 

“We landed a little while ago. The others left to enjoy a night on the town, they won’t be back for several hours.” 

“Mmm.” 

“Are you even awake?” 

“Yes.” You respond as you peel an eye open. The adorable way Din is tilting his helmet to look at your face sends a wave of affection blossoming through your chest. But, as cute as he looks right now, you really want to be asleep.

“Since we have a moment, I want to talk about what happened today.”

That has your attention, and you’re fully awake in seconds. 

“I know that we disagreed on a couple things today. And, we have both made implications about our feelings, but I want to lay everything out on the table so it is one hundred percent clear.”

You nod in agreement. 

“You and the child will always be the first priority to me. No matter what. Mandalorians value their clan, their family, above all else. You and the kid are my family.” He cuts himself off, voice cracking a little as he tries to continue.

You rush to fill the silence, eager to reassure him of your own feelings. “You and the kid are my family too Din, and I would not have it any other way. I know that you didn’t give me the mission earlier because you were worried about me. And, I know that you had to remove your helmet because there was no other way to locate the little one. I am sorry I didn’t support your decisions. I was bitter and hurt, but I won’t make that mistake again.”

A sound, like that of a choked sob, escapes Din and your heart squeezes in pain. Before you can finish, he cuts you off.

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way ner verd’ika. (My little warrior) I am so sorry, I didn’t even think about how you would feel.”

“No! Don’t apologize, I am the one apologizing to you.”

You are both laughing through your tears, and you clutch at his hands with both of yours. 

“I love you Din, I love you so much, and I will always support any decision you make.”

“Ner verd’ika, ni kar'tayli gar darasuum. (My little warrior, I love you) You hold my heart in your hands.”

At that admission, you feel a burning desire to kiss him, but you settle for resting your forehead against his helmet instead.

“I seem to recall that you promised to ‘kick my ass’ once we landed.”

“Stop it, you’re ruining the moment.” You rebuke him as you shove half-heartedly at his chest.

“I think you’re wimping out, ner verd’ika. (My little warrior) You don’t think you can beat me anymore?”

How dare he tease you. The nerve of this man.

“No, I’ll still kick your ass anyways. I hope you won’t be too embarrassed when I school you in front of everyone else tomorrow.” A smug smirk stretches across your face as you finish speaking.

“You’re quite feisty, my dear.”

“Shut up, you love it.”

He grumbles beneath the helmet, neither denying nor acknowledging your statement. 

“I never realized you had such a dirty mouth.” The words are directed through your bond, and you can’t help but notice that the tone is a little suggestive. His words have your face erupting into flames.

Your Mandalorian has some real nerve.

~~

Ending Notes: I am actually really happy with how this turned out. Multi-chapter stories are a little intimidating and I admire all of you writers that can juggle several multi-chapter stories at once. I hope that this did the whole un-masking/face reveal thing justice while still staying as true to Din’s character as possible. ALSO, if I messed up any of the Mandalorian culture/lore stuff, please let me know. 

~~

[mhalachai]

advance snippet: Updating Wednesdays on Patreon (The Untamed)

So. Do I need to write an Untamed modern!AU with a college twist (Lan Xichen is a music professor in Canada) in which Wei Wuxian attempts to self-therapy himself by creating a graphic novel fantasy AU version of his life (aka the real story of Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation) and Lan Xichen attempts to rebuild his life after a toxic relationship ended? I mean probably not but has that ever stopped me?  here’s the intro snippet we’ll see how things go.

(Title is tentatively Updating Wednesdays on Patreon because i don’t know what to call this thing)

~~

The first day of August finds Lan Xichen in a coffee shop, tinkering with the syllabus for his new music theory course, when his phone pings with a message.

> Lan Wangji: Brother.

> Lan Wangji: Wei Ying has asked me to inform you that he will be publishing the first collection of pages in his new graphic novel on Patreon this afternoon.

Lan Xichen smiles at Lan Wangji's tone. For all that his little brother is more verbose in electronic communication than verbal, he's always so exact.

> To Lan Wangji: Can't wait! What's it about?

The little cursor blinks for a while as Lan Wangji continues to type. Lan Xichen just hopes that his brother-in-law's creative enthusiasm isn't running up against Lan Wangji's sensibilities.

Finally, a reply appears.

> Lan Wangji: Wei Ying wants me to tell you that it is completely fictional.

This gives Lan Xichen pause. Why on earth would Wei Wuxian, or Lan Wangji himself for that matter, need to make that declaration?

> Lan Wangji: It is a high fantasy xianxia story.

Before Lan Xichen can ask why that is causing this odd message exchange, another notification pops up on his phone.

> Wei Wuxian: Lan Xichen! Lan Zhan types so slow! It's just a different art style I wanted to try out and it snowballed from there!

> Wei Wuxian: I know you follow me on Patreon so you're going to get the notification this afternoon so I wanted to warn you hahaha

> Wei Wuxian: All names and places are purely fictional. I don't really have a sword.

Another message arrives, with all the information Lan Xichen needs.

> Lan Wangji: This matters a great deal with Wei Ying.

Lan Xichen smiles at his brother's words. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian have been together since their junior year of high school, through a great deal of personal difficulties on both sides, and are still as fiercely protective of each other as ever. He loves them both for it.

> To Lan Wangji: Thank you for the information. I'm sure it will be great.

> To Wei Wuxian: Can't wait to see it! Anything you do is always great.

No more messages arrive, so Lan Xichen goes back to considering how to change the quiz structure of his musical theory class to avoid a marking crisis with the evaluation of his ensemble class.

Finally, as Lan Wangji gathers up his papers to leave, one last message comes in on his phone.

> Lan Wangji: Thank you for your support. We all appreciate it.

Attached to the message is a photo taken of Lan Wangji's family, he and Wei Wuxian holding Lan Yuan between them. The toddler grins at the camera, his arms around Wei Wuxian's neck. Wei Wuxian's looks at the camera, dark circles under his eyes like he's working through the night again, while Lan Wangji only has eyes for his husband.

It's so wholesome and loving that a sliver of pain rakes through Lan Xichen's heart. He's happy for his brother. His brother deserves the world. Lan Wangji deserves being loved, and to love.

Not everyone gets that. Sometimes, that falls apart.

Sometimes, for some people, love is just an illusion.

Lan Xichen tucks his phone away and leaves the coffee shop.

~~

He gets home mid-afternoon, and spends a while stowing away the groceries he picked up on his walk. The neighbourhood has several Greek and Persian markets and he's able to buy most of what he needs on foot, saving the Chinese markets in Richmond for his weekly dim sum brunches with Lan Wangji's family when he can borrow the use of Lan Wangji's sensible and economical mini-van.

He doesn't drive any more, not since—

Lan Xichen stops and puts down the bag of avocados. His mind is a funny place, bringing up the oddest things at the most inconvenient of times.

He doesn't drive anymore. He doesn't need to, using the bus and the odd taxi to transport his instruments up to the university for performances. The public transit system is so much better.

Safer.

He goes back to putting away the vegetables, pulls out a cookbook (new, spine uncreased, bought for him by Lan Qiren for his birthday) and opens it at random. He's never had coconut curry salmon before, but he has all the ingredients.

Trying new things. He's supposed to be trying new things.

The recipes says it will only take half an hour to make, so he goes up to his office and turns on his computer to check his work email. The message fly fast and furious, some about the new department head, some about class enrollment, a few from students asking if they can get onto his waitlist. He replies to the most urgent, files the rest, then checks his personal email.

The notification from Wei Wuxian's Patreon is up, so Lan Xichen clicks it.

Then he sits back, frankly impressed. He's seen Wei Wuxian's comic style progress since the boy was drawing silly cartoons to entertain Lan Wangji in history class, but even he wasn't prepared for this.

The art is gorgeous. Stylized figures, intricate period costuming, rich backgrounds – it's truly a work of art.

Then he gets a better look the two characters' faces, and laughs out loud. It's Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, clear as day, with long hair and flowing robes. Wei Wuxian's even managed to capture that exasperated-yet-fond look Lan Wangji has whenever Wei Wuxian is being particularly loud.

The introduction is even better. "Join our hero Lan Wangji and dashing rogue Wei Wuxian as they battle deadly monsters and forge a path with demonic cultivation!"

Wei Wuxian hasn't even changed their names. True, he uses his mother's surname professionally, so Cangse Ying can't be easily tracked back, but still.

Lan Xichen wonders for a moment if Lan Wangji is okay with this, but then he notices that the project text is available in both English and in Chinese, with the Chinese written in Lan Wangji's style.

They worked on this together, then.

Trying not to think about why that makes his chest feel funny, Lan Xichen opens to the first page--

-- Which features a bruised and bloodied Wei Wuxian falling off a cliff while a horrified Lan Wangji screams after him.

Confused, Lan Xichen makes sure he hasn't accidentally read the last page first. No, this is the first. Still a little baffled, he clicks to the next page, sees the stylized banner that reads six years ago and relaxes. This is Wei Wuxian's style of using flashbacks to interrupt the narrative flow. Lan Xichen spent most of Lan Wangji's university years hearing his brother's despair for Wei Wuxian's artistic choices in essay form.

But enough about the past. Lan Xichen settles in to read the first chapter of the story, where Wei Wuxian and his siblings (Jiang Yanli drawn lovingly, Jiang Cheng with a bigger frown and more menacing eyebrows than Lan Xichen remembers) traveled to the Cloud Recesses (the sarcastic nickname Wei Wuxian gave to Lan Qiren's West Vancouver mansion) for cultivator lectures. Lan Xichen is there on the page, too, drawn taller and far more imposing than he is in real life.

The first encounter between Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji is fantastical and improbable and, according to Lan Xichen's recollection, almost completely accurate. Wei Wuxian had mouthed off at Lan Wangji at the weekend orientation camp for their new arts high school, Lan Wangji glared the boy into submission, then later that night when Wei Wuxian tried to sneak back onto school grounds with alcohol, he and Lan Wangji had gotten into a fight. Verbal, instead of with swords, and without the supernatural murder victims, but Lan Xichen remembered everything else from Lan Wangji's indignant recitation on his return home.

He keeps reading, enjoying the art and the lyrical narration, and keeps enjoying it right up to the scene when Nie Huaisang appears on the page to offer Lan Qiren a present, Meng Yao standing right behind him.

Lan Xichen doesn't remember standing up, but here he is, two feet away from his computer, heart pounding. He hadn't—Why—

What was Meng Yao doing in a story about Wei Wuxian's high school years?

Taking a deep breath, Lan Xichen makes himself return to his desk. As far as he knew, he was the one who introduced Meng Yao to Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, when the boys were in university and after he and Meng Yao started dating--

Lan Xichen can feel his heartbeat slow, as he tries to breathe. He needs to stop this foolishness over Meng Yao. They dated before living together for a while, that was all. They broke up. It happens to people all the time.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were in college for most of that time, anyway, living their lives. They barely knew Meng Yao, even if Wei Wuxian's sister married Meng Yao's half-brother. They couldn't know how badly Lan Xichen had messed up their relationship, how terrible he had been to live with. It was his fault that—

Stop.

Stop.

It's over. In the past. A story that has Meng Yao as a minor character isn't going to mess with Lan Xichen's head. He's not going to let it.

He exhales and makes himself look back at the screen.

Meng Yao only shows up a few more times. For some reason, he's the only character who isn't tagged with his own name. He's there handing over the present to Lan Qiren, standing in front of Nie Huaisang when the Wens arrive, then in two last panels in which he tells the on-screen Lan Xichen that he has to return to Nie Mingjue's side.

Lan Xichen's stomach sours. He and Nie Mingjue had been close, before Meng Yao came into Lan Xichen's life. After that, Lan Xichen hadn't had much time for anyone else. That was normal, Meng Yao always said. People in love only needed each other.

Lan Xichen picks up his phone, then puts it down. He can't ask Lan Wangji about this. It would be weird. Wei Wuxian must just be making artistic narrative choices.

The chapter ends soon after, with Wen Qing and Wen Ning welcomed grudgingly into Cloud Recesses. The next chapter is due up in two weeks, the page declares, and welcomes any comments or feedback. A few people are already posting, gushing over the art work and discussing the teaser from the opening page.

Wanting to be supportive, Lan Xichen writes a small review, complimenting the artistic style, the intricacies of the outfits, poses a query as to the different colour palettes between the first page (dark, red, menacing) and the flashback scenes in Cloud Recesses (light, airy, hopeful), then translates the comment into English and posts both versions up. If Lan Wangji is going though all the trouble of ensuring a bilingual experience, then he will too.

He should go start dinner, he really should, but some part of him is drawn back to the first panel in which Meng Yao appears. He's shorter than Lan Xichen remembers in life, the long hair and braids suiting his face.

It's been so long since Lan Xichen last saw Meng Yao. He's not sure what he's thinking. Is he wistful? Mournful? Sad?

He doesn't know. He never knows what he feels about Meng Yao, which was the problem. He's not normal about feelings. Even Lan Wangji, whose brain is a unique and complicated thing, looking for order and reason and patterns in an illogical and messy world, loves fiercely, feels passionately. Maybe he got all the love in the family, and Lan Xichen got stuck with the stunted and undergrown heart.

Stirring, he pages back to the first appearance of his on-screen twin. The Lan Xichen on the screen looks patient, kind, a smile hiding behind his eyes.

He hadn't realized this is how Wei Wuxian sees him.

He picks up his phone.

> To Wei Wuxian: What an incredible achievement! The art is amazing!

> To Wei Wuxian: Where is the story from? As it's a work of fiction and has nothing to do with your real life ;)

> Wei Wuxian: Oh hahahha the story is a collaboration of a bunch of ideas! I can't tell u more (sworn to secrecy by my collaborators) but so glad you like it!!!!!!

> To Lan Wangji: Did you do the writing? I love the dialogue.

> Lan Wangji: Wei Wuxian did most of the English. I made it better and did the translation.

> To Lan Wangji: Have you told uncle about this project?

> Lan Wangji: He prefers to speak of my composition achievements.

Lan Xichen puts his phone down and rubs his eyes. The old tension between Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji never goes away. It started in high school with Lan Qiren's disapproval of Wei Wuxian, continued into university with Lan Qiren's disapproval of Wei Wuxian as well as Lan Wangji's decision to attend a local university for musical studies instead of going to Julliard in Lan Xichen's footsteps, and outrage at the news that Lan Wangji asked Wei Wuxian to marry him before they even finished their undergraduate degrees.

The resulting years had been a long-standing cold war, with Lan Xichen trying to mediate in the middle. Even the arrival of Lan Yuan on the scene twenty months previous hadn't softened both sides into anything resembling ease.

If Lan Wangji doesn't want to tell their uncle that he and his husband are collaborating on a semi-biographical graphic novel, Lan Xichen isn't going to muddy the waters.

> To Lan Wangji: It sounds like you're enjoying the project.

> Lan Wangji: Working with Wei Ying on any project is enjoyable. I read that couples with young children should try to engage in a mutual hobby outside of parenting.

> To Lan Wangji: Very wise.

He wonders if he should ask about Meng Yao, types out a message to that effect, then deletes it.

> To Lan Wangji: I should start dinner – see you on the weekend for brunch?

>Lan Wangji: Yes.

Lan Xichen puts his phone down. The days are long in August and the sun still bright, but he's tired and he doesn't know why.

~~

anyway that’s where this whole disaster is going. new fandoms are fun. 

[spacebookettes]

Unstable Lady

Retirement homes are better now. Now the robots assist. Endless Gaga dancing queens, the robots keep the people young.

Unstable Lady had trouble getting about, the Walky Walky electronic leg braces kept her independent. Though hers had little bells on. Tinkling little sounds could be heard slowly moving around the Home. The tinkling little sound meant you had to be alert, if you didn’t want to succumb. In the office the assistants heard the familiar tinkling and all looked around. The tinkling stopped and someone had not come into view. The faces looked at each other and sighed a little. An assistant went to look. Nothing. No one in the corridor. The air ducting above them creaked. The assistant got the ladders, popped the vent door in the ducting and had a look. Nothing. Their head torch only saw emptiness. They heard a little tinkling below them. The assistant climbed down. Nothing.

At lunch the robots brought around the various delights. The assistants kept looking over to Unstable Lady. She ate alone, with her back to everyone. An occasional tinkling took attentions away from their food.

As the Unstable Lady walked away from the luncheon. She glanced at the little dents, burn marks and splatterings that littered the bright hallways and corridors. Each a little shrine to past ‘achievements’. They had taken Unstable Lady's possessions, her little toolbox and assortment of gizmos, bits of string, old tubing that sort of thing. Younger she had collected all kinds of useful objects. Only a few left hidden.

A piece of funneled plastic was one of them. She liked to use it to project little tinklings around corners. Unstable Lady kept fruit stalks she could still expertly curve through the air. Some of the people believed the home was infested. Only some of the people. No longer any salt pots or little sachets. Balls weren’t allowed anymore, POP. The robots had been replaced with more robust ones... these still had some ‘achievements.'

Unstable Lady was miserable. She snapped a giant glow stick and shoved it up her nose. A robot hand retrieved it and patted Unstable Lady on the head.

Unstable Lady had a few regrets in her cruelty.. even for her she felt she had gone too far on occasion. The pangs of regret stayed with her.

Unstable Lady had resisted all taming medication. They’d tried the lot as well. “is she psychotic”

Someone played Rammstein in their room. Wild tinkling.

The End

By Peter Stringer

Rasputin

 

Rasputin is still alive they say. He is and he lives in Cheshire, for the cheese.

He seems to have made himself immortal somehow accidentally.

“You’re intolerant to dairy"

‘MILK, I made myself invulnerable to all toxins’

“yes, but, I’m afraid your bowel can’t tolerate dairy anymore... you’ll  be fine if you switch to soya milk... organic soya milk, no horrible GMOs... massive amounts of gmo pollen, humanity had no business introducing into an already strained earthly eco system.”

The doctor started to leave, she looked back... “at least the native people’s investment in green technology saved the day, the fidget droids and such. No need for chemicals now.”

She looked back a second time... “of course they’ve got the nukes now.”

 

By Peter Stringer

 

Space girls

A mission to Pluto. A mission that goes missing some where around the orbit of Jupiter.

“Where are we” all the shuttles systems were black, no light anywhere. “Is everyone ok" the five space girls all checked in. The lights and flashing buttons of the shuttle all came back to life. The space girls all looked out of the command module windows. Total blackness. No stars.

A globule of liquid moved slowly across the windows. The Space Girls all got close to the window to watch. They were reflected in the liquid ball. The reflections winked back. The Space Girls all drew backwards shocked inhaling. They all watched the liquid disappear beyond the window. “check all the instruments for position and orientation” one of them checked and rechecked their control panel. Nothing. No readings. “try the thrusters". one of them flipped the relevant switches. No inertia. The thrusters worked, there was just no apparent movement. The command module stopped shaking as the Space Girl flipped back the switches. One of the Space Girls dropped to the floor, dead.

The four Space Girls had checked the whole shuttle craft. They tried every piece of scientific equipment on board to see if they could learn just anything. Nothing. They ate some of the nourishing space goo packets. It was tasteless. They had enough food and water for months.

The four Space Girls sat for hours losing track of all space and time. The command module was silent. Someone was keeping an eye on the windows for signs of anything. A space walk, all that was left.

The short straw suited up. They glanced and stared at the logo of the Space Girl Missions; it’s looping white rings and central flashing green star. The symbol she had been so proud to be representing. Next to it a sponsor advertisement for Red Space Dew. Had it always been the sponsor; an anti deja vu came over her. The trivial advertisment seemed alien to her, new. Had it always been there.

The hatch doors silently opened. The Space Girl looked out into the blackness. A gloved hand reached out beyond the hatch doors. Nothing. Nothing changed. She shifted her body closer to the void. A space boot stepped out onto the hull of the space shuttle. She wasn’t floating, there was gravity. It felt like Earth gravity. Space Girl slipped falling along around the hull of the shuttle. Falling around it’s gravity. The only gravity in existence was the ship. She kept falling. External equipment broke off of the hull and joined Space Girl falling around and around. She looked desperately for the hatch opening. It’s central to the science module next to the spectrum sensors; they had broken off and were clattering somewhere near her. “ok" she shuffled her suited body to a central pathway on the module. Wildly trying for anything that felt like a gap. Something hooked around space girls arm. An antenna or some broken attachment and she jolted to a stop. Half a leg inside the hatchway.

Back on the ship Short Straw told them there was nothing in existence out there. Only them and the shuttle. Someone inhaled quickly and pointed toward the hatch window. A globule of liquid slowly floated across. They dare not look too closely.

The clattering equipment falling around the outside of the space shuttle was constant. The four Space Girls all had noise cancelling headsets on.

The solar interweb was offline. No connection to Earth. No SpaceTube. No SpaceGram. No SpaceTweet. Everything on the solar cloud, so no music. No pics. No video. Through the weeks the Space Girls got to know each other over the microphones of the headsets. Each sentence spoken with an obnoxious background clattering. Short Straw, they decided was the luckiest, even with her outside encounter.

Weeks later. They had tried the thrusters in all directions, full thrust. Full thrust for days. Random thruster directions. Spinning thrusters. Sudden reverse thrusters. Nothing. All signals had been sent out into the void.

They were putting on a play. Each Space Girl had to create her own comedy show. Once a week. One of them was impersonating some future celebrity to roaring laughter, at the front of the command module. The laughter stopped, a massive sphere of liquid undulated across the windows. The back of the impersonator reflected. The reflection dropped to the floor. The impersonator didn’t; she dare not move looking behind her at the three other faces and no reflection of herself. The liquid disappeared beyond the window.

Two days later the void was full of liquid globules. Giant and small. All manner of winkings and death scenes was being reflected back at the four Space Girls. They moved to a part of the shuttle with no windows.

The Space Girls didn’t want to put on anymore stand-up. The things they’d seen reflected back from the void would finish most people. They had rationed the food so far over the weeks. The Space Girls had a feast. Full bellies the ship started to shake. Short Straw got to the piloting controls first. Beyond the windows the liquid was swirling and merging, streaming in all directions. The shuttle had thrust. Short Straw could control the direction. The liquid was flying apart in all directions. A bright light was in front of them, growing bigger. Noise came from the cabin speakers. They took off their headsets to listen. ‘Girl look at that body, girl look at that body, girl look at that body, I work out, girl look at that body, girl look at that body, girl look at that body...I'm sexy and i know it'

Jupiter came into view. The liquid disappeared into the star studded space-scape. They all danced and sang with smiles and laughter. ‘wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle, yeah.

The End

By Peter Stringer

The Other Woman

“we should work on other projects”

The man’s words echoed around Wednesday.

They had been partners, co-workers. A small business of stories. The man had been emotionally disturbed at the beginning of both of their relationships. A man who made no sense, whirling away from functional adulthood. Bonsai trees helped. The Other Woman helped more.

The man loved his Significant Other. But perhaps two more, secret, partnerships and he knew the Other Woman would wait; very patiently... Almost.

He loved the nakedness, with both: he felt free. He only felt free clothed... with his Significant Other. He felt massive colleague respect for the Other Woman. Their first partnership had been cyber trees. The meeting of two non-professional minds. She good at the branches, he good at the leaves. They both knew they wanted nakedness. The first time next to the mulch. He knew the Other Woman would fall. He knew he could keep her... and he knew that made him rotten.

He thought the Other Woman was a thinker, she wanted to save the world and believed her little piece of it might. He too believed in her. But he was one of the monsters, he knew, she feared. If life were a film he would have slowly fallen in love with the Other Woman.

The man wanted to be king and felt a spark of it when he met the Other Woman. They were massively successful. She did the coding, he did the wiring. The Other Woman saved him, he knew she knew it.

He was in charge of the money, she was in charge of the lasers. That was his mistake.

He wasn't so rotten that he’d fiddle the money in his favour. In fact he did fiddle the money, fiddled himself in her favour. It helped with the knowledge that he’d always love the Significant Other. The man and the Other Woman worked hard, long into the night... there was so much to do. She came up with the bigger concepts, he ordered the equipment.

The Other Woman, he knew, her patience was running out.

He was the thinker, she was becoming a monster.

He had fiddled the finances, she had fiddled the equipment.

The End

By Peter Stringer

[hornsbeforehalos]

Forever, Sweetheart: Part 2

Pairing: Rob Benedict x OFC, past Norman Reedus x OFC

Warning: Smut, Language, RPF, mentions of violence and sexual assault, mentions of miscarriage, recreational drug use (weed), drinking, Rated E for EXPLICT A/N: TRIGGER WARNING: Mingus and Ky talk about the baby in this chapter. If you have triggers regarding subjects such as infant loss, please be cautious. 

As per usual I mean no harm or offense to anyone referenced or mentioned. this is a work of FICTION and no all your favorite people will be your favorite people in this. They’re characters.

Please do not read this if you are under the age of 18. Please do not copy or steal this and put it somewhere else. I will find you.

I do not own anything related to Supernatural or The Walking Dead or any other shows mentioned in this work of fiction. I am not affiliated with AMC or CW in any way.

MASTERLIST

Tags: @coffee-obsessed-writer @sandlee44 @wildefiction @sorenmarie87 @through-thesilver-lining @runekisses @pink1031 @zelda2248 @kazzieglove @journeyrose @his-paradox @docharleythegeekqueen @beffyblueeyes  Please let me know if you want to be added to the list!

My eyes drifted open the next morning as my senses kicked in, the strong scent of coffee wafting through the small hotel room. I could hear Rob in the shower, the sound of him singing while washing himself coming from the bathroom and making me smile.

I let out a groan as my body stretched itself out, the stiffness in my shoulders making me roll my neck back and forth for a moment before I climbed out of bed. Walking past the mirror on the wall, I let out another groan, this time as I observed the giant rat’s nest that resided itself on my head from falling asleep with it wet.

Lovely way to start out the morning.

I heard the shower shut off and the curtain be pulled back as I sifted through my clothes for the weekend while sipping on the cup of coffee Robbie had set out for me, selecting a Gishwhes t-shirt from the pile as well as a pair of shorts. I was pulling my pajamas off as I heard Rob open the bathroom door, my butt bent over in his direction as I stepped into my denim shorts.  

A low whistle sounded as he pressed his denim-covered groin against my ass as I straightened myself, earning him a giggle from me as his fingers dug themselves into my waist when I turned around in his arms.

“Don’t even say a thing,” I grunted as I watched his eyes widen as he took in the state of my hair, “Not a God damned thing, Benedict.”

Rob chuckled but made the gesture of zipping his mouth, patting my butt before shaking his head as he released me to select a shirt for himself. I made my way into the bathroom after getting the rest of my clothes on, sighing deeply as I stared at the heap on my head.

It took twenty minutes and Rob’s help to get the shit to cooperate, and I was grateful when I was finally able to get it tied into braided pig-tails. I was just done pressing the false last eyelash to my lid when the Richard’s unmistakable rap sounded at the door.

I exited the bathroom as Rob pulled the door ajar to let Rich inside, the poor man already looking flustered.

“Kay, Mish is looking for you. He’s on the war path already.” Rich warned, raking his hand through his hair as he turned to Rob, “Me and you gotta skedaddle, buddy, Daniella is having issues with the sound check guy.”

“Jesus, okay,” Rob sighed, shaking his head again as he pulled a flannel over shirt on. He walked over to me and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me into a hug before kissing me, “I guess duty calls, my love. I’ll come find you later?”

I nodded before giving him another kiss, waving to Rich as I watched them leave.

It took about thirty seconds before my phone’s ringtone blared. I slide the answer button across Misha’s face, putting it on speaker as I pulled on my converse.

“Whaaaat? I’m on my way, damn. Let me get my fuckin’ shoes on.”

“Hurry your ass, woman! Did you know Marvel people are here too?” Misha asked excitedly. I could tell he had already made his way downstairs to the green room from the noises in the background, Bri’s unmistakable laughter sounding through the phone, “Sebastian fucking Stan even!”

Giggling, I strapped my laptop bag around my shoulder and grabbed my phone, taking it off speaker and pressing it to my ear as I made sure I had everything, “You’re such a nerd. I’m on my way.”

Misha hung up the phone without a good bye, and I placed it in my back pocket as I headed down to the convention.

The majority of the day had been hectic yet uneventful, and it was easy to slip back into the routine of convention life. As I had expected, I didn’t get to see Rob for most of the day, save for a couple of seconds here and there in between dragging Misha from one area of the hotel to another. I had hoped to at least be able to have a moment to go to his panel with Rich and Matt, but Misha wanted me to make sure the Random Acts information desk had everything they needed. I was talking to one of the past Gish contestants when Mingus approached with a couple of his friends.

“Hey Ming!” I beamed at him after the girl left, rounding the corner of the table I was behind to wrap my arms around him, “Glad you could come.”

“This shit is so cool, Ky,” He smiled, folding his lanky limbs across my shoulders as I pulled away to look up at him, “I’ve never been able to actually walk around one of these types of conventions before.”

“It has his moments of being cool,” I chuckled, turning to see two the two guys that came with him staring at me. They both looked familiar, and I remembered seeing them from the time when Ming had stayed with me.

“You guys remember my step mom, Ky, right?” Ming introduced with a wide grin.

Rolling my eyes, I smacked him in the chest with the back of my hand, “I’m like 7 years older than you, dude, don’t call me that.”

“Whatever,” He chuckled, “This is Matt and Kyle. You got time to go with us to get some food?”

I pulled my phone out and checked the time, noting that Rob’s panel was going to be ending soon and he’d texted that he wanted to meet in the green room afterwards.

“I can’t really leave, but ya’ll can come to the back with me if you want, they’ve got hella food piled up back there for everyone.” I replied, placing my phone back in my pocket, “Jensen and Jared should be headed there soon, too.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Mingus nodded, watching as I gathered all my things before following me.

I pushed the door to the green room open so the four of us could enter, my eyes instantly finding Robbie perched on the side of the couch with my brother’s guitar, strumming the chords as Jensen hummed. He looked up to me as he felt my approach, his grin faltering slightly as he saw Mingus behind me.

“Mingus! Dude! What’s up?” Jensen said joyfully as he stood up to hug the kid, Jared following suit before moving so everyone could sit down.

I turned to face Rob as Mingus spoke with the others, not missing the glint in his eye as I slotted myself between his legs in front of the guitar. His eyes moved back to the instrument, and he thumbed a few chords before returning his attention to me.

“How was the panel?” I asked sweetly, running my fingers through the thick curls on top of his head. Rob stopped playing and closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of the scratch of my fingertips against his scalp.

“Mmmm, it was okay. Couple people asked about you.” He answered, his eyes opening and shifting up to look at me as I stopped my ministrations.

“Anything interesting?” I wondered out loud, watching as Jared and Jensen lead Ming and his friends over to the food table. I pulled the guitar from Rob’s grasp as I sat on the couch beside him, my fingers finding the frets effortlessly.

“Nah, just asking if you were going to start doing conventions again, how you were doing, stuff like that.” Rob replied, a smile on his face as he looked down at me playing, “If you were gonna sing with me tomorrow.”

I looked up at him knowingly, my lips pursed together in a straight line as I rolled my eyes at him and sighed through my nose, “Maybeeee.”

“Maybe means yes.” Rob snorted, his grin splitting his face into a  full blown smile, “What song are we gonna do?”

Shrugging, I looked down at the strings of the guitar, “I don’t know, probably just one ya’ll always do or something.”

“I’ll figure out the details and let you know, ‘kay?” He promised, his hand curling around my shoulders as he leaned down to kiss the top of my head. Glancing at his watch, he stood up, “I gotta get back out there, but I’ll see you in a little bit.”

“Kay,” I replied, looking up at him as he leaned down again to kiss my lips, his hand cradling my head and stroking my cheek, “Love you, Rob.”

“Love you too, babe.” he replied before waving to the others, Jared and Mingus rejoining me with his friends as Rob and Rich left the room.

“Mingus said he could join us for dinner after karaoke,” Jared announced as him and Jensen squished themselves onto the couch next to me, tossing a wrapped sandwich my way, “We’re going to that one place we went last year.”

“Cool,” I smiled, letting Jensen take the guitar from me as I unwrapped the sandwich, my stomach growling loudly, “I’m glad you get to hang out, dude.”

“I’ve got the photo shoot tomorrow and I’ll be busy for the rest of the weekend, so I wanna see you as much as I can. We never get to hang out anymore.” Mingus stated, a sad tone to his voice as he took a sip of his drink, “I miss my super awesome cool step mom.”

“Stop calling me that!” I groaned, rolling my head back and huffing as everyone chuckled, “I’m not your step mom!”

“Anymore!” Ming contested before taking a bite of food, playful grin on his face.

“Not never!” I huffed, tossing a piece of lettuce at him, “So weird, dude.”

“I wish my step mom was as cool as you,” Kyle snorted from beside his friend, “Mine’s a cunt.”

“She’s not as cool as you think, kid,” Jensen chimed in, his hands instantly rising up to defend him against a flying piece of food.

Everyone laughed, and I shook my head at Mingus, “Doesn’t he have a new girlfriend or something anyway?”

“Eh. I mean not really I guess. I’ve seen him hang out with that chick Keagan a few times, and he was dating this one chick for a while, but I don’t know what happened to her.”

Nodding my head, the mention of Keagan’s name brought a flood of memories to the forefront of my mind. She’d been my friend, but had let Jeffrey manipulate her into being the reason for Norman and I’s separation. I had no ill will towards her, though, I was extremely over Norman and extremely happy with Rob, but I still wondered from time to time if things would have been different with the baby if she hadn’t done what she did.

Sensing the change in mood, Mingus pulled the subject away from his father, “We need to hang out when we get back to the states. I’m going to be spending the summer in LA with Matt.”

“I’m down dude, I just work all the time so you gotta let me know.”

“I’m sure we will get it all figured out,” Mingus grinned as the door to the room opened, Misha entering, looking rather stressed.

“Kylin! There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!” He urged, throwing his hands up into the air, “You gotta come to autos with me.”

“Uhhh, why?” I asked, quirking an eyebrow at him and tilting my head curiously, “There’s no reason for me to be there.”

“Because I said so,” Misha stated, his own eyebrow lifting itself, “Now come on.”

Sighing as I wrapped the uneaten portion of my sandwich back up, I turned to Mingus and the guys, “Sorry, my boss is a dick.”

Chuckling, Ming responded,” It’s fine, we gotta go meet my dad anyway for something with Ride, I’ll text you later for the dinner details.”

After telling them bye and showing them the quickest way to get to the exit, I followed Misha down a different hallway towards the autograph room.

“You know I wanted you to come with me so I could spend some time with you, right? You’ve been so busy, I’ve barely seen you.” Misha complained as he threw his arm around my shoulders.

“You’re the one that asked me for the help, dude,” I rasped as I wrapped my arm around his waist, “Runnin’ me ragged.”

“I know, I’m despicable” Misha chuckled, squeezing me close for a moment before releasing me as we neared the area, “I’ll give you a raise.”

“Ha. I doubt it.” I snorted, rolling my eyes and jabbing him in the gut with my finer as he held the door open for me.

I took my seat behind him as he got situated, pulling out my phone to scroll through social media while we waited for the fans to be allowed through. I had been tagged in numerous things on twitter and Instagram, and I ignored most of them as I usually did until one from Mingus caught my eye. He’d taken a selfie with him and his friends and Jared, with the caption ‘Supernatural in Rome, thanks step-mom!’ Followed by a winking emoji.

Stop fucking calling me that! I typed back in a comment quickly, adding a few laughing emojis myself as the room started to fill up. I pocketed my phone again and stood up, moving beside Misha to help the handlers take the tickets.

“Um, Kylin? Would you mind signing this too?” A woman asked shyly, about fifteen minutes into the session.

“Um, sure, I guess. What’s your name?” I replied, startled.

“Megan.”

I gave her a smile and signed the board she’d placed in front of us before handing the metallic marker back to her, “Here you go, Megan.”

“Thank you so much. It really means a lot. I’m sorry about what happened to you.” Megan smiled sadly at me, her eyes kind and gentle, “I lost a pregnancy myself not too long ago. I don’t know your whole story, but it was devastating for me.”

I could feel the crack in my chest try to reopen again as I gave her a small smile back, looking down at my hands before over at Misha, who wrapped his arm around me and kissed the crown of my head.

“Thank you, and I’m sorry for your loss as well. I don’t know where I’d be without my family.” I replied, my voice low in attempt to conceal the emotions threatening to bubble over. The girl got her hug from Misha and moved on, not realizing she’d broached a tender subject.

“You okay?” Misha asked as he watched me sit back down in the chair behind him, my arms crossing over my chest protectively.

“Yeah, I should’ve been expecting someone to talk about it.” I exhaled deeply, “I think I’m gonna go get a cigarette, okay?”

“Sounds good, after I’m done here I’ll meet you upstairs to figure out dinner plans before you leave for karaoke, yeah? I might just go with Ruth and Briana, Jensen and I are arguing today.”

“Just let me know, I’ll kick him in the nuts for you” I snorted, grabbing my purse and double checking I had everything I needed, “Grab my bag when you leave, please.”

“Got ya.” Misha replied with a wink, throwing a thumbs up in my direction as another fan approached and demanded his attention.

I found the side exit quickly, happy to be able to finally get some nicotine into my system. I exhaled the strong smoke as I scrolled through my phone again, trying to forget about the woman’s words. I jumped as the door I’d just came out of opened, but smiled upon seeing Rob crook his head around it, like he’d been looking for me.

“There you are,” He smirked, verifying my suspicions as he let the door close behind him. “You okay? Misha texted me that a fan had upset you.”

Letting one side of my mouth fall, I shrugged, “Not really, just threw me off guard I guess. I should have been expecting it though. It’s why I haven’t been coming to conventions.”

“I’m sure seeing Mingus doesn’t help either, huh?” Rob asked, leaning up against the wall next to me as I took another drag.

Shrugging again, I exhaled, “I mean he doesn’t really bother me, besides with the stupid step mom shit, but I don’t know. This woman decided it would be a good time to share her story with me, and... like I said, I don’t know.”

"I get it,” Rob nodded, reaching over to grasp my free hand, “I’ve had fans do that stupid shit too.”

He leaned his head over and onto my shoulder, chuckling as he said, “That step-mom stuff is definitely pretty weird.”

“Right?” I snorted, a smile breaking across my face that turned into a full blown laugh, “Kid is out of there, man. I’m so glad Calvin and Audrey aren’t like that.”

“That’s because they hate me.” Rob replied, the tone in his voice instantly shifting as he pushed himself off the wall to stand directly in front of me, our hands still entwined.

“They don’t hate you, Rob,” I argued, looking at him before taking another hit from the cigarette, exhaling quickly, “They’re going through a lot right now.”

“Feels like they hate me,” He mumbled, looking down at his feet and kicking at an imaginary rock, “They barely ever call me anymore.”

The kids had taken the divorce a lot worse than Rob had expected them to. Worse then I think they even expected to. They always knew the divorce was eminent, but their mom had them moved all the way to San Diego before the papers were even filed, making them leave behind everything they’d ever known. In their anger they blamed Rob, his inability to work things out with Mollie uprooting and destroying their whole lives.

“Hey,” I said, tugging on his arm to get his attention and make him look at me,  “They’ll come around, alright? Give it some time.”

He smiled weakly, pulling me to him to kiss my lips. I pulled away for a second to flick the butt of the cigarette into the parking lot before turning back to him and pressing my mouth against his.

Curling both my hands around Rob’s neck, I parted my lips to taste his tongue with mine, a soft encouraging noise coming from his throat as he tightened his grip on me. We kissed for a few moments, my skin growing heated under his touch as I moaned into his mouth before he pushed me back into the wall, the brick biting into the back of my thighs as he ground himself into me.

Panting when he finally pulled away, he rasped, “I love you, Sweetheart.”

“I love you too, babe.” I replied, small smile playing on my lips as I gazed up at him lovingly. “Forever.”

“Forever, Sweetheart.” He grinned before kissing me again.

After karaoke, Rob and I met up with the boys and Mingus, his friends having something else planned for that evening. Jensen and Misha were still arguing apparently, something Jensen ‘didn’t wanna talk about’, so he’d gone with Ruth and Bri and the rest of the band. 

We got a ride to the quiet restaurant the boys had been to the year before, the lighting low and music soft as we sat in the back corner and conversed between ourselves. Mingus was taking full advantage of the nonexistent drinking age, knocking back shots in between beers at a pace that would rival even his father’s.

“Mingus, you need some water or something?” Jared asked, concern lacing his voice as the boy finally started to sway back and forth.

“I’mmm...okay.” Mingus sighed, leaning his temple against my shoulder as he sat next to me.

“You sure?” I whispered, tilting my head to peer down at him. There was a sad look on his face, and I brushed a piece of his hair off of his forehead as his eyes met mine for a moment. There was definitely an emptiness there, and my heart broke for him. Poor kid was probably still in the grieving process himself.

“Mind if I bum a cigarette from you?” He asked lowly, up-righting himself on the seat, “I think I need some air.”

“Yeah, I’ll come with you.” I replied gently, giving him a small smile as I watched him stand up. He steadied himself by gripping the table, a goofy grin on his face suddenly as the alcohol started moving through his body again.

Shaking my head with a small chuckle, I turned to Robbie on the other side of me and excused myself, kissing him on the cheek and reassuring him I’d be okay. I looped my arm into Mingus’ elbow, my own slight intoxication making me lightheaded. We exited the building and turned down the narrow alleyway beside it, finding the small private smoking area dimmly lit by a street lamp down the way. Leaning against the cool brick, I passed Mingus a cigarette from my pack before placing my own between my lips and lighting it.

“You alright?” I drawled cautiously, my eyes scanning him as he looked down at his feet.

He stayed silent for a few moments, his eyes never leaving the ground before a silent tear rolled down his cheek, barely visible in the lighting.

“Hey, sweetie, you’re okay,” I instantly soothed, reaching my hand out for his and pulling him to me. His long limbs encased my shoulders, a muffled sob retching through him as he pushed his face into my hair.

“Shhhh, Ming, it’s alright,” I cooed, rubbing his back with my free hand as I flicked the accumulated ashes with the other, “Come on, let’s sit.”

I pulled away from him and tugged him towards a nearby bench, making him sit beside me as I helped him wipe his tears away while his breathing slowed.

“Sorry, Ky,” Mingus rasped, his voice still cracking with emotion, “It’s just…this year has sucked so fuckin’ much for me.”

Nodding my head as I exhaled smoke from the drag I’d finally taken, I placed my hand in his, “I know, babe. It’s been hard for everyone.”

“I have dreams about him, you know? Nax. I see him.” He mumbled, his words slightly slurred.

“I do too. Except I won’t ever know for sure if it’s really him I see.” I replied, my own voice shaking as I fought back the tears that were threatening to spring forth.

“What do you mean?” Ming asked, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Dad didn’t show you a picture?”

Shaking my head, I brought the cigarette to my lips for the last time before tossing it, “He never talked to me after the day I woke up. There were no pictures taken of him that I know of.”

“What a dick, are you fuckin’ serious?” Mingus cursed, swaying to the side slightly as he shifted to pull his phone out. Before unlocking the screen, he looked up at me, his eyes meeting mine, “Do you want to see?”

Nervousness pin pricked throughout my bloodstream, stinging my skin as my stomach dropped. I couldn’t stop the moisture from rolling down my cheeks, a sob gasping from me as I nodded my head.

It had been over a year, and I never once had seen a picture of my son.

Exhaling sharply, Ming sniffled before wiping his nose. He unlocked the phone and scrolled for a second. Finding what he was looking for brought a small smile to his face, his watery eyes looking up at me before asking, “You sure?”

Nodding again, I held my breathe, closing my eyes for a second while he turned the phone around. When I opened them again, I was peering into the most beautiful blue eyes of the most beautiful baby I’d ever seen.

My chest cracked open as a sob wracked through me again, but it was accompanied by a smile spreading across my lips as I took the phone from him. Lucian’s perfect face was was right there, looking up at me. I noted the nasal tube that curled around his cheek, the only thing besides his obvious size that made him appear any form of weak. My shaking fingertips drifted over the screen, tracing the lines of his little nose and lips. I felt strong arms wrap themselves around me from behind, the scent of my brother encasing me instantly. I’d been too absorbed in staring at my son that I hadn’t even heard him and the others approach.

“He was beautiful, sissy,” Jensen croaked, eyelids blinking back tears as I turned around to look up at him, “Just like you.”

Sniffling as I attempted to compose myself, I handed the phone back to Mingus, prying my eyes away from the little thing on the screen.

“Thank you, Ming. Can you please send it to me?” I sniffled, exhaling the tension from me as foot steps could be heard approaching.

I turned my head to see Norman’s silhouette, the looming figure unmistakable.

“You alright, kiddo?” He rasped, his voice husky as he took in the sullen expressions on our faces.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Mingus snapped, pulling hisself unsteadily to his feet.

“I sent him a text when ya’ll hadn’t come inside for a bit. Figured you needed a ride,” Jared spoke, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

“I’m fine.” Mingus spat, glaring at his father, “I’m so fucking pissed at you, dude.”

“What the hell did I do?” Norman questioned, confusion twisting his face.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Dad, huh? You were so wrapped up in your own asshole that you couldn’t even let her have a fuckin’ picture of her child!?” The boy’s towering figure stepped into Normans personal space, his chest puffed out in fury, “Not only did you fucking blame her, you couldn’t even give her closure for that? And you never fucking told me?”

Mingus shoved his father back, Norman stumbling before catching himself before he could fall. Jared instantly shot his hand out to Mingus’ chest as the boy attempted to advance again, rage flicking in Mingus’ pupils and encasing his irises.

“Enough, Ming,” I begged, my hand wrapping around his wrist and pulling as Jared and Jensen placed a barrier between the son and the father. I could see Rob helping Norman to his feet over their shoulders, hushed words with a sharp tone being spoken between the two.

“Fuck you, Dad, seriously. I hate you!” Mingus continued, fighting against the bodies surrounding him, “I fucking hate you.”

“Ming, you don’t mean that.” I argued, continuing to tug on his arm until he looked at me, “Come on, I’ll get you back to your mom’s hotel.”

I turned to lead him towards the parking lot, when I heard Norman’s voice call out to me.

“Just know I’m sorry, Whiskey.”

[sweetcatmintea]

Sacrifices - Part 2

Here’s part two of Sacrifices! I’m not the best at horror but I tried my best anyway! (I’ll proofread tomorrow to find all the typos) I hope you enjoy your time in space ^u^ Feedback is appreciated!

Part 1: Sacrifices

Words: 2198

~~~~~~~~~~

          The universe around the station radiated bright colour as they entered a new territory. Sensors beeped, sliding metal shutters to block out the intense light. Toby and Jules worked together, documenting and analysing the readings spat out rapid fire from the computer. Holly crunched the numbers. Calculating and recalculating their trajectory. Searching for new obstacles that may accompany the new terrain. Hasley and Miguel, overlapping their wake cycle for the information onslaught that followed every milestone, reported back to Earth headquarters. Noise and movement buzzed through the station, bulldozing the usual quiet peace.

          “Course still clear. Repeat. The course has not changed.”

          Miguel and Hasley parroted Holly’s words to the Earth team, alternating languages and repeating the message as many times as needed.

          “Readings are normalising. Light is beginning to fade.”

          “It looks to be coming int waves. Another strong wave is expected in 45 standard min-”

          A light flicker then black. Before panic could ensue, systems rebooted, returning life to the station.

          “What was that?” Toby was the first to speak. His eyes bounced off each surprised expression. Delirious panic ghosting their faces.

          “It was just a glitch.” Jules tried to laugh it off but their voice was hollow. There was no conviction. “I’ll run a scan and see if it’s the hardware or software.

          Miguel tapped frantically at the screen. “We’ve lost communication.”

          “Try to reboot it.”

          Hasley didn’t stop to look at Toby. Fingers flew across the keys, her words clipped. “That’s what we’re doing.”

          “Anything?” Holly peered over Jules’ shoulder, wringing her hands and trying not to shake. Jules bit their lip, nodding slowly.

          “It looks like one of the external wire clusters was damaged. I’m guessing that was more than just light waves… We’ll have to go out and fix it but that should get everything back into gear.” They pointed to the section on the station’s blueprints.

          “That doesn’t make any sense.” Hasley frowned. “Communication systems run through here,” she trailed her finger down diagonally, “Damage to that section shouldn’t have knocked out the video. We’d still, at the very least, have audio.”

          “There’s nothing wrong with there.” Jules brought up the reports for Hasley to see for herself.

          “Maybe it’s just bad timing?” Toby offered. “We were all surprised that the connection reached as far as it did. Maybe we’re just finally out of range?”

          A gloom of realisation weighed down the room. Screens couldn’t replace touch, but it was infinitely better to nothing at all.

          Holly refused to accept Toby’s proposal. “I’m sure it just needs a minute or two to cool down. When we fix the lights, everything will go back to normal. You’ll see.”

          There was a sequence of non-committal ‘yeah’s. No one wanted to disagree but an air of futility crept around their necks.

          “We can’t do anything until the light waves are less intense and we’ve had a chance to prepare for a spacewalk. Without immediate danger, I’m not risking lives if I can avoid it.” Jules ran calculations through the system as he spoke. “The earliest point the waves will be safe enough to engage will be in about… five hours.”

          “No way!”

          “You’re kidding?” 

          They’d have to wait five hours before they could repair the over-complicated life support machine?

          Jules sighed to themselves. “Afraid not. If we go out any earlier, the light will be blinding. Not to mention the potential radiation poisoning. The suits aren’t made for that degree of direct exposure. Sorry guys, we’re just going to have to hunker down and wait it out.”

          So they did. Miguel, Holly, and Toby headed to the living quarters, breaking out a board game with over-acted enthusiasm. As though winning was the only mission at hand. Hahaha our lives are on the line? Certainly not a problem when I can make ‘orbit’ in scrabble! Jules stayed with the instruments, running test after test on the systems. Nothing better to do, they killed time trying to suture the connection with Earth. Hasley, already close to the end of a wake cycle when the action started, headed to sleep. Might as well choose unconsciousness over anxiety. The station hissed and sighed, decompressing rooms to prepare the inhabitants for the walk. Only two would go but there was no room for error. All would be prepared.

          Seconds ticked by. Slowly. So slowly. Metallic ticks echoed in Toby’s mind. The thing about time, the more you’re aware of it, the more it drags. Each minute stretched longer than the last. He cracked his knuckles, stretching to spend just one more second. Holly fidgeted with her letter tiles. Arranging them and re-arranging them. Miguel bounced his knee. He bounced so much the table juttered along with him. Each time the stereo fell quiet, Toby put on another corny space song. He had saved so many of them, a muscle memory from faulty internet. The crew twitched and fidgeted with plastered smiles and exaggerated movements. Time ticked by slowly.

          As ‘All about that space’ wound to a stop, Toby momentarily left his tiles to switch tracks. Even if his friends were to peek, it wouldn’t make a difference. He was losing anyway. He punched letters into the stereo one at a time. Spending more seconds where he could. S – T – A – R - _ - T – R – E – K – K –

          An ungodly scream. Rabbit panic pause. Another scream. Game abandoned, they bolted for Hasley. Forgotten tiles crashed to the floor as Toby crashed through the door.

          “What’s wrong!?”

          Shaking, wide eyed, Hasley scrunched herself against the wall. Blankets pulled tight over her shoulders in a white knuckled grip.  “I – I.. There w-was s-s-something there!” Her eyes glued to the corner of the cell. Holly slapped the light on, searching for what Hasley had seen. The area was too cramped for hidden shadows.

          Toby tried to coax her out, to calm her down. “You had a nightmare Hasley.” He said it as gently as he could.

          “I was awake.”

          “There’s nothing here. You probably didn’t realise you - ”

          “I. Was. Awake.” She glared at him, gritting her teeth hard enough to give herself a headache.

          Toby raised his palms placatingly. “Okay. Okay. You were awake. There’s nothing here now, so come to the living quarters with us. Play some scrabble and get your mind off it.”

          She looked like she wanted to argue but couldn’t find a good enough reason. Holly offered her hand, leading her back to the living quarters. Miguel, Jules, and Toby exchanged glances. What was that?”

          “I’ll check around, just in case. You guys make sure Hasley is okay. I needed to stretch my legs anyway.” Jules waited for confirmation before walking away, poking into nooks and crannies as he went.

          ~~~

          An hour passed. A tense, slow, hour. Jules’ search was inconclusive. Like they thought, there was nothing there. Hasley perched herself on the couch, watching the others play. Her face was pallid, unable to shake her distress long enough to pretend everything was okay. She knew she saw something. Jules returned to checking the numbers. There had to be an answer in them somewhere. The station continued its quiet ruminations.

          Another hour. Scrabble to dominoes to Uno. Anything to maintain normalcy. Boredom and anxiety mixed, creating a palpable static in the air. Every lull as a song faded, Hasley stiffened. Listening for something other than silence. Something that wasn’t there. Lights flickered but stayed on. Each time, the teams’ laughter got a little louder. A little more forced. Just a little longer. Toby pretended he couldn’t hear feint clicks starting and stopping at random. He pretended his mind wasn’t starting to warp shadows into faces as the what ifs grew. Pretending there wasn’t a twisting claw in his guts that they wouldn’t get out in time.

          ~~~

          Eventually, after too many insufferable hours, Jules reappeared. “The waves are manageable. We can go out.”

          Holly all but jumped at the opportunity, slamming her hands on the table and sending cards flying. “I’ll go!”

          Jules nodded, looking to the others for the second walker.

          “I won’t. I can’t really…” Hasley trailed of, uncomfortable in her vulnerability. She couldn’t concentrate right now. Holly looped a sympathetic arm around her. No one could blame her.

          “Unless Toby wants too.. No? Okay. I’ll go.” Miguel joined Holly suiting up for the trip out. Toby positioned himself as the look out, monitoring their safety from within the station.

          Jules briefed the walking pair on the repairs they needed to make, before returning yet again to the control centre, tailed by Hasley. They had to ensure the soft and hardware synched properly.

          Alone again, Toby watched as his friends climbed out of the airlock hatch, taking floating steps onto the shell of the station. Holly took the lead, as was her prerogative, crossing the distance as quickly as the universe allowed. Miguel followed, more carefully, tethered to her by a long, long cord, grounded to the station with another. Toby held his breath as they reached the damaged panels. They anchored themselves and got to work.

          “Progress report.” It wasn’t necessary this early, but Toby couldn’t help asking.

          Miguel gave a thumbs up to his approximate location. It was harder to tell where he was from the outside. “All’s fine mama hen. The damage is minimal. We should be finished relatively quickly. All this waiting for a fifteen-minute repair job, honestly.”

          “Good. Of course. That’s what I expected from you.” Toby stumbled over himself. It would be over soon. His brain was flooding as relief crashed against a cliffside of fear.

          Holly laughed at him. He could feel her rolling her eyes. “Riiight. That’s why you needed to check up on us. We’ll be done sooner if y-”

          White noise blasted through the radio. Toby tore off the headset, flinging it across the room. It hurt so much! His ears were ringing. Another screech and the lights died. Pure, unadulterated dark smothered the station. Toby pressed his face to the window. Nothing. Void so deep it burned into his retinas like an after image. Miguel and Holly were meters away but gone. Swallowed by the black. Toby launched himself at the headset. The world spun. Vertigo and motion sickness made blended roadkill of his organs. His mind caught up with his body, floating blind. Who the hell turned off the gravity simulator? Pressure bumped against his outstretched hand as the headset floated back to him.

          “Hello. Hello. Holly, Miguel, are you okay?”

          Silence.

          “Repeat. Holly, Miguel, are you okay??”

          Nothing.

          “What’s going on!? Hasley, Jules?? I can’t reach Holly or Miguel!”

          Nothing.

          Nothing.

          Nothing at all.

          Toby was panicking. Hands clammy, shaking, cold. Breathes short, fast, too shallow. And then, a break. Slightly less nothing. Slightly less again. A slow glow crept along the edges of darkness, waves of light starting again. He thanked his gods, whoever would listen, racing to the window. He could signal for the walkers to return.

          Except he couldn’t.

          They were gone.

          Just a frayed tether floating outside. No! No no nononononono! This couldn’t be happening! He peered out, straining his eyes to find them. A sign of them. Anything would do. A dot would be enough. He’d suit up and bring them back. There’s no way they could have travelled far yet. He just had to find them.

          He couldn’t.

          They were gone.

          A strangled sob escaped him. What was he going to do? He needed help. He needed Jules. A single rational thought.

          Toby was on his back. Coughing. Trying to force air into his winded and wheezing lungs. The dull thud continued ringing through his body ling after his head connected with the floor. He groaned, reaching to touch the throbbing pain. His hair was sticky. He had to get up. His head was swimming. He was going to be sick. He had to get up. But he couldn’t move. Light trickled around him, like a full moon on a clear night. Objects were given monochrome form. Blurry indications of something as opposed to nothing. Tears or injury, he didn’t know. Silence prevailed. No corny music. No friendly banter. No blood curdling screams. The loudest silence he’d ever heard. His brain was too fast and too slow and he couldn’t think. Chest heaving, he panicked. Alone in the universe with a cruel peace and gentle darkness settling around him. So very alone. Nothing but his snared jackrabbit heart moving.

          Clickclick Clickclick

          The one thing worse than silence where there should be noise, is noise where there should be silence. Rhythmic clicking. Nails on metal. Getting closer? Further? It echoed around and around. Toby hauled himself up, pushing himself into the corner of the room. Hiding. Jostled ticks and clinks. Closer. Definitely closer. Like keys or dog tags. Sweat trickled down his neck. He couldn’t stop shaking. Hot breath under the door. Pants. Snarls. Growls. It was coming. A shadow melted through the door. Long. Canine – once. Not anymore. Too long. Too big. Too tangible. It wasn’t until she was standing over him Toby realised.

          They found Laika.

          She was alive.

          She made the ultimate sacrifice.

          Thrown away.

          She was not looking to forgive.

----------

Tag list

  @inkovert, @snobbysnekboi, @kainablue, and @i-rove-rock-n-roll. 

[fhimechan]

Merman AU - April

This is the 12th chapter of my AU where Hannibal is a merman and Will is a human, started because of @brokenfannibal​ and @my-soul-and-perfume​ :) I’m also tentatively tagging @bonesandscales and @limonium-anemos, who are under no obligation to read :D

Tumblr is still formatting my posts as it wants so please forgive me if something’s amiss. Another warning is that I didn’t ask anyone to beta, and since this month is long, I didn’t check preposition by preposition as usual… Keep reading with kindness 😅

[Prologue]   [June]   [July]   [August]   [September]   [October]   [November]   [December]   [January]   [February]   [March]

Jenny comes to pick him up in his house in a small van with the shop’s logo. She waves cheerfully from the car, but when Will hops in she frowns. “What did he do now?”

Will was sure he had been able to dissimulate his emotions when he was  a cop. But maybe, and he blinks at the realization, he didn’t have friends. And he’s about to put his friend in danger, involving her into his not-yet-planned rescue.

He sighs. Instead of answering, he says, “If you take me there, I’ll get you in trouble.

Jenny takes a hard, long look at his face. She nods. “I’ll do it. Anything you need to know?”

Will swallows around the lump in his throat. He will repay her, take the blame. Maybe pretend he forced her, if worst comes to worst.

“What are we carrying?”

She starts the engine, and adamantly refuses not to smile. “Some sort of fancy underwater recording device. Looks like a huge mic. George takes mermaids seriously.” She winks. 

Will thinks. They’re bringing Hannibal a mic. Sounds promising.“Oh, a plan is coming, I see it in your eyes. Do I have a role in it?”

Will blinks. He should really try to hide his emotions better, but at the same time being read like that is weirdly reassuring.

“Would you pretend to faint in front of George?” The familiar name is weird on his tongue.

She considers it. “Okay. I suppose it must be bad enough that he has to carry me home, to my meds? Possibly I should cling to him so it doesn’t occur to him to send you?” Her expression is very incongruous with the seriousness of the situation. “What? Don’t you think I had an emergency strategy to get out of school early?”

Will snorts in spite of the worry.

-

The house is visible from the road, suspended at the top of the cliff in the twilight light. It’s dark and imposing, straight out of a fairytale, or a nightmare. It’s currently empty, a cursed home calling for his lost tenants.

Then, as they come closer, the lights lit, and Will is back to the here and now. 

They must have already transferred Hannibal inside.

-

There’s only George’s car outside, which is good. The captors must have come by boat. George himself opens the door. When Will says “Jenny…”, worrying his shirt and breathing heavily, George is out and running to the car before Will could even finish his sentence. He knows he should feel ashamed at his act, but the guilt is nowhere to be found as George gives him vague indications about where to leave the equipment and speeds down the hill.

Will blocks the gate with the van, so that George, or anyone else, won’t have an easy access to the house, then heads inside with the box containing the microphone.

The house is completely silent apart from some distant voices. Will follows them to a room where three people are fussing with some sort of equipment. Will thinks he remembers two of them from the cruise.

Beside them there’s a stunning tank, which covers the entire wall of the room, dominating the assorted soft sofas and small tables currently covered in cables and assorted instruments. The tank is lit from inside, and the small spotlights shine over a number of colorful fishes.

In the furthest corner of the tank, there’s Hannibal. Will didn’t see him at first glance because he’s curled on himself, impassive. His rigid stance screams of fear.

Will realizes he has frozen in place and steps over the threshold, towards Hannibal, forcing himself not to fret or to look anything but surprised. Not angry, not nervous, not worried.

As soon as he enters the room, Hannibal’s eyes snaps to Will, and he straightens. Will ignores how the other people turn to him, because the burning red in Hannibal’s eyes is unfocused, and his emotions, usually hidden under the surface, are bare. Hannibal is burning with fury.

“Oh, the mic! Thank goodness!”

Someone takes the box from his hands, as Will’s anger builds. He has expected to find Hannibal drugged, because how else Hannibal would have ended up trapped? But even if rationally it makes sense, it’s still infuriating.

And they have him only because he saved me, Will thinks.

He fakes a charming smile. “Why! Was it real then? A merman?”

The three people start to talk at the same time, too excited to pay attention to what Will is doing. He advances towards the tank, giving his back to the rest of the room.

“After a month of searching, we found him during our surprise visit…”

“What a surprise, indeed!”

“Can’t believe our luck!”

Will is tempted to smash the glass and let the water flood the room. Hannibal would attack them and they would pay for taking him away.

Hannibal smiles slowly at him, pleased, ready to lunge.

Instead, Will signs, “I’ll take you out.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrow.

Apparently, the microphone is expensive enough to be assembled in record time, because one of the men, still chatting, pushes a ladder to Will’s left. He climbs to a small panel above the water, where he can enter the long arm of the mic into the tank.

“Finally we can discover if it’s sentient.”

Hannibal’s eyes widens when recognizes the device. Calculating. Cold. The drug isn’t slowing him down; if anything, it’s bringing out his instinct.

Hannibal is in the water. He could order them to do anything. He could tell the men to kill each other with the cutter they have used to open the box, or maybe with their bare hands. He could tell Will to kill them.

Will feels a thrill of anticipation at the though.

Plausible deniability. A kill outside of his control. The satisfaction, without the guilt.

Will could show the knife to Hannibal and let the events unfold, following his urge to kill whoever tried to separate them; or he could tell the man to stop, not to lower the mic, giving away his chance of breaking him free and stopping Hannibal’s murders forever.

What he does instead is a leap of faith. Because he wants Hannibal, and he doesn’t want to kill innocents, and he must at least try to have both. He signs at Hannibal. “Please. Don’t. I just want to stay with you.”

I don’t want to live with the guilt every day for the rest of my life.

The mic splashes into the water. Hannibal swims closer, looks at Will.

“Please.”

Hannibal’s eyes still burn, but part of it belongs to Will. He speaks.

“Will, if you may, cover your ears for a moment.”

Will does. Hannibal’s mouth moves, and the men blink, confused, then their eyes unfocus and they lie down on the floor, staring unmoving at the ceiling.

Will’s legs fold under him. He smiles.

“You…”

Hannibal looks annoyed. Yeah, well, he just didn’t kill three people, must be exhausting after a lifetime of violence. Will giggles. He suspects it’s a bit hysterical.

Hannibal frowns. “Stop being silly and let me out.”

His voice is warm and low, and Will loves how it comforts him. Will is still smiling as the orders kick in, and the smile widens when Hannibal flinches. The order was accidental. Oh, well, Hannibal’s drugged, he can’t be perfect.

Will has to stop moving, in spite of the order, because he doesn’t know what to do.

He giggles again. “How did you get in there?”

Hannibal growls in frustration, and it shouldn’t be that funny. “I don’t know. You’re the human, do something!”

The order kicks in again, and Will laughs aloud. “I’m doing something, Hannibal. Breathing.”

Before Hannibal loses his last shred of patience, Will looks around. After a small search, he finds it. Hidden under a wood panel, there’s a smaller tank which can be attached and detached from the main one through a watertight seal.

The seal is currently open, so Hannibal hops in, somewhat uncoordinated, and glares at Will, daring him to joke over it. Hannibal is out of the reach of the mic now.

Operating the controls of the seal isn’t difficult, but it isn’t easy either. Will sobers up, starting to worry. How much time has passed? Surely at least half an hour. How much time left do they have?

Hannibal is sitting on the bottom of his small tank, simply watching Will as he fumbles to get the container moving. The tank can move directly into the internal elevator and down the cliff, or at least it could if Will managed to pull the right lever.

Finally, the engine buzzes to life and the tank slips sideway, on its way to the elevator. Will smiles and turns to Hannibal.

He has less than a second to register how Hannibal’s eyes are wide and savage and how he is pressing his body against the glass, before two arms are choking him from behind.

Will kicks, enough to conquer a mouthful of air, but the arms strengthen around him.

“What did you do?”

George’s voice is almost unrecognizable for the rage. Will understands it. Discovering Jenny is lying, walking into his house, his friends on the floor, Will stealing his his prize. He knows how he looks like.  George is strong, and Will’s arms grow more and more uncoordinated, as his blows don’t seem to obtain any result. He wants to apologize to Hannibal.

Something crashes, loud enough that Will hears it over the pounding of his ears. The seam of his trouser is splashed and pierced by small shreds of glass, and he can breath.

He falls to the floor, coughing, clutching his throat, and sees Hannibal. He’s lying in a puddle in the floor, wrestling with George on the ground, teeth bared, about to rip George’s throat off.

Will doesn’t think, and lunges.

He rolls with Hannibal in a mess of wet carpet and splinters, narrowly avoiding to impale his eye in a bigger shred of glass, Hannibal’s sharp teeth scratching his shoulder. He is remotely aware of some steps fading away, when Hannibal bites deeper and the skin breaks. Will stops struggling. He tilts his chin down and sideways to look at Hannibal.

Red splattered on his face, unfocused red on his eyes. Dangerous. Free. Alive.

Will feels alive, too.

Will smiles down at him, and says, “Thank you.”

Hannibal blinks and stares.

Then his teeth retracts, and at first Will thinks it’s Hannibal moving away, but immediately after Hannibal coughts, and his whole body trembles, and suddenly Will, scared out of his mind, is sitting with Hannibal on his lap, watching him twitch without the faintest idea of what to do. Hannibal’s tale splits into two legs, his skin loses the green undertone. Will doesn’t care, focusing on Hannibal’s ragged breathing, willing him to be okay. He holds Hannibal as he changes, until his breath are regular and there’s a man in Will’s lap.

A man, Hannibal, who doesn’t leave Will any time to process the event before flinging himself outside of the door, as if called by a distant voice.

Will can only raise and run after him.

Outside, the sea is screaming in the otherwise quiet night. The moon lits the angry waves, letting Will see the outline of each single drop, even if between him and the water there’s a fucking long dive.

Hannibal stands at the edge of the cliff, staring at a single boat who’s running away in the distance. His whole body is tense, ready to jump.

The pendulum swings, and Will sees Hannibal as a kid, centuries before, on that same cliff, watching his sister’s killers escape, summoning the power to chase them. The past and the present overlaps perfectly.

Will’s heart breaks. Hannibal’s going to leave him, picking once again revenge over humanity.

Will reaches out. “Hannibal…”

Hannibal turns, his eyes dart from the ship to Will and back to the ship again. George is running away and soon he’ll be out of sight. There’s only a tiny, small shred of doubt in Hannibal, and Will doesn’t know how to reach him. He wants to say that George won’t be believed, not without a merman. Not without witnesses. He won’t be believed when the police will discover his friends are alive and passed out on the floor.

That won’t get through Hannibal’s unfocused eyes.

So Will extends his hand, a silent plea, like he did the first time Hannibal came to him. Will knows that this is the moment. If Hannibal reaches back for him now, they’ll be together forever. If he doesn’t… It hurts to even think about it.

The first time Hannibal has reached out, he has been curious. Will can only hope now he’s committed.

Hannibal stares at the hand without blinking, and his eyes clear.

Then, a step forward, away from the edge. And another. And another.

Their hands touch again, and Hannibal is still cold as the ocean, inevitably breaking through Will’s barriers to his core.

Will doesn’t know what he’s saying, but he grips the hands harder, then he clings.

Hannibal whispers into his ear. “Yes, I’m taking you home.”

——

[Epilogue]

This is the end of the main story, next month there’ll be an epilogue… and then it’ll be done! Thank you for reading! ♥ 

[per-ineptia-ad-astra]

Star Trek Episode 1.16: The Galileo Seven

AKA Lord What Fools These Humans Be

Our episode begins with a captain’s log telling us that the Enterprise is traveling to a planet called Makus 3, or Mockus 3 according to the subtitles. Specifically they’re going there to deliver some medical supplies, but they happen to be passing by a phenomenon called Murasaki 312, which Kirk describes as being a quasar-like formation, and “a priceless opportunity for scientific study.” It’s pretty, I’ll give it that. Especially in the remastered version.

[ID: 1. A swirl of bright blue-green vapor glowing in the middle, in the midst of a starfield. 2. A large green cloud with a disc-like formation in the middle of it shot through with a beam of white light.]

Also, they have onboard one Galactic High Commissioner (now there’s a hell of a title) Ferris, who’s overseeing this whole medicine delivery business. Ferris has just now come up to the bridge, where Kirk is communicating with a shuttlecraft (you know, those shuttlecraft that they’ve definitely had all this time) about to launch, and boy, he looks like a fun guy.

[ID: Ferris, a white man with very short graying brown hair, wearing a blue uniform with an elbow-length cape on the back. He is standing just in front of the lift doors on the bridge, looking off to the side and somehow managing to look both grumpy and smug at the same time.]

Ferris is not happy about the Enterprise stopping to look at the glowy space cloud when they’ve got medicine to deliver, and on a tight schedule too. They’re supposed to be having a rendezvous with...somebody...to hand over the supplies so they can be transferred to the New Paris colony. Kirk says that that’s all very well, but he also, for some reason, has standing orders to investigate all quasars and quasar-like phenomena. Anyway, it’s a three day trip to Makus 3 and the rendezvous isn’t scheduled for another five, so they’ve got a two-day window, time enough for a roadside stopover.

This whole thing strikes me as odd. Not that such a formation would be scientifically interesting, I’m sure it would be. But the way Kirk talks about it, it’s as if this was some unexpected opportunity that they have to take advantage of because it won’t come again. But quasars (and, presumably, quasar-like phenomena) aren’t exactly the kind of thing that pop up one day and are gone the next. Also, they’re pretty hard to miss, and there’s no indication that they’re out in unexplored space or whatever. You could perhaps pass this off as the writers not knowing what a quasar is—likely--except that the thing has a name, which indicates that whatever it is, it’s been officially noticed and has stuck around long enough to be cataloged. So there’s no apparent reason why the Enterprise wouldn’t have been well aware, in advance, that this thing was going to be along their way, and no apparent reason why they have to study it right now. Are Kirk’s ‘standing orders’ so important that they supercede anything else the Enterprise happens to be doing at the moment? If the Federation cares about quasars (and quasar-like phenomena) so much, why not have dedicated science ships out there studying them instead of just making other ships stop and look at them whenever they get the chance?

To compound the problem, Ferris tells Kirk that he doesn’t want to take chances with this medicine delivery because “the plague” is out of control at New Paris and they really need these supplies. We’re obviously supposed to view Ferris as your standard unpleasant interfering bureaucrat, and he certainly doesn’t exactly have a charming personality, but to be honest, I think he kinda has a point on this one. It’d be one thing if the Enterprise was delivering some non-time-critical supplies and he was just being a grump about meeting a schedule, but, assuming The Plague lives up to that name, they’re delivering crucial life-saving medicine, and Kirk is being real dang cavalier about it. Yeah, they’ve got time until the meet-up—even though there’s no given explanation as to why the rendezvous has to be at that time and they couldn’t make it earlier, which would surely be preferable under the circumstances—but a lot of things can go wrong in space, which Kirk oughta be very well aware of by now. One would think they’d want to leave that window open in case they’re delayed by something unexpected, but no, let’s just go fly into a quasar, I guess, what could go wrong. This is like if they stopped in the middle of Balto to investigate an active volcano.

Kirk waves Ferris off and tells the shuttle, Galileo, that they’re cleared for takeoff, so off they take. Inside the shuttle is Spock, flying it; a male goldshirt; a female redshirt; Scotty; a male blueshirt; McCoy; and a male goldshirt. That’s seven alright. Seems like a bit of an odd selection. Given it’s a scientific expedition you’d expect a primarily science-focused crew, but here we’ve got Spock (makes sense), one blueshirt (cool), McCoy (for...whatever reason) two goldshirts (one is helping fly the shuttle, which makes sense, but the other one is just...there), a yeoman (who frankly has no business being there whatsoever) and Scotty. Scotty’s always good to have along, but what, specifically, they thought he would need to be doing on this trip, I don’t know.

As they fly towards the big green glowy thing, one of the goldshirts—Latimer—gives Spock a reading, then takes it back, saying the indicator’s gone crazy. The blueshirt, Boma, says that this is because quasars are really disruptive like that. The yeoman then reports that radiation is increasing.

With things already going wrong real bad, Spock tells Latimer to stop their forward momentum. Latimer gives it a shot, but nothing happens. Spock then tries to call the Enterprise, but gets only static. Man, it sure didn’t take long for this trip to go belly-up.

On the bridge, Uhura is likewise having radio trouble, unable to pick up anything from the Galileo except scattered fragments about them being pulled off-course. Kirk wants them to get a fix on the shuttle, but Sulu says the scanners are blank and that they’re getting “a mass of readings I’ve never seen before, nothing makes sense.” So...they’re blank or there’s a mass of readings? Which is it?

The ship computer chimes in with some technobabble that apparently means Murasaki 312 has ionized the entire sector. In a nutshell, their sensors are out, along with your choice of plot-relevant ship systems. Kirk looks mournfully out into the void and says, “At least four complete solar systems in the immediate vicinity, and out there, somewhere, a twenty-four foot shuttlecraft, off course, out of control. Finding a needle in a haystack would be child’s play.” What, you mean sending a lone shuttlecraft out to investigate a giant mysterious and dangerous space phenomena that said shuttlecraft was never equipped to handle, while on a time limit, didn’t turn out well? Who could have guessed!

After the titles, Kirk gives a log that just reiterates the situation: Murasaki 312 ate our shuttlecraft and now we can’t even look for it because our sensors are busted. Ferris is going on about how he told them so, which obviously is not endearing him to anyone. Kirk says they still have two days to find it, but as Ferris points out, you can’t search four solar systems in two days. At that point Uhura interrupts to say that there’s one inhabitable type-M planet in the solar system (she does not specify which solar system). It’s called Taurus 2, and it’s right in the middle of that big glowy mess out there. Oh, that’s convenient. Of course, they have no evidence that the Galileo landed on any planet, let alone that one—it could be anywhere in the vast amount of empty space in those solar systems, or it could have landed on one of the uninhabitable planets and they’re all going to die if they haven’t already. Lots of lovely possibilities! But they gotta start somewhere, so it’s off to Taurus 2.

By sheer coincidence, it turns out that in fact the Galileo has landed in the one place survivable enough to make an interesting episode out of. The outside of the shuttle looks okay, but from the inside it’s clear they had a rough landing. Everyone’s tossed all over the place clutching their heads and so forth, and a control panel is sparking pretty badly. McCoy goes into doctor mode and starts checking everyone out, but it looks like the only casualty was a bloody nose for Boma.

So what happened? Over a handkerchief, Boma says his best guess is that “the magnetic potential of the effect was such that as we gathered speed, it was multiplied geometrically,” causing them to be shot into Muraski 312 like a bullet. Scotty’s got a hell of a job ahead of him getting the shuttle back into shape. Man, it sure is lucky that they brought the chief engineer along on this trip. For whatever reason that they did.

McCoy does a scan of the atmosphere outside and says that it’s breathable—you wouldn’t want to run a marathon in it, but it’s breathable. Spock says they’d better clear out of there so Scotty has room to work and tells Latimer and the other goldshirt, Gaetano, to take some phasers and go scout around. They do, but no one else leaves. So much for giving Scotty room to work. Instead, McCoy sits in a chair the wrong way to talk to Spock.

[ID: McCoy and Spock sitting inside the Galileo. McCoy is sitting sideways with his back to the wall and one arm propped against the back of the chair, looking over at Spock, who is sitting forward and looking at his tricorder.]

McCoy, sitting sideways in chairs like a man after my own heart.

Spock and McCoy talk about their chances of being found. They don’t look good. Spock figures  the ionization effect that hit them is going to be widespread enough to affect the Enterprise too, leaving them without instrumentation to search with, which is going to make it damn hard for them to find the Galileo.

Sure enough, back on the big ship they’re still having no luck with the sensors, even after Sulu tried hooking them up to auxiliary power. Kirk calls the transporter room to see if they’ve got the transporters back online but the operator says that they beamed down some test material and it came back “in a disassociated condition” so they don’t dare try sending any humans through it yet. Yeesh. Yeah, I quite prefer being in an associated condition myself. In the meantime, Kirk tells the flight deck to get the other shuttle, the Columbus, ready to fly out and do a search of the planet’s surface.

Having a shuttle named Columbus is a bit unfortunate, since the most prominent explorer-type person named Columbus that comes to mind was an enormously terrible guy and one would hope we would have stopped giving him any kind of honor this far into the future. But then, the show never specifies that the shuttle is named after Christopher Columbus. Three hundred years from now there could easily have been another person named Columbus that did something significant, like a really cool astronaut or scientist. That’s my theory and I’m sticking with it.

While the Columbus gets ready, Uhura regretfully tells Kirk that communication is still impossible as both their transmission and reception are out. Ferris is still hanging around making a nuisance of himself, asking whether Kirk really thinks they’re going to find anything out there. Kirk says that he’s going to keep looking until the last possible minute and damn the odds (never tell Kirk the odds!), and Ferris says alright—but only until the last possible minute and not one second after.

Columbus heads off on its search, while down on the planet Spock goes outside to do some readings or whatever. McCoy follows him and comments that for as lousy as this situation is, it’s Spock’s big chance to get his command on. Spock says that he isn’t particularly enthused by the idea of being in command, but he’s not afraid of it either; it’s just a thing, neither good nor bad. But since he is in command now, he’s going to do it logically.

Inside, Scotty is elbows-deep in the shuttle’s dashboard. Things aren’t looking good. It seems they’ve lost a lot of fuel, so much that they don’t have any chance of reaching escape velocity and making orbit unless they lighten the load by about five hundred pounds. That’s the weight of three grown men, Spock points out. McCoy is all “uhhh how about we drop some equipment instead of some people” but Spock says that there’s just not that much non-essential equipment on the Galileo to begin with. The passengers are pretty much the only excess weight they have to lose, so either some people get left behind or it’s time to go build a refinery.

Boma is not happy with the turn this discussion has taken and asks who’s going to decide who has to stay behind. Spock says that, well, he’s in command, so it’s up to him to make that call. And no, despite what Boma suggests, he’s not planning to draw lots; he’ll make a logical decision based on logical means, logic logic.

Leaving the conversation on that cheerful note, Spock says they better go outside and make sure they haven’t overlooked any minor damage. Boma watches him leave and says, “If any minor damage was overlooked it was when they put his head together.” “Not his head, Mr. Boma,” McCoy says in the most dramatic manner possible. “His heart.” Thanks Bones.

Meanwhile the goldshirts are off scouting around in a ravine while some scary growling noises echo all around them. They decide to climb up the rocks nearby, because you know what would be a great idea right now: to expose themselves as much as possible. Sure enough, as they get to the top, something big and furry throws a giant spear at Latimer, impaling him in the back and knocking him into the ravine.

The rest of the party over at the Galileo hear Latimer’s scream and Spock and Boma go running to investigate. Gaetano climbs down the rocks while shooting his phaser wildly in various directions, as poor Latimer lies dead in the ravine with the spear shaft sticking up like a tree.

[ID: Gaetano, a white man with short dark hair, sitting on an outcropping in the side of a ravine and staring at a spearhaft that extends out of frame in both directions, while Spock approaches from around the corner.]

After the break, Spock and Boma arrive on the scene to find Gaetano sitting mournfully on a rock and staring at Latimer. He says he didn’t see the attacker clearly; he only knows that it was “something huge and terrible.” But he thinks he got it with one of those phaser blasts so Spock goes off to investigate. Gaetano tells Boma that the thing was “like a giant ape” and then, when Boma says, “Poor Latimer,” Gaetano optimistically says that at least Latimer was fortunate enough to die quickly. Thanks man. Really keeping up the team spirit there. But hey, on the plus side, now we only have to pick two people to leave behind.

Spock comes back and says that he didn’t find anything. Gaetano insists that there was something there and he’s sure that he hit it, which is more certainty than he had about one minute or so ago; Spock says he’s not doubting Gaetano, but the fact is there’s nothing there now. Then he pulls the spear out of Latimer—honestly I have no idea how the thing was even staying up in the first place—and examines it, saying that it resembles a kind of ancient Earth spear, but cruder and not very efficient.  Boma gets upset at this, irate that Spock can focus on things like the efficiency of the spear when there’s a man dead on the ground. The nerve of the man, gathering information about a dangerous and unknown situation. Spock points out that no amount of mourning is going to bring Latimer back to life. Gaetano, now also ticked off, says that they at least shouldn’t leave Latimer’s body there. Spock offers to help them carry the body back, but the two men coldly refuse and haul him off themselves.

[ID: Gaetano and Boma, a black man with short hair, carrying the body of Latimer between them through the ravine. Latimer’s shirt is pulled up exposing a black undershirt.]

Well, there’s at least one goldshirt who wears an undershirt.

On the Enterprise, Kirk notes in his log that their searching has turned up nothing, and he’s beginning to feel “a sense of utter futility, and great loss.” The transporters are still not safe to use, and Engineering is working on getting the sensors back online, but without Scotty around they’re real short on miracles, and not making much progress. But Kirk, of course, is not about to give up, and as soon as the Columbus comes back from searching a quadrant he orders them to start on the next one. Ferris is still hanging around pointedly reminding Kirk of how little time he has left, kind of like an annoying quest marker in a video game that pops up every five minutes to remind you to do the thing that you’re already doing.

Kirk orders the Columbus to expand its search radius by two degrees. Sulu points out that means they’ll be overlooking a dozen miles with each loop they make, but Kirk responds that it’s the only way they have a fighting chance of actually covering the whole planet in the time left to them. Ferris exits the bridge, but not before turning around in the lift and saying, “Twenty-four more hours, Captain,” as dramatically as he can.

Down below, Spock is offering some jury-rigging suggestions to Scotty, but of course Scotty’s already thought of all that and says it won’t work. Meanwhile, McCoy and the Yeoman are hauling some stuff out of the back of the shuttle, which should take off about fifty pounds of weight, and the yeoman thinks they can clear out another hundred pounds. A hundred and fifty pounds? What happened to there being nothing nonessential on this shuttle? Sure, that might not be much compared to the overall weight of the shuttle, but it’s a heck of a lot when you’re talking about having to leave people behind. Still, as Spock points out, even if they lose all that they’ll be another hundred and fifty pounds overweight. Hm, okay, if everyone loses twenty-five pounds we’ll be good.

McCoy can’t believe Spock is still planning to leave someone behind now that they know there are big dangerous furry guys out there with spears, but Spock points out that it’s a matter of saving one life, or six. In other words, the trolley problem. Or the shuttle problem, in this case.

Boma sticks his head in the door and says that they’re ready. Spock is confused about what, exactly, they’re ready for, and Boma says they’re doing a service for Latimer. Spock doesn’t want to lose any of their very limited time, but Boma insists that he should at least come and say a few words. In some desperation, Spock says that perhaps McCoy would be better for that, but McCoy insists it’s Spock’s place to do that, and Spock turning it down is met with hostility from everyone (except Scotty, who has bigger fish to fry, and the yeoman, who doesn’t seem to have any opinions on anything).

Call me a Vulcan, but I don’t entirely understand why this is a problem. McCoy would be the best person there to give any kind of funeral service. He’s a doctor, so he surely has more practice speaking about the recently deceased in a compassionate but formal way than anyone else there; he would be generally familiar with human funeral customs, unlike Spock, who would have an entirely different cultural background for such things; and he can more afford to spare the time because he’s really not urgently needed for anything at the moment. It might not be the most orthodox way of doing things, but under the circumstances I think we’re gonna have to skip the full formal ceremony with honors anyway.

But we don’t find out exactly how they resolved the funeral situation, instead skipping ahead to some time later. Spock and Scotty are still in the Galileo, Scotty digging through the innards of the shuttlecraft while Spock watches. Scotty grimly announces that a line has broken, meaning that they now have no fuel at all. So uh. Yeah, that’s bad. Spock tells him it’s time to start considering alternatives, to which an incredulous Scotty replies, “We have no fuel, what alternatives?” “Mr. Scott, there are always alternatives.” Like what? Black magic? “Alright, squad, I didn’t want to do this, but we’re gonna have to sacrifice Gaetano.”

At that moment, McCoy and the yeoman come running in, saying there’s something happening outside. Everyone runs outside, except Scotty, who can’t be bothered with any damn aliens or whatever when there’s an engine to be fixed. Gaetano and Boma are hiding behind a nearby rock while unsettling scraping kind of sounds echo all around them. Spock says it’s the sound of wood rubbing on leather, which Gaetano thinks means the aliens are about to attack. Boma points out that this could just be some kind of simple tribal rite, but Spock says that the artifacts prove these guys are too primitive for that. Um, artifacts? You have one. Or had one, more likely, that you looked at for like, fifteen seconds, before Boma started pitching a fit about it. There’s only so much anthropology you can do in that amount of time.

Boma thinks that if the aliens have any kind of tribal system, attacking one of them might drive the others off. Spock is like “oh, now we’re okay with having no sentimentality about life?” But Gaetano, raring to go phaser some cavemen, insists that “at least we’re practical about it.” Practical. Sure. You haven’t been practical about a damn thing since y’all landed on this rock, but now you want to start, huh?

When asked, McCoy says that Boma’s plan seems logical to him, which is a bit unusual—he’s usually the last one to be okay with any plan that involves killing, though at least he doesn’t exactly seem enthusiastic about this. Boma tries to invoke majority rules and Spock has to remind him that this isn’t a democracy. Man, Starfleet crewmembers seem to have to be reminded of that a lot. You’d think they’d go over this at the Academy.

Obviously they’ve gotta do something, but Spock is still uncomfortable with the idea of murdering the locals and decides to take a third option. McCoy and the yeoman (whose name, we finally learn, is Mears) are sent back to the shuttle to help Scotty, while Boma and Gaetano are to go with Spock. He tells them very sternly that they’re going to follow his orders to the letter and fire only at the targets he designates, which, again, doesn’t seem like a concept they should need a refresher on but here we are. Boma and Gaetano are all over this plan until Spock says that they’re only going to fire to frighten the aliens, not to kill them, at which point they go right back to sulking.

So the three of them head off into the Emyn Muil over there, skulking along through the ankle-high mist with phasers at the ready.

[ID: Spock, Boma and Gaetano approaching cautiously through the ravine, the floor of which is blanketed with white vapor.]

“Careful, boys, we’re in the land of dry ice machines now.”

Another giant spear comes flying at them, but luckily this one doesn’t hit anyone. They dodge behind some rocks and Spock fires his phaser, causing a nearby giant to drop a shield into the ravine. A shield that rather dramatically changes size between shots.

[ID: 1. Spock stands in the ravine with his phaser out, Gaetano and Boma crouched at his side. A large, crude leather shield has fallen to the ground in front of them. 2. The three men crouching in front of the shield, which is now so large all three of them can stand alongside it with room to spare.]

They get into position at Spock’s specifications, and he tells them to fire at designated angles on his command, but even now, Gaetano still wants to argue about it. His protests notwithstanding, Spock has them fire for a bit. Figuring the giants should be frightened off for now, he goes back to the Galileo with Boma, leaving Gaetano on sentry duty. He seems a bit too far from the shuttle to be serving as effective sentry duty, but maybe Spock just wanted to not have to deal with him for a while.

Back at the Galileo, Scotty has, what do you know, conjured up an alternative: he thinks he can adjust the shuttle’s main reactor to function with a substitute fuel supply. What substitute fuel supply do they have? The phasers! Of course, if they use all their phasers to fuel the shuttle, they won’t have any means of defense, but if they don’t, they’re all gonna die anyway, so there’s not much of a choice in the matter. Scotty says that if he uses up all the phasers he can achieve orbit with all remaining hands, although he won’t be able to maintain it very long.

As Spock points out, the Enterprise is going to have to leave in less than twenty-four hours now, so if they don’t achieve orbit in that time they’re screwed anyway. The general assumption seems to be that they have no chance of surviving on the planet long enough to be rescued, even if the Enterprise came right back. Which could well be true—I doubt they have much in the way of survival supplies on the shuttle, and there are hostile aliens all around. On the other hand, they haven’t yet tried actually defending themselves to their fullest capability, and the presence of those big guys would seem to indicate that there’s something to eat around here. I’m not saying they could definitely survive long enough for a later rescue, it just seems odd that everyone takes it for granted that staying on the planet will be a death sentence.

So Spock tells McCoy to hand over his phaser, which for some reason prompts a dramatic musical sting, even though they literally just went over their plans to do that, and anyway it’s not like McCoy gets a lot of use out of the thing. Scotty takes McCoy’s phaser along with Spock’s and sets about transferring their power to the shuttle reactor, which he seems to be doing by just sticking the phasers down in there and firing them at said reactor.

Up on the Enterprise, the transporter guys run a test on some objects that come back intact, and the operator tells Kirk that in his opinion, the transporter is now safe for humans. Which is not a statement that I think I would find terribly comforting if it was me going through that thing. Kirk seems alright with it, though, because he immediately orders landing parties to start going down. The transporter operator points out that he’s talking about searching a planet on foot in less than twenty-four hours, which, y’know, is really unlikely to work, but Kirk isn’t interested in hearing it.

In the ravines, Gaetano is stumbling around nervously amidst sounds of growling giants. A rock comes flying at him, hitting his hand and knocking away his phaser, followed by another spear. Rather than attempt to pick up the phaser, Gaetano tries to climb up the cliff wall, a course of action that very quickly peters out. He falls back down and cowers against the cliff while a giant slowly approaches from the end of the ravine.

I question the decision to actually show the giant onscreen because, frankly, he’s just not that impressive. Sure, he’s big, but he’s like, Andre the Giant big, not as big as you would be thinking from the size of the spear and shield. Seriously, that spear was like three times the size of Gaetano.

Also, for some reason he’s walking with his arms straight out like Frankenstein’s monster.

[ID: Gaetano backed up against a cliff wall in fear while a large furry man with arms extended walks towards him.]

Gaetano just kind of sits there whimpering while the giant slowly closes in on him and grabs him. He screams as the scene cuts to black, which is probably for the best because I don’t think there was ever a good way to resolve that particular bit of choreography.

After the break, Spock, McCoy and Boma are examining the ravine, where there is now no trace of Gaetano except his fallen phaser. Spock retrieves the phaser and gives it to McCoy to take back to Scotty. Boma is, shockingly, outraged by how Spock is “acting like nothing’s happened at all.” Yes, thank you, Boma. Spock then gives McCoy his own phaser as well to take back in case he doesn’t return—he’s going to go look for Gaetano, alone. The other two men watch him head off into the ravine. One might expect this to prompt some “oh I guess he really does care” response, but instead McCoy is just kind of like “yeah I don’t know he’s weird” and then they leave.

Spock heads through the land of fogginess and soon discovers poor ol Gaetano dead and laid out on a rock. The seriousness of this situation is somewhat undercut by Spock’s reaction, which is not so much that of a man discovering a dead comrade or even the stern stoicness of an inscrutable alien, but more a look that suggests that he just spilled a drink on the floor and is annoyed about having to clean it up.

[ID: Gaetano’s dead body slumped over a rock while Spock stands over him with his hands on his hips.]

Nimoy, my man, I love you, but why

Well, no man left behind and all that, so Spock hoists Gaetano into a fireman’s carry and takes him back to the Galileo. Along the way the giants return to throw more and more spears at him, but fortunately they are all terrible shots so none of them hit and despite having to go slow Spock makes it back just fine.

McCoy and Boma help him get Gaetano into the shuttle, and they’re not happy. McCoy points out that Spock’s super logical plan of frightening away the giants didn’t work out so well. Spock expresses open confusion about this because logically the giants should have retreated in the face of superior weaponry. McCoy snaps back that Spock’s downfall was only considering the possibility of a rational response and not an emotional one.

The whole conversation is, to be honest, kinda stupid. Spock’s handling of the situation is portrayed as a downfall of his prioritizing logic and not considering anything else (the writing of which doesn’t really fit Spock’s actual character, but we’ll get to that later). He expected the giants to react logically and the episode lets us know that that was the wrong option. The problem is, they’re dealing with a completely unknown, unstudied, alien race here. There’s no way, logically or emotionally, to know how they would react to anything. Sure, Spock assuming that they would retreat in fear rather than retaliate in anger turned out to be wrong, but they have absolutely no way of knowing whether following Boma’s plan would have worked any better. It’s entirely possible the giants would have been more angered by one of them being killed. Hell, it’s possible that none of this had anything to do with either fear or anger; it could have been motivated by something else entirely. For all they know the giants are just hungry. McCoy’s response isn’t necessarily surprising; McCoy’s always going to have a strong reaction to someone dying while he’s around, which he often expresses by lashing out, and Spock’s the closest possible target. But in the context of the arc of the episode we’re clearly supposed to take this to mean that Spock screwed up, when really, any choice in this situation was always going to be a gamble.

Anyway, things are quiet for the moment, and Yeoman Mears wonders why. Spock thinks the giants are probably studying the Galileo. Of course, as soon as he says that, the shuttle starts to shake. Aww, it’s like a mini Star Trek Shake. Adorable.

Turns out the shuttle is shaking all over the place because a giant is hitting it with a rock.

[ID: The shuttlecraft Galileo sitting among cliff walls while a giant stands over it with a large boulder poised to strike.]

Spock is just really surprised by all this, musing that he’s “made the correct and logical decisions all along...and yet two men have died!” And now the giants are attacking! And McCoy and Boma are mad at him! How strange! He seems to just be kind of mildly perplexed about all this, as if it’s a crossword puzzle he can’t quite figure out.

Up on the ship, there’s a brief interlude in which Kirk laments that the landing parties haven’t found anything, the instruments still aren’t working, there’s really nothing they can do, and then Ferris reminds him of how much time he has left. About the only purpose it serves is to tell us how much time has been passing, which I’ll admit is helpful because there’s absolutely no way to tell that from the rest of the episode. Apparently it’s been almost two days, but you’d never guess that if you just watched the sections taking place on the planet, which really give no indication at all that they’ve been down there that long.

Back in the still-shaking shuttle, Spock abruptly seems to get an idea and asks Scotty what shape the shuttle batteries are in. Scotty says they’re fine, but the batteries aren’t going to be making that shuttle take off in any circumstance. That’s not what Spock is up to, though. He wants to know if the shuttle batteries could electrify the exterior of the shuttle. Scotty immediately catches on and gleefully says that oh yes, they can. Really? Why can they do that? Who designed this?

So while everyone huddles on the floor carefully not touching anything metal (good thing this shuttle is carpeted), Scotty takes a panel off the wall and whacks the batteries with a wrench a few times. Sure enough, this causes quite a lot of electricity to go sparking across the outside of the shuttle. The giant is remarkably persistent even while being electrocuted, but eventually the shaking stops.

They’re clear for the moment, but there’s no telling how long the giants will stay away. In the meantime, Spock tells them to keep on clearing out the shuttle and lighten the load as much as absolutely possible. Of course, there’s one non-essential thing on board that comes immediately to mind: Gaetano’s body. It’s unfortunate but they’re going to have to leave him behind.

Boma insists on at least having a burial for him, but Spock points out that’s a big risk since the giants are not very far off. They’d be risking the safety of those who are still alive. But Boma starts getting really worked up about this, coldly telling Spock that, “I would insist upon a decent burial even if your body was back there.” McCoy and Scotty immediately reprimand him for going too far, but Boma doesn’t seem deterred.

Seriously, you gotta wonder what the deal is with Boma and Gaetano (or what was the deal with Gaetano, rather). Of course the situation is bad and they have every right to be uncomfortable or upset about it. But throughout the episode the two of them act like this is the first time they’ve ever had to even consider that they might have to make sacrifices or do hard things for the sake of getting as many people out alive as possible. If they were civilians thrust into this situation it’d be understandable. But we’re talking about trained military personnel. You’d kind of expect them to have at least some familiarity with ideas like “sometimes you may have to leave a dead man behind for the sake of those who are still alive.” Spock’s decisions throughout this episode are sometimes harsh but they are, well, logical for the situation they’re in. Sure, he could be more tactful about it. But tact is not a priority here! Boma and Gaetano seem to have just decided in advance to take issue with everything Spock does, and we’re supposed to see this as some conflict of emotion versus logic instead of them just being totally unwilling to deal with anything they don’t like.

On the Enterprise, one of the landing parties beams up with one dead crewmember and two injured ones. The leader of the party reports to the bridge over a viewscreen and tells Kirk they ran into some big furry cavemen; the dead crewmember got speared while another one somehow dislocated their shoulder. If the planet is populated by such aliens, the party leader points out, things don’t look real good for the Galileo crew.

Kirk is still loathe to give up hope, but at that point Ferris comes onto the bridge to tell him that the forty-eight hours are up and he’s assuming the authority granted to him by a special ordinance. In other words, they gotta go. Kirk doesn’t want to, but he has no choice but to call the search parties and the Columbus back and lay in a course for Makus 3.

After the break, Kirk gives a quick log to say that I don’t wanna leave but I guess we HAVE TO UUUUGHH. Uhura says that their sensor beams are now working, but everything else is still dead. Their course is set, and they have twenty-three minutes left before the Columbus gets back onboard.

On the Galileo, the yeoman is trying to contact the Enterprise, but predictably is not getting an answer. Scotty tells Spock that if they take absolutely everything they can out of the shuttle they can achieve orbit for a few hours, and if they’re real careful they might be able to manage a controlled re-entry—but, of course, the only place they would be re-entering is this dumb planet, so that’s not really an appealing backup plan. At any rate, Scotty figures they can take off in eight minutes—precise--so Spock gives the rest of the crew ten minutes to bury Gaetano. Not much time for a service, but it’s the best they’re gonna get. Meanwhile the Columbus has returned to the Enterprise and everyone’s ready to go, so it looks like Kirk can’t delay any longer. He tells Sulu to proceed to Makus 3...at space normal speed (whatever that is). Oh, and to direct the sensor beams behind them as they go. After all, he has to leave, but he doesn’t have to leave quickly. I mean, except for the plague victims and all that.

The Galileo crew gather in front of a couple of mounds, all set for their speedrun funeral service. (I have no idea what they dug the graves with.) Before anyone can even break out a eulogy, though, the proceedings are disrupted by the return of the giants. Oh, it’s almost like Spock was right about this being dangerous. Fancy that.

Spock yells at everyone else to get back inside the ship while he throws one of the spears back at the giants in an extremely last-ditch move that fails to accomplish anything. He promptly gets hit by a boulder that pins his leg, and tries to order the rest of the crew to leave him behind. They don’t, of course; McCoy and Boma run back to move that terribly heavy and definitely not polystyrene boulder off of Spock, and the three of them beat it back to the Galileo.

As soon as they’re inside, Spock immediately chastises them for not leaving him behind, as if McCoy would ever let anyone out-martyr him that easily. Unfortunately, the delay has given the giants time to surround the shuttle, and now they’re holding it down so it can’t take off. Spock has no choice but to activate the boosters, which gives them enough power to break free...but the spent fuel cuts down on the amount of time they’ll be able to maintain orbit. As he grimly tells McCoy and Boma, by saving him they may have destroyed their own last chance for survival. McCoy tells him to zip it.

Incidentally, I note that for all the talk of lightening the shuttle as much as possible, they didn’t remove the seats. I’d say that was for safety reasons, but since the things don’t have seatbelts I don’t really know how well they’re actually going to keep anyone from bouncing around the cabin.

According to Scotty they can make one orbit and then they’re going down, and since they used the boosters, they don’t even have enough fuel to make a controlled landing. That is one heck of a quickly decaying orbit. I’m no astrophysicist, but I think once you actually make it into orbit you’re usually good for a while.

Yeoman Mears protests that she doesn’t want to die up there. Well, no. I doubt anyone else does, either. Scotty reminds Spock of that thing he said about how there are always alternatives, and Spock admits that he may have been mistaken about that.

[ID: Spock sitting in the foreground while behind him McCoy, one hand on his chin, looks off to the side and says, “Well, at least I lived long enough to hear that.”]

For all that McCoy is usually the first one to protest at length about how space is gonna kill them all, when it looks like he actually is going to die in space, he’s remarkably calm about it.

They reach orbit, and Scotty says they have forty-five minutes, so you’ve about got time to write a will if you don’t own too much. Spock makes one last effort to contact the Enterprise, but nothing. Then he notices a switch. What’s this? ‘Fuel jettison’? I wonder what that does?

Spock flips the switch, jettisoning and igniting all their fuel. Naturally everyone is all wtf man. But on the Enterprise, Sulu looks up and sees a bright green line suddenly streaking across the planet behind them. Kirk immediately tells him to TURN THIS SHIP AROUND MISTER.

[ID: The viewscreen of the Enterprise, showing a rocky planet shrouded in green clouds, with a single bright green line trailing across it near the equator.]

All our sensors still no match for looking out the window.

As the crew of the Galileo waits for their doom, Scotty realizes what Spock’s idea was. It was well done, he says, but Spock doesn’t think there was anyone there to see. Their orbit begins to decay, and things start burning.“It’s getting hot,” Mears says. Thanks, Yeoman Obvious.

But then, amid the smoke filling the cabin, there is at the last moment a sparkle of gold. On the bridge of the Enterprise Kirk sits tensely in his chair, waiting, waiting—and then the transporter officer reports in. Moments before the Galileo disintegrated entirely, they beamed up five people.

Five people. It’s good news, of course, but seven people went out on the Galileo. I wonder what went through Kirk’s head in the time before he found out who didn’t make it back.

Well, we’re never gonna know about that. They head off to finally deliver that plague medicine, and sometime later McCoy’s up on the bridge chatting with Kirk, seemingly quite chill about that whole near-death experience they just had. As Spock walks by, Kirk flags him down to ask about that whole igniting the fuel business. After all, there was virtually no chance of them being seen. So it had to be an act of desperation, and desperation is an emotion, right? You did something emotional, right?

Spock says no, it was a logical act. And, well, it kinda was? Sure, it had barely any chance of working, but they had absolutely no other options, and it was the only thing that had any chance of working at all. It was either do that and risk dying soon, or not do it and definitely die in about forty minutes. But everyone is all ha ha, we got ya, you did something emotional! And the episode ends on a group laugh. Could be a stress laugh, I suppose, but it feels distinctly awkward considering we’ve still got two men dead, whose families will never get their bodies back.

No one really gets served well in this episode. The writing for Spock especially feels skewed distinctly out of character. Yes, he’s all about the logic, and sometimes he struggles to understand humans and their whole deal, but this episode takes it to an extreme. Spock’s far from completely ignorant of emotions—much as he might like to claim otherwise—and he’s certainly not stupid enough to think that doing things logically always guarantees success, not when you can’t control all the variables. His bewilderment that rational thinking didn’t automatically work just comes off as outright silly. The episode tries to set up this whole arc in which Spock tries to solve problems only with logic, fails, and then finally succeeds by committing an emotional act, but it fails for multiple reasons: first, because most of the emotion vs logic conflicts in the episode feel contrived and overwrought and make everyone else look way more unreasonable than Spock; secondly, because the final ‘emotional’ act is actually pretty logical; but mostly, because it feels far too simple a lesson for Spock to need to learn at this point. Yes, it’s his first command, but he’s an experienced Starfleet officer who’s been living and working with humans for over a decade. I could easily see him having some difficulty commanding humans for the first time, and that would have been a good episode if it was done more subtly, but as Spock Learns That Some Things Are Illogical For The First Time Ever, it just doesn’t work.

Meanwhile we’ve got Kirk, for whom arguing with bureaucrats and bending rules to save his crew is hardly out of character, but the urgency of their larger mission makes his flippancy about it seem uncharacteristically callous. McCoy complaining about things and arguing with Spock is perfectly on track, but some of his comments edge uncomfortably out of ‘vitriolic friends’ territory and into just plain vitriol, especially him being willing to go along with some of Boma’s nonsense. Maybe I’m biased about that, but this episode feels as if the writer was given descriptions of the characters but didn’t really understand what made them actually work in practice.

Well, except for Scotty. Scotty was alright.

TREK TROPE TALLY: We have two goldshirt deaths in this episode with Gaetano and Latimer. Next time we’re in for some serious fop with a side of dandy in The Squire of Gothos.

[allblueblues]

Zoro and Sanji at Baratie

Hello, hello, hello! Long time no analysis! Or One Piece in general…. I don’t really know if or when I’ll be picking this blog up again for regular updates, but I do know that such a day will never come if I don’t get over this last thing I need to handle before finishing up Baratie – namely Zoro and Sanji’s relationship, and what I think the Baratie arc says about/brings to it. 

The fact is, I kind of froze here, not least because their relationship seems to be a touchy subject in this fandom, with a pretty extreme variety of opinions. On top of that, Zoro is also a touchy subject. Lots of interpretations of his character out there, too. Another reason is that putting my thoughts (and feelings) into words proved much more difficult than I anticipated. In fact, I’m still not sure I can do them justice. There was also the fact that we didn’t have all the information about Sanji’s more distant past at the time, and I wanted to know if any of it would influence my opinions. But enough about reasons. Let’s get this show on the road.

The first thing that struck me as I re-read this arc was how long it takes for Zoro and Sanji to interact at all. The next was that their interactions aren’t exactly volatile. Neither picks a fight with the other, and despite Sanji calling Zoro an idiot and referring to his dream as stupid, Zoro is respectful and calm talking to Sanji. I also found it funny that the one to pick a fight with Sanji is Usopp of all people, and when he tries to enlist Zoro to fight Sanji on his behalf, Zoro’s just like, “Fight him yourself.” On the topic of Sanji’s flirtatiousness, Zoro seems totally disinterested in his side of things, instead asking Nami if she bewitched him, though that was more of a quip (probably).

Their first and only conversation during this arc happens while Don Krieg is off feeding his remaining crew, and the story of what befell them on the Grand Line – and at whose hands – has come out:

It’s just common sense at this point that those panels where a character is just going “……..” aren’t there for no reason, though obviously what that reason may be is left up to interpretation. Here, I think it basically means that what Zoro said struck Sanji in some way, and this leads to the conclusion that what Sanji says next isn’t how he really feels/what he really thinks. Bolstering this belief is what follows:

Sanji’s clearly trying to brush these kids off as idiots, maybe even trying to convince himself that he definitely doesn’t want to go with them or anything!!, but the fact that there’s a panel focused on Zeff, who knows Sanji better than anyone, leads me to believe that he, at least, already knows that Sanji wants to go. And since this moment comes after Zoro spoke (pretty eloquently and poignantly), I can’t help but believe that Luffy isn’t the only reason/inspiration for Sanji ultimately leaving the Baratie despite his dedication and supposed debt to Zeff.

Words alone wouldn’t have had a big enough impact – action was necessary, and the first part of that was absolutely Zoro fighting Mihawk. The first thing I want to comment on is Sanji’s reaction to the revelation that Zoro is the infamous “Pirate Hunter” Zoro. Is he confused? Surprised? He has reason to be, considering Luffy has already introduced Zoro as part of his crew, so the Pirate Hunter is a pirate. Has Sanji, like Coby, heard rumours about this so-called demon? I’d say that’s pretty likely, and being surprised that he’s basically a kid like him makes sense. Especially since Sanji totally saw him try to force Luffy to drink booger water. I mean, come on.

No one can look away while Zoro and Mihawk fight, but we don’t get a glimpse of Sanji until Mihawk delivers the final blow and Zoro plunges into the ocean. At this point, Sanji is sweating even more than before, looking horrified, and perhaps even angry:

This is where I tend to get stuck, because I think there’s a lot going on internally with Sanji, and that’s hard to put into words. Let’s start with the easy part: he’s horrified. Easy enough to see why. The same man they all know just sliced a galleon in two without so much as breaking a sweat basically just cut this kid in two. If Mihawk can do that to a ship, killing some teenager would be simple. I also think there’s a kind of clash of values going on. As I’ve stated before, Sanji clearly has an immense will to survive. It becomes abundantly clear by the end of this arc that there is something (or rather, someone) Sanji is willing to die for, but it isn’t himself. Maybe he sees Zoro’s actions as not only foolish, because he’s obviously going to lose against Mihawk, but also selfish, since he doesn’t know Zoro’s story and could very well just see an arrogant guy with an unreachable dream rushing to his death. Either way, I think Zoro’s mentality of “I will strive for my dream with everything I have and then some, and if I die on the way, so be it” and Sanji’s “I will fight tooth and nail to live, except when the man who saved my life is threatened” are clashing here.

But what about the anger? Why would Sanji be mad?

Have you ever seen someone you care about deliberately do something really stupid and even potentially harmful, and reacted with anger? I certainly have, and while I’m not suggesting Sanji cares about Zoro with the same intensity as, say, a mother loving a child (and responding angrily to them, y’know, running across the street without looking, or getting drunk underage), I do believe Sanji cares strongly about people in general, and seeing  even a random stranger rush towards certain death set him off. I also think it’s possible he subconsciously drew some kind of vague parallel between Zoro and Judge’s soldiers, even though the situation is very different. Finally, I think part of his anger is rooted in a kind of envy, because at the end of the day, Sanji has a dream, too, but he is keeping himself from chasing it. He may even be angry at himself for doing exactly what he is now telling Zoro to do – abandoning his dream.

By the time Zoro makes his oath to Luffy, Sanji looks straight-up worried, and still a little confused:

Again, nothing odd about that, Zoro being half-dead and all. I think he’s probably somewhat overwhelmed, too. It would be easy to pin that on the fight, the near-dead moss man, and even just Mihawk’s presence. I don’t doubt that those are factors, but I also don’t think Zoro’s actions or words should be ignored.

We as readers are certainly moved by Zoro’s vow. It’s true that we have more background, both about Zoro himself, and his relationship with Luffy, but try to put yourself in Sanji’s shoes. I think he’d be moved, too, just not for all the same reasons. First, Zoro has suffered what can be seen as a humiliating defeat, yet he’s come out of it even more determined to achieve his dream. That would amaze, even inspire anyone – not least of all someone like Sanji, who is holding back and knows it, whether consciously or not. Second, in case I haven’t made it clear enough, Zoro is making this determined declaration while half-dead, bloody, and crying. Finally, he’s not only proclaiming that he will become the world’s greatest swordsman, he’s also saying that Luffy will become the Pirate King. I’m certain that sent shivers down the spines of every person present, except maybe Kreig, who clearly doesn’t value hard work and determination, but I digress.

So, what’s my point with all of this? Well, it’s obvious that scenes like the one discussed here, and Luffy’s fight against Krieg in general were instrumental in convincing Sanji to join the Straw Hats. However, I think Zoro’s clash with Mihawk and his oath to Luffy afterwards laid some solid groundwork. I also think that some kind of respect for Zoro was born in Sanji during this arc, and it has not gone away, no matter how either of them may behave. Finally, I think Sanji admires Zoro, and even strives to be more like him, though he would probably never admit it, and that began at Baratie. I doubt I can point to anything in the text to prove that last idea, feel free to take it as nothing more than my personal opinion.

EDIT: The real clincher for me was the fact that Sanji reflected on both Zoro and Luffy after the fighting was done:

Based on this, I think that if we accept that Luffy’s actions have made Sanji respect him and have an impact on Sanji’s ultimate decision to leave Baratie and join the Straw Hats, we have to accept that the same applies to Zoro.

[reawakening]

all the heroes fall

[] one day the sky’s going to sing your name

again he was too late. despite his promises to himself, he can’t arrive in time to keep the demons from beating down the door. he only reaches the scene once the destruction has been wrought and the bodies have been looted.

once more, he is unable to prevent the tragedy, he is incapable of avenging it.

they were in formation in a tightly controlled drift above a ketch that bore the blazon of house scar. the ketch itself was docked above the surface of luna, the earth’s moon.

he watched the topside of the eliksni vessel and monitored what their listening posts on its hull could pick up. weapons fire. kinetic weapons, the sounds of percussion pistols firing, hand cannons with their distinctive heavy leaden impact, shotguns and their scattered pellets, the plastic and brass tapping, tinkling against metal floor plating.

it was joined by a frenetic dance of heavy machine gun fire and a rain shower of casings. the telltale sizzle and pop of a fusion rifle charging and discharging. the vacuum seal of a shoulder-mounted rocket launcher being loaded. even the pull of steel against leather as a knife was unsheathed and then driven through a fail point, a join in the armor, metal penetrating fabric and skin, breaking through to tear apart muscle and strike bone.

uldren sov listened to the traveller’s lightbearers charge through the ketch on the hunt for taniks the scarred. he listened with his eyes closed while two of his crows kept watch to his starboard and aft.

the prince of the reef clenched and loosened his hands as he counted the number of bodies he heard fall to the guardians. there were three of the walking dead versus a full compliment of eliksni.

he did not envy the fallen their task.

rather, he envied the guardians theirs.

no, it was not nearly as simple as that.

it should have been his job. his and only his job all along. his job now as it should have been those years ago.

cayde-6 should have been the one to have gone on the hunt for taniks the scarred and not his mentor, andal brask. it was not a mission for the hunter vanguard. there was no call for brask to leave the tower. 

it was not his kill to make.

his golden child, the favoured one, the hunter who could do not wrong in his eyes, he was spared a brutal, lonely death at the hands of a legitimate monster.

instead, andal went to face the horror alone.

uldren covered his mouth with a gloved hand to keep from shouting in anger and disgust. his death was pure folly. it was pointless. it didn’t even save lives. it was for naught, utterly, completely, for naught.

cayde-6 had hunted down taniks for the crime of murdering andal brask. he had killed the fallen savage. uldren would not have given up pursuit if he knew otherwise. he and his crows had verified the death of the scarred.

bastard. motherfucking bastard. how did he fool me?

the prince leaned forward in the cockpit, casting a scowl at the space surrounding the three galliots. he was searching the stars for a particular vessel, an arcadia-class jumpship adorned with the spades symbol, much like those found on a deck of playing cards.

no. he wasn’t watching. would he even be listening?

“the least you can do is to be here when it’s finally finished,” uldren snapped, his breathing uneven and eyes a deep smouldering orange. “couldn’t do it right the first fucking time. watch as your precious guardians clean up your mess.”

he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes tightly. he could hear the sounds of the battle reach a crescendo. the coda was approaching. if these lightbearers were as competent as their promise hinted toward, the bastard spawn would soon be dead. truly, finally, dead.

when the moment did arrive, it was a hollow feeling. hearing the death scream of taniks the scarred did not give him the satisfaction uldren had been hoping for. the emptiness was still there. the ache was still there.

he still missed andal terribly.

“asshole,” he whispered, eyes staring at nothing.

uldren took a moment to breathe before activating his comms. “the traveller’s damned should be returning to their tower shortly,” he said to his crows. “make a rough inventory of high-value, high-priority items on that ketch for the privateers to retrieve.”

a little known part of the awoken fleet, and one of the oldest wings in the armada, were the privateers. much like the naval vessels of old, their specialty was the capture of merchant ships, though in the reef this was relegated to anyone foolhardy enough to cross into awoken space without the queen’s grace.

the life blood of taniks wasn’t enough for uldren. the bastard had cheated death once. the prince would have his pound of flesh and whatever the so-called kell of scars had in his stores, every last synth, every last mat, every last piece of glimmer.

his crows flew in for a close range scan of the ketch once the guardian fireteam departed. he blew out a long sigh and cracked his neck. perhaps a decent enough bounty returned to the reef in tribute to mara would improve his mood.

a change in readings caught his attention. he leaned forward and scanned through the logs.

someone had hacked into the listening stations they’d planted on the hull. uldren and his team weren’t the only ones who were witness to the guardians killing taniks.

he bolted upright and whipped his head around, left to right, and caught a gleam off of his port side. he squinted at it, and pulled up his short-range sensors to get a better view. it was just at the edge of his unassisted vision.

he saw an arcadia-class jumpship with spades on her engines and an exo in her cockpit.

“you son of a bitch,” uldren muttered, not without a certain degree of begrudging admiration. he saw cayde-6 give a nonchalant salute and then the exo raised a flask in a toast.

the prince smirked and reached for the hip flask he carried on his gun belt. he loosened the cap and held it up in the cockpit. “to andal,” he said, eyes fixed upon cayde’s jumpship. he took a sip of the bourbon he carried with him and let it sit in his mouth a moment before enjoying the warmth as it slid down his throat.

he tapped at his instrument panel and opened a channel direct to the hunter vanguard’s ship. he then queued up a music track, one that seemed appropriate.

uldren settled back into the pilot’s chair and set his feet onto a safe corner of the the console as an english guitarist long forgotten to the rest of the system gently plucked the opening notes to a song about camaraderie and longing. he took another sip of his bourbon and gave a nod to the exo who had manoeuvred his ship alongside the galliot.

so, so you think you can tell heaven from hell blue skies from pain can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? a smile from a veil? do you think you can tell?

did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts? hot ashes for trees? hot air for a cool breeze? cold comfort for change? did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?

how i wish, how i wish you were here we're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl year after year running over the same old ground and how we found the same old fears wish you were here

pink floyd

wish you were here

[theabominableblogger]

My Reaction to “Gotham” S5E5

*still reeling*  ....OK.... hold on....

AN:  I managed to record my reactions to this episode and hopefully I can transcribe what I said into this post.

*Recap shows Ed blowing up Haven in the flashback*  So why did Ed blow up Haven?

Crap, and Jim’s gonna find out.  WhooooOOOOO....

Whoa....

*has to tilt head to side to figure out what film is playing*

AN:  It’s a 1953 noir film called “Tangier Incident”

“You gonna arrest me?”  “Who said anything about arresting you?”  *raises eyebrows in surprise*

“Whaddya say, boys?”  Uhhhh...

OK, what is it with churches this season?

Take him down, Jim.

“Now, who told you I sold that RPG?”  A friend.

*gasps when a military squad rappels through the stain glass on the ceiling*

Whoa whoa wait what?

Oh I like that camera shot [when Jim took down the arms dealer]

*gasps when the arms dealer gets shot in the head*

Ohhhh is this-

*Eduardo walks up and pulls down his mask*  Yooo!

“Last time I saw you, you were running through sniper fire plucking my sorry ass from a burning truck.”  *chuckles*

I am very interested to see how Shane West is gonna pull off Bane.

*silently jams out to opening theme*

Oh, I like this slow version.

“We hated each other in boot.  Jim disapproved of my ops tempo.”  “Yeah, ‘cause you only had one speed:  too fast.”  *chuckles*

Ahhh Harvey’s being the third wheel!

“We’re here to eliminate all criminal threats.”  *starts chuckling*  Eduardo’s rolling his eyes.  He’s like ‘I can’t believe I’m here either.’

*lets out small gasp when Jim finds Ed’s name in the arms dealer’s ledger*

“What you [Harvey] are is the best cop that I know.  I’m goin’ after Nygma; he’s ten steps ahead.  If anything goes sideways, you’ll have to take over.  I need your help, buddy.”  VINDICATIOOONNNN!!

*trying to read the name of the episode writer*  Who wrote this?  Id- what?

“You saw what she did to Jeremiah.”  Did you though?

“Jeremiah Valeska deserved to die.”  *smirking because we all know he’s still alive*

“Jeremiah made Selina a murderer.  Just like Ra’s made me a murderer.”  “Ra’s goaded you into stabbing him, Master Bruce.  He used you as an instrument; you’re no murderer.”  *jaw drops* 

*sits back in seat*  Holy shit, that parallel!

“And I’m gonna go find her.”  Oh, I’m betting Selina’s not gonna be happy to see you.

*fans self*  This episode’s gonna break me.

*Ed listens to his past recordings*  A swamp?

“YOU’RE NOT A MURDERER, ED.”  Wow, I love Jim Carrey in “Batman Forever”

*gasps when Ed breaks the mirror by punching it*

*chuckling*  How did they find him so fast?!?

“No, Jim, I can explain!”  *nods*

“I can prove it!  I just- I need- I need a little bit of time.”  No, no, take him in now.  Take him in.

“The people I have hurt... they hurt me first.  I didn’t know a single person in Haven!”  What the hell kind of excuse is that?

“Your call, buddy.”  Don’t shoot him.  Just take him in.

“We bring him in.  He stands trial.”  There we go.

*The floor panel under Eduardo sinks down*  Oh my God, they put a bomb in the floor.

“Your friend is standing on a pressure-plated IED.  One of several throughout the rooms.”  Of course he found time- when did he find time to rig the room?

*laughs*  That little eyebrow [raise of Eduardo’s]- like “Really?!?”

“Once word gets out that you’re responsible for Haven, they’ll have a target on your back.”  “I’ll take my chances.”  Really?

“A wristband that monitors his heart rate?”  “Welcome to Gotham.”  *laughs*

“Puzzle?”  “There’s always a puzzle with Nygma.”  Yes, there is.

*Jim climbs over to the bookshelf on the tables and chairs*  The floor is lava!

Actually Jim and Eduardo work really well together.  I like that.

*sighs in relief when Jim manages to get to the bookshelf*

*still laughing*  How do you get rid of a bomb?  Easy.  The floor is lava!

“I’m gonna wring this nerd’s [Ed’s] neck.”  *laughs*  SAME!

*Jim pulls out one of the books*  ...Did he stop it?

*Jim steps down without being blown up*  YEAH!  There we go!

“You OK?”  “You left the army for this city?”  *giggles*

“It grows on you.”  *still giggling*

What is this?

“Everybody, raise your glasses to the killer of Jeremiah Valeska.”  *shaking head while smiling*  No... mmm no...

“Bring his head!  Bring his head!”  Ohhh...

Also, where the heck is Jeremiah?

*chuckles at Ed being described as a “tall, skinny man”*

...That’s not much of a description to go on.

*very confused at a group of people rallying together to kill Ed*

I miss Mr. Penn

“Edward Nygma is the monster respon-”  *gasps*

“-responsible for killing the innocents of Haven.”  *covers mouth with hands*

“...Ed, what have you done?”  *leans back in seat*  Ohhh my God.  Oh Oswald, are you gonna break my heart this episode?

I can’t believe Ed is stuck within a redneck community.

So who sent Eduardo and his team?  The government, right?

“Taking him down?  That’d be a big win.”  “Well, that’s why we’re here.” Oh my God, are they gonna take down Scarecrow?

*Ed tied to a lawn chair covered in electrical wire*  What the....

Also, Ed, I want your boots.  Also, why is a guy wearing anklet boots?

What??

What??  What am I watching?

What??

Are they gonna electrocute him?  What??

*The redneck family electrocutes Ed*  Well “Honey Boo Boo” looks terrible.

“Pay for JoJo!”  JoJo?

*The mother shows Ed a sepia picture of JoJo*  A dog?  What?!?  This about a dog?

AN:  Also the actress who plays the mother here was in the Adam West Batman show.

“300 people died in Haven!”  “Pfft, we don’t care about people.”  *jaw drops open in shock*

WHA-WHA- WHAT AM I WATCHING??

“He... always had a smile on his face.”  You’re talking about a dog.

“You anthropomorphizing nincompoop!”  Wha- *starts giggling*

“Dogs can’t smile!”  *leans back in seat to laugh* 

[Ed’s] Gotta whip out that thesaurus!

*Ed starts remembering Oswald*  Oh my God!

“I’m going to fix you, Ed!”  *starts singing “Fix You” by Coldplay*

*gasps when Ed gets electrocuted with a full charge*

“I’m gong to fix you, Ed.”  Please go find Oswald!

“Oh thank God the fuel line’s clogged.”  *leans back to laugh and slaps table in hilarity*

*The mother makes her sons “fix” the fuel line*  Oh my God, is that gonna send the charge back?  Oh my God, he’s gonna burn these suckas alive.

*gasps when the car used to electrocute Ed bursts into flames*

Please tell me Ed’s gonna like take off on down the street with the chair still attached-

*Ed does exactly that*  YES, LET’S GO!

*imitates the way Oswald says “feelers” sarcastically*

“I am surrounded by morons, Edward.”  Aaawww...

Did he really just come in through the grate?

“But first, did you name your dog after me?”  YES BITCH HE DID

Oswald’s like “I’m not answering that question.”

“Cobblepot’s on the top of my list from Walker.”  Walker?  Wait, Walker sent them?  The secretary lady?  Are we ever gonna meet her?

AN:  Yes, in the next episode.

“Shock and awe’s my default.”  *raises fist in small fist pump*

Poor Harvey’s the third wheel on this.

“You know what, take Harvey with you.”  YEAHH!

“Man, you’re killing my buzz.”  Is Selina drunk?

Yes, she is.  How old are these kids?

“Let me [Selina] tell you [Bruce] something.  That night, that your parents were murdered?”  Nooo!

“I was in that alley, on that fire escape.”  This is such a low blow.

*trying not to be sad over Selina bringing Bruce down*

“You... were the scared kid.”  *sits back in seat*  Oh my God... shut up, Selina!

I’m very disappointed right now.

“I love this song...”  *shakes head in disapproval*

*Selina and Bruce start crying*  Oh God, you’re making me... *fans near eyes* 

Whoa, that was just the most sudden cut [back to Ed and Oswald]!

“How could you?  You have made into some murderous puppet!”  *shakes head*  No, I don’t think Oswald’s behind that!

“For weeks, I've been waking up in strange places, not knowing how I got there or what I did.  Driving myself mad, thinking I had gone mad.  And now I know that it was all your doing!”  No it wasn’t!

*claps hands toward screen*  NooOOO... LISTEN!

“Of everything that you have put me through, this... this is the most cruel.”  *puts hand on chest and shakes head*  Oh my God...

Nooo...

“Ed, I [Oswald] don’t know what you’re talking about.”  He didn’t have anything to do with it!

“You didn’t fix me!  You broke me!”  *puts hands in front of mouth in panic*

“You [Ed] had been stabbed, I [Oswald] paid Hugo Strange to save your life.  I bet he did something to you when he was patching you up.”  *flailing hands around*  OK, ask about Lee!  WHERE’S LEE?!?

“What was I supposed to do?  Let you die?”  *crosses hands over chest and leans back in chair*

“After Butch, you were my only friend.”  *voice squeaky*  Oh my God!

*Holds up finger toward screen*  You [Oswald] are not gonna make me cry!

Whyyy do I recognize this music?

AN:  It’s the track called “Penguin in Love” from S3

He [Oswald] walked into the gun [that Ed was pointing at him]!

Can you two just please have a drink and just make up please?  Thank you.

“I [Ed] might have killed you, Oswald.  And if that day comes, I swear to you I will stare you in the eye as I stab you in the heart.”  *slowly nods*  Glad to know we’re back on schedule.

*slams fist down on table like a gavel*

“If Hugo Strange did something to you [Ed], it means you are not responsible for Haven.”  So what did Hugo Strange do?

*gasps when the roof shudders over Oswald and Ed*

*Ed disappears*  Of course Ed runs!  Jesus... Christ!

“Idiot!”  *giggles*  His little hop [when Oswald slapped one of his men on the shoulder in anger]!

Whoaaaa that’s a cool shot [of one of Eduardo’s men throwing a smoke bomb in the foyer]

Ohhhhhhhh that shot’s cool [of Oswald in the smoke]!

“Why hello, Harvey!”  *in same tone of voice*  Hiiiii!!!

“I hope you’re better prepared.”  Uh, he [Harvey] has the military with him.

“Or, if you [Harvey] and your friends aren’t out by the time I count to three, I will mow you all DOWN!”  Robin Lord Taylor is just killing it in this episode.  Oh my gosh...

Also, Cory Michael Smith with that [confrontation with Oswald].  That scene was so good!

“I don’t have to call anyone.  Go ahead.  Count.”  Ohhh, let’s go, Harvey!   Let’s go!

*gasps when Oswald’s men got shot down via sniper on the staircase*

“Where’s Ed Nygma?”  He doesn’t have him!

*gasps when Ed is taken to Barbara’s office*

*points at screen*  How?  How?

“There’s more going on here.”  There’s always more going on in Gotham.

“I’m saying that Strange, or somebody, can control me.  They killed those people.”  Why would Hugo Strange go after Haven then?

“Information is your lifeblood.  You help me [Ed], and I will give you the best intel you’ve ever had.”  Listen to him, please.  Barbara, listen to him.

“I don’t know where Strange is.”  Where the heck is Strange then?!?

“But I can tell you where you’ll find his Igors.”  Wait, he has his own gang called “Igors?”  Oh my God...

*gasps*  Are they torturing Oswald?

“You know, they say you can judge a man by his friends.”  “This from a man [Oswald] who has no friends.”  Wha- excuse me!  You [Jim] are his friend.

“Nygma’s a patsy.”  *cracks up*

“Jim, you want information.  I want to go home.”  Same.

“Things are changing in Gotham.”  We know.

*Eduardo opens the door to the empty interrogation room*  Oh my God, did he let him go?

He let him go.  Jiiimm...

*jaw drops open in confusion when Strange sends a cadaver down a chute*

*chuckles when Ed jumps out of a body bag to surprise Strange*

“Oh my.”  *laughs*  Yes, BD Wong, come through!  Yes!

I’m actually really glad we see Hugo Strange again

This lighting in this location is fabulous

“But I [Strange] will confess that when I was sewing up your [Ed’s] knife wound, I may tinkered a little with your grey matter.”  The frick?!?

“I put a chip in your brain.”  :O

“It allows you to be able to be controlled remotely.”  *shoves away table with screen on it*  What the [expletive]?!?

“But I don’t control you.  I gave control to others.”  Who’s controlling Ed?

“I [Strange] will write it down.  That way, if I’m ever confronted, I can honestly say that I never told you [Ed].”  That’s actually a pretty good way to go around it.

*Strange knocks out Ed*  :O

“Not to worry.  You’re experiencing a simple neural cut out.”  What?

“I suppose we’re just going to have to open you [Ed] up and take a look under the hood.”  *gasps*  OH my GOD!

Holy shit!

“Are you [Bruce] sure you’re all right?”  No he’s not!

“What if we don’t make it out of this?”  *crosses hands over chest and leans back*

“Because the little things matter.  Act by act, deed by deed, it means something.  Even if no one cares.”  Oh my God, Harveyyyyy!!

We’re adding him to the Bat-Dads.  Yes!  He’s the Bat-Uncle!

*laughs when Bruce pulls a Batman on Harvey*

*gasps when Strange turns off one of his tools*

“I apologize for the discomfort.”  You better not!

*leans back and yells in disgust when the camera shows part of Ed’s exposed brain*  Did we really need to see the brain?!?

What the frick happened?!?

*gasps when Oswald is shown carrying his dog*  Oh my God!

That’s it.  That’s the best part of this episode.

Secret door...

What is- what is this place?!?

That a manhole?

*makes aawing noises at Edward in Oswald’s arms*

He’s getting him out of harm’s way!

“Edward, I believe the time has come for a change in scenery.” *still cooing over the dog*  Yeah...

Is he [Strange] stapling his [Ed’s] head [closed]?

*gasps when Jim holds Strange at gunpoint*  Shiit...

Wait, so if Ed’s like the Winter Soldier for Gotham, who’s Hydra?

“I [Strange] am a scientist.  A contract came along; I developed a tool.”  Why??

*gasps in shock when Eduardo activates Ed’s chip*

:O

“Ta ta.”  *flips off screen in shock*

“I [Eduardo] couldn’t say anything until we had the suspect in custody, but Walker wants Ed Nygma taken out now.”  *soft gasp*

“Walker was behind this?”  Wha-

“You know I hate this spook crap.”  *chuckles*

Why would the government blow up Haven?

“Walker wants you [Jim] to put a bullet in his [Ed’s] brain.”  *shakes hands at screen*  No no nonononononono!

“Call it proof of loyalty.”  Why?!?

“IT’s what she needs from you before she can move forward with final relief plans.”  What are they gonna do to Gotham?

“Look at him [Ed].  He’s a loon.  A cop killer.”  *shakes head*

Why would they destroy Haven?

“Jim, ours is not to reason why.”  He’s [Eduardo] just a lieutenant.  He doesn’t know anything.

*gasps and slaps hands on desk*  It’s like Russo in “The Punisher,” because he only took orders from Agent Orange and Orange didn’t tell him everything!  He’s a dog on a leash!

“What’s your answer?”  He’s [Eduardo] not gonna shoot Jim.

*leans back when Jim sets down his gun*  God... oh my God...

*gasps when Jim pulls a surprise attack on Eduardo*

Wait, how is Ed just frozen there?

“You [Ed] know Jim Gordon.  You know this city.  Find him and kill him.”  What?!?

*Ed yeets down the chute after Jim*  OK, that kinda took me out of the moment but what the hell am I watching?

God, that city looks terrible.

*gasps and reels back*  It’s Jeremiah!  Yes!

He’s just sleepin’, this scary, beautiful man.

What are they doing?

What?!?

“Ouch.”  *eyebrows raise*

“Stitches still sore, huh?  Never would have happened if you [Jeremiah] wore that armor I [Ecco] prepared.”  *scoffs*  Of cou-

“That bullet is making you [Ecco] sentimental.”  Glass houses?

“Give her a shake, huh?”  *jaw drops out of mixture of shock, confusion, and being grossed out when Ecco shakes her head for him*

“I told you I had to let Selina thrust the knife into my flesh at least once.”  *tries not to be disgusted”

“Verisimilitude trumps precaution, you see.”  *ends up smiling*

AN:  What a great line.

“Selina Kyle and Bruce Wayne needed to think you were dead, boss.”  “Yeah.”  Thank you, Captain Obvious-

*gasps when Jeremiah suddenly makes Ecco lean down toward him*

Where are they?  Is this still that tunnel from the Soothsayer’s lair?

*jaw drops in shock when Jeremiah and Ecco walk into the sitting room of Wayne Manor*

*slaps hands on table and leans back*  SHHHUT THE FRICK UP!

Shit, this is the music from the first trailer!

*gasps and jaw drops open in absolute horror when the surgery patients are shown to Jeremiah for the first time*

*Jeremiah laughs*  [very softly] My God...

“gasps when the camera gets in Jeremiah’s face*

“I love family reunions, don’t you?”  *just shaking out of shock*

*shoves away laptop and table at the final shot of Jeremiah*  Ahh my God!

*End title pops up*  Wait-wh-wh-wait what?  What?

*gets out of seat to take it all in when end credits roll*

*comes back after a good five seconds*  What the freak did I just watch?

*sits for a while to try to catch my breath*  Whoo...

We got to wait two weeks for another episode?  Get the frick outta here.  Oh my God...

[readingwebcomics]

Analyzing Questionable Content: Pages 51-100

No Faye, it only looks that way because he’s playing Final Fantasy X-2. Good God, I just realized that Final Fantasy X-2 is someone’s first experience with Final Fantasy. That’s a depressing thought. Although someone starting out the series with Final Fantasy XIII is probably way worse, now that I think about it. At least X-2 had fun.

…huh? Oh right, the comic. You sure you’d rather not listen to me write an essay on Final Fantasy, instead? I have this great point about how Final Fantasy IX has the most emotionally impactful narrative but as a game it only really clicks with long-time players of… no? Okay fine, let’s get back into QC.

The very next comic has Marten getting a tax return check for $1,100, and being the wise adult that he is, decides to spend that money on a new guitar. Tagging along, Faye brings up something that gives us new insight on her character:

And clearly didn’t bore her, considering how much of that information she retained. Here we have yet another example of a shared interest between these two, Marten clearly being into Guitars if he’s invested enough to blow a fat wad of money on it and Faye carrying around quite a bit of information on the instrument herself. I’ve made the point in the last post, but to reiterate – at this point in the comic, it’s clear these two are clicking as far as interests go. They can keep up with each other, can and have provided support for one another, and challenge one another… okay granted that last one isn’t entirely true, it’s clear Faye challenges Marten more than vice-versa, but still. There is a clear, acting relationship dynamic between these two, whether platonic or romantic. The reason why early QC works as well as it does is because these two have clear characters to them and their relationship FEELS real – they feel like people you’d know who’d really be friends – or maybe more than friends. This is Jeph’s character writing at… well I hesitate to call it at its best because to imply he peaked as early as the 53rd comic would be an insult to him as a writer, and I’m not looking to do that here.

I’m looking to do that a little bit later on in this part when we discuss Faye’s “character quirk.”

Before that however, we’re going to get a little bit on insight on Marten:

The story is elaborated on in a future comic, but here we get Marten’s backstory – traveling across the country for a girl, the relationship falling apart and leaving him stuck in this part of the country. This will go on to explain several of his character choices, including Pintsize (although that’s something we’re not going to approach until MUCH later on). It also further elaborates on Marten’s character as a whole: He doesn’t make many active actions as a whole, but when he does, it tends to shift the entire dynamic of how he lives. He decided he wanted to follow this woman across the country, and that action ended up completely upending his life. Could this be part of the reason why Marten is so passive? Does he skew towards this lifestyle because he’s been “trained” to take any kind of affirmative action as an intense, life-changing event?

While I’m not certain myself, and I have a damn good feeling Jeph wasn’t thinking that far ahead when writing Marten’s character, it’s an angle I’m willing to continue exploring as we further our journey down this comic’s history.

This comic was written in 2003. I’m half-tempted to believe Meme culture can be tracked by indie bands now. Wonder if there was any zeitgeist with neo-nazi indie bands ten or fifteen years ago then, if that theory holds true?

…I just made myself really, really sad.

Later on, Pintsize proceeds to eat a cake when he really shouldn’t – again – and we are gifted with… this lovely image.

Okay. I understand Pintsize is an AI, so it makes total sense for him to be able to be uploaded to a PC like this (ignoring for the moment modern commercial hardware can’t possibly support the resources necessary to maintain human-level sapience and ESPECIALLY not in 2003), but this is one of the freakiest fucking things I’ve seen from this comic. Mostly because at the time of writing we’re on comic 4000 and AI as a whole take an entirely different turn in the world of QC around that time, so… this is just kinda surreal to look at.

…We’ll get to AI in regards to QC’s universe later on when it becomes more relevant. Needless to say, it becomes one of the core “themes” of the comic as a whole.

The narrative reason for this turn of events is simple:

Pintsize is now in a new visually appealing model, capable of moving his joints around so he can do more than just stand around and talk!

…also one that has a horrifying government-level laser built into it! Believe it or not, this DOES become a relevant plot-point later and it’s not just for the sake of a gag. This is a great example of Jeph taking a tiny detail he may have originally written in as a joke and building off it to create conflict… although I’ll be getting more into that later on when it actually DOES become relevant.

Pintsize agrees to turn the laser off, and a few comics later Marten and Steve go to the bar to discuss their lives – specifically Marten’s love life.

Further showcasing of Marten’s passive nature and his straight-up lack of confidence.

Say goodbye to Sara everyone – for real this time, I’m fairly certain this is the very last time we ever see her. I could be mistaken, but I highly doubt it. Plus, while we don’t see it in detail we get enough information to gleam Steve as Marten’s exact opposite – charming without being overwhelming, confident without being cocky. Steve is just straight-up a cool dude, and it’s easy to see how he can easily get into relationships while Marten stays there floating along, too scared and/or passive to make the move that comes to Steve naturally.

Wait. Shit, I may have the hots for Steve. Abort, aboRT, ABOR-

I’m showing this in part to showcase the next point of conflict and also to draw attention to the new style Jeph is trying. He’ll do this throughout the run of QC, trying out brand-new styles to see what fits and what doesn’t. I’ll be including this in my comparison pictures at the very end of this post to give a clearer image of what changes and how he improves… although you can see even in this comic he’s struggling against old habits as Marten’s face in the final panel looks drastically different than in the rest, looking more akin to how he looked in older comics. That’s okay! Habits die hard, it’s worth applauding the fact that Jeph is trying. God knows I can’t draw to save my fucking life, so I’ll always support artists trying new things.

I’m mostly including this panel for two reasons: The fact that Faye’s stuck in the closet right now – if you don’t get why that’s funny, you will in about 3700 comics from now – and the way she’s talking. Do you notice something different about the “feel” of Faye’s dialogue? Keep an eye on it, I’ll try to include more panels of her talking from this point onward.

Anyway, Marten dismantles the previously established conflict by revealing he managed to get Faye’s prescription for her and got her a new pair of glasses.

Mark this as the second time Faye has actually displayed real physical aggression against Marten.

Again, depending on how much you know about AI in QC’s world from future comics this could either be a lot funnier or a hell of a lot less funny. Although… the subject of AI mortality would make for an EXTREMELY interesting plot point in more recent comics. Remind me to touch on that when we get further along.

Again: Pay attention to Faye’s dialogue in this comic, especially in that last panel. You’re noticing it, aren’t you? The fact that she sounds a little… different? Give me a little more time, I promise I’ll touch on it a little later.

Hey, guess what? It’s later!

Faye does not punch Marten whenever she says something nice about him. In fact, she has ever only assaulted Marten twice – both times for completely arbitrary reasons not related to her saying anything to or about Marten. Nor has Faye ever spoken completely without contractions, as you see she’s doing now. Later comics will go on to point out how odd it is that Faye only speaks with contractions when she’s drunk and dips into her southern accent… when we’ve seen in previous comics that she is capable of speaking with contractions and talking like a normal human being. This change has shifted the entire “feel” of every line of Faye’s dialogue, as she no longer “sounds” like the Faye we started the comic with.

These are both examples of a writing mistake that a lot of long-form regular updating writers make, be it fanfiction or daily comics – retcons. If you’re reading this, you most likely know what a retcon is. For the few of you that don’t, a retcon – short for retroactive continuity – is the practice of in later works of an ongoing series introducing a fact that changes what was previously established in previous works. This is most commonly seen in Superhero comics from Marvel and DC, but the kind of retcon I’m talking about is more common on smaller scale works, like fanfiction or unedited novels or ongoing RPs.

See, when the writer realizes they wanted to change up something, introduce a plot element that would require them to go back and change something previously to make it make sense and find that for whatever reason they can’t, they may go ahead and introduce the plot element anyway while assuring the reader that no, of course this element was always included. That’s what’s happening here – Jeph had an idea for a plot element he wants to include, realized he can’t exactly go back to older comics and change them considering it’s a regularly updated webcomic, and so decided to retcon these facts by introducing them like they’ve always been a part of things and assert their truth while continuing on.

Not that I can necessarily blame the man – in a situation like this, realizing there’s an important plot element that you want to work with but can’t due to you leaving it no room in what you’ve previously published, there’s not much else you can do besides either retconning things or accepting you can’t introduce that plot element and just move on. However, there are other ways you can work with this that abide by previously established continuity and lets you introduce a plot element you want to introduce. For example, Faye punching Marten: You could introduce it as something she feels more comfortable doing the longer she’s around him. Have more frequent comics of her following saying something nice up with a punch, let us see her actually assault him more, and draw a correlation between her getting more comfortable around him and her getting more physically aggressive – something Jeph does touch on later, so it is entirely possible to introduce this new dynamic without asserting things have happened that we clearly see haven’t happened.

…as for Faye not speaking in contractions however, that’s just stupid. It’s a gimmick for her character, plain and simple, without adding anything to her as a character. If you want something big to showcase she’s keeping herself restrained, just continue as you were, having her speak in a southern accent when she’s drunk. That works as a fun gag to attach to her character without seeming like a dumb gimmick. And I’m sorry to say… this whole “Faye doesn’t speak in contractions” thing? It’s a dumb gimmick.

Okay, now that I’ve gotten that all off my chest, let’s introduce ourselves to the new main character of QC…

This is Dora, the owner of the Coffee Shop that Faye works at. She’s a cool cat and (seemingly) supremely chill. She’s introduced as another secondary character like Steve, but will swiftly become a mainstay character and join what will become a growing ensemble cast.

Also, potential conflict is seeded when it’s revealed she’s totally crushing on Marten.

And if you doubt Faye’s assessment, let’s hear it from the woman in question herself.

Also say hello to Dora’s cat. The cat has a name, I just can’t remember it for the life of me considering the little fella joins Sara on that island eventually. But yeah, Dora DEFINITELY has the hots for Marten, sewing another potential seed for conflict later on – Marten and Faye are certainly in the “will they or won’t they?” phase, and here sits Faye’s own boss with a clear, vested interest in Marten. Will she make a move and push Faye to take action? Time will tell.

Jeph enjoys trolling his audience, and Marten is suffering because of it.

Dora goes on to establish herself in the reader’s minds by having a clear, distinct personality that bounces off Faye’s beautifully. They banter so comfortably with one another it makes it so much fun to read, which goes on to make Dora a more appealing character to the reader. The more she talks, the more you want to see her because she’s such a genuinely charismatic individual… which can further serve to establish her as a very real conflict in the potential Marten and Faye relationship. After all, what’s a greater spanner in the works of this “will they or won’t they?” relationship than a character who will gladly say “Yeah, I will” that the audience likes enough that they are completely on-board with seeing go through?

The most dangerous thing to a romcom relationship is a third wheel that a good portion of the audience prefers over the teased relationship, and that creates good drama.

(Also Sara’s name is spelled wrong but eh it’s not like she’s around to complain anyway)

…that said, Dora goes on to assure Faye that she has no intention of swiping Marten off his feet away from her when it’s clear Faye’s interested in him. Then again… the more Faye insists she’s not interested in him, the more likely it may be that Dora believes her.

True story, I found this concept so funny that in a campaign I ran a few years ago, I actually had one of the players – who was supposed to be stuck as a worker in a dreary 9-to-5 job that he’d desperately want to escape to go onto adventure – be labeled as the Office Bitch. My only regret is that I didn’t print out a real business card for his player. That either would have gotten a laugh from the table or gotten me punched.

This here is Scott, Marten’s boss. He’s a cool dude, but for reasons that will become evident later on we don’t see very much of him. At first, I thought he was going to end up being the future husband of Marten’s father – and if you haven’t read through QC yourself that sentence will probably completely catch you flat-footed – but looking it up later I found that Marten marries a man named Maurice, not Scott. I only thought they were the same person because they’re both blonde and the art style changes so much later on anyone could look like anyone else.

Actually, fun fact: I started reading QC when 2512 was the most recent comic, so before she was introduced I thought Faye and Marigold were the same person because of how drastically the art style changed and I only recognized “curvy white girl with glasses and brown hair”.

Anyway, Scott’s pretty chill and… yeah. Yeah, that’s pretty much it. He’s a chill dude to work for, and that’s probably the only reason Marten hasn’t outright quit his job yet. The worst job in the world can be made tolerable with a good boss, and the best job in the world can be made unbearable with an awful boss.

Further evidence of the lack of contractions hurting the way Faye’s voice comes across than anything else. Seriously, is it just me or does this not sound like Faye? Like, at ALL? I’m open to being told I’m wrong, just… seriously.

Aaaand here we have Steve officially having broken up with Sara. Also, it’s a small thing but like I’ve said, I’ll give Jeph credit where it’s due – that visible wince on Marten’s face is the most expressive any of his characters have been thus far. Good work man, I’m happy to see you improving with your art!

After drinking together, Marten and Faye decide to go to an all-night diner for some drunken late-night pancakes when we get this bit of information from Faye:

That is Faye, if you can figure out which of the two Martens your fist will connect with. But yeah, the fact that Faye speaks in a southern drawl while intoxicated went from a joke to actual character – she’s legitimately from Georgia and that’s her natural way of speaking. Which may raise the question to the reader, why does she repress that voice so much? Don’t worry – they touch on it in later comics. For now though, another round of applause to Jeph for slowly and organically creating new information about his characters.

Faye is clearly not telling the whole story – the lack of eye contact being a key indicator of just that. Still, we’re getting a little bit more information on her, and the fact that she kept her wording vague leaves a lot to still explore in her future. Needless to say… it was a LOT more than just her mother being over-protective that led her to moving up north.

Marten’s just kind of accepted his lot in life by this point. Although when I was first reading through these I honestly thought this was going to be the headbutt-into-crotch moment.

Once again, if you haven’t read through QC yourself that sentence made zero sense to you. I’m kind of giggling at the thought of someone reading that and doing a double-take, actually.

Finally, we have the last comic of this batch, setting up a bit of conflict for our next batch…

Wuh-oh! Marten walked in on Faye changing! One really nice detail is that you can see the scar on Faye’s chest right there in the first panel, which means Jeph had a LOT of Faye’s backstory already planned out while he was drawing this stuff. Which just leaves me to wonder… how far back did he have this planned? When Faye first showed up in the third comic? When he had her start speaking in a southern accent while drunk? When he decided to have her stop speaking in contractions? I’d love to ask him, but I know for a fact he wouldn’t give me the time of day. Oh well, either way: He’s got shit planned out, shit that we won’t see until Comic 500 or so, and that’s always good for a long-form comic like this.

Like last time, let’s do some quick comparisons between the first comic of the batch, the comic where Jeph made a clear and active effort to change the art style, and the last comic of the batch:

It looks like Jeph found a happy medium between the style he was originally going for and the newer style he tried to incorporate, keeping the relative size and position of the characters’ facial features while rounding out everyone’s faces, making things much less angular than previously. The bodies are also beginning to get some real texture to them, looking closer to real human bodies than stick figures with a shirt.

Overall, what did I think about this batch of comics? Well aside from my complaints about Faye’s lack of using contractions and the sloppy way Jeph tried to incorporate that into the narrative, I thought it was better than the first batch! Marten and Faye are getting into a comfortable rhythm with each other, and we’re falling in-line with that rhythm ourselves. We just met a new character who’s going to be a mainstay of the series and in the few comics she’s shown up in, she’s made her presence stick with the reader. Even if I didn’t know how important Dora would become, I’d be saying I’m looking forward to seeing more of her.

You know what time it is now? That’s riiiiiight! Data compilation time!

Between comics 51-100, the following characters’ proportional “screen time” as it were are as follows:

Marten: 46/50 – 92%

Faye: 45/50 – 90%

Pintsize: 12/50 – 24%

Dora: 8/50 – 16%

Steve: 6/50 – 12%

Sara: 2/50 – 4%

Scott: 2/50 – 4%

Dora’s Cat: 1/50 – 2%

And the grand total of each character’s screentime, not including non-canon or guest comics, from most to least time shown:

Marten: 91/100 – 91%

Faye: 83/100 – 83%

Pintsize: 27/100 – 27%

Steve: 14/100 – 14%

Dora: 8/100 – 8%

Sara: 7/100 – 7%

Jim: 2/100 – 2%

Scott: 2/100 – 2%

Raven: 1/100 – 1%

Dora’s Cat: 1/100 – 1%

Yes, I’m counting Dora’s cat among the statistics. I’ll change the name when I learn what the critter’s name actually is. Also, I was reminded that when the Secret Bakery becomes a thing later on in the comic there will be another character named Jim, with this particular construction worker being called Jimbo instead. I’ll change the name properly when he’s called “Jimbo” proper in the comic, don’t worry. I’ll be doing my best to keep this list from getting confusing… it’s in as much my best interest as yours seeing as I want to keep track of everyone properly.

Tune in next week when we see the exciting conclusion of this spicy “Marten happening to walk in on Faye undressing” drama! And Dora flashing someone. See you then.

[carnationbooks]

Fandom features: Author Wendy Qualls

To kick off a series of fandom-focused posts, we’re chatting with author Wendy Qualls (aka wendymarlowe on AO3) about fanfic, Johnlock, getting published, the intersection of fanfiction and original fiction, and a little dash of DragonCon! We so enjoyed learning a bit about Wendy’s fandom experience, and are so glad to share her insight with all of you! Don’t miss the amazing rec list she wrote for us after the jump (it’s so good). Thank you so much for talking with us, Wendy! 

Thanks so much for chatting with us! How can our readers find you?

I write fic as wendymarlowe (Marlowe being my middle name), but I write my original male/male romance under my real name, Wendy Qualls. (www.wendyqualls.com)

So what inspired you to start writing fic?

I write in the Sherlock fandom with brief forays into Harry Potter, but my first ever fandom was Dragon Age. I played Dragon Age: Origins and went through the love story with one of the characters and immediately thought "I want to experience exactly that again, but different" and I remembered something called fanfic my sister used to read so I looked some up. The one I found was awful, but then I found my way onto fanfiction.net and eventually onto AO3. The fics got better :-)

Now that you’re writing mostly in the Sherlock fandom, what about Johnlock is the most appealing to you?

Honestly? I love what fandom has done to the characters. The Sherlock and John on the show would both be horrible people to be in a relationship with, but the general fandom version sort of rounds the edges off a bit. Sherlock is abrasive but not cruel, John is competently BAMF without being violent and angry. The show has throwaway lines like how John “lost an entire Wednesday once” and I know Moftiss put it in there because they thought it was funny but SERIOUSLY? Drugging your flatmate is not okay! I’d much rather read (and write) about characters who are capable of healthy relationships :-)

What is your favorite thing you have written so far?

My most popular fic, and the one that was the most amazing to write, was Dear John (https://archiveofourown.org/works/2647979). Summary: "With Sherlock dead, John eventually (under duress) makes a profile on an online dating site. And falls into a long-distance relationship with an enigmatic partner who reminds him of Sherlock in all the right ways. (Hint: it turns out to be Sherlock.)" 

It was inspired by a friend trying a dating website and me realizing that sense of waiting for replies and not knowing when they're coming could be replicated by AO3's subscribe feature - I posted the fic in "real time." (As in, back and forth according to when the characters would have been writing each other). It had a pretty modest following at the beginning, but by the time John and Sherlock shared their first sexting right before Christmas it kind of blew up on Tumblr and the comments section started to be longer than the chapters :-P 

It was amazing to see a mini-fandom develop right there and see everyone debating what they thought John and Sherlock were up to that very minute. By the time the fic got to the big dramatic face-to-face meet, the comments/replies were coming in faster than I could read them! I'm told it's still fun to read now, all at once, but the shared waiting experience was something I wish I could replicate for another fic and I don't know that I ever could.

When I started submitting around to find a literary agent, the popularity of Dear John and my other AO3 fics was a strong point in my favor with the agent I ultimately signed with :-) There's a LOT of overlap between romance authors and fanfic authors, actually, even if not all of them are public about it.

Speaking of your work as a published author, do you have any words of wisdom for the fic authors out there who are hoping to get published one day?

Everyone—every published author ever—has a few manuscripts “under the bed” that just didn’t work. Often it’s because their writing needed to get stronger before publishing, sometimes it’s because they hit a crowded market exactly wrong or just never connected with the right editors/agents. Only around 10% of people who attempt to write their first novel make it to the end, and less than half of those get to the point they’re submitting it for professional consideration. 

The thing is, though, the only way to get better at writing is to write. I don’t care how many books and blogs you read about the craft (although those help too), you’re not going to get your book out there for money if you’re not willing to write something imperfect first.

Fanfic, I believe, is an amazing way to practice writing for low stakes. You get your pick of pre-developed characters and settings to choose from, there are no deadlines, and 99% of fanfic readers are supportive. AO3 says I’ve had 11,549 comments on my works - I think I’ve had only one or two readers who were critical. The rest are positive and make me excited to write for them. There is no doubt in my mind that fanfic has made me a better writer. Anyone who dreams of being published someday, my advice is this: write a book. Then write another. Write fanfic along the way and pick up people to cheer you on. The difference between published and unpublished is mostly luck, persistence, and confidence.

Do you ever get writer’s block? What do you do to combat it?

I do absolutely get writer's block, in big part because of my depression. (Depression sucks, btw.) Writing fic has made me comfortable having multiple works in progress at once, though, so often if I'm stuck on my "real" book I can write fic instead. I can't turn out fic as fast as I could before I started actually being published and having deadlines, but it's still a totally different feel writing for no stakes versus "how are my agent and editor and readers going to judge this?" Positive comments on AO3 pretty much balance out the negative energy in bad book reviews :-P

While we discussed this interview, you mentioned you’ll be in attendance at DragonCon this weekend. What are you most excited to do at con?

The panels and the people! There are several friends I only see at DragonCon, and it’s always fun to reconnect. The panels, though, are the heart of the convention. Science vs. Movies (10 PM Sunday in the Hilton Crystal ballroom) is always a highlight - it’s a panel of real, actual science experts forced to watch terrible Hollywood scenes and then argue why the scene was actually 100% scientifically plausible :-P Sometimes they break down and cry. It’s awesome.

You’re on some panels, right? When can folks catch those?

Friday at 10 PM: "BritTrack After Dark - British Fanfic/Slashfic Panel!" in Hilton Galleria 5 and Saturday at 10 PM: "We Do the Weird Stuff!: NC17 Fanfic" in Marriott M301

And finally, do you have any fic recs to share with our followers?

(Ed. Note: Y’ALL! Wendy wrote us an amazing rec list which is under the cut - Click for some Sherlock-y goodness!)

Favorite crack-premise-but-serious-fic: The Midas Touch (E) by flawedregina (https://archiveofourown.org/works/2479868) John Watson has a medical condition that means everyone he sleeps with is instantly healed of all illness and injury. This causes complications when Sherlock breaks his arm, and even more complications when Sherlock falls in love with him. Yes, this is a story where John has a literal magic healing cock. It's a lot less cracky than you're probably imagining. I love this for the "literal magical healing cock" premise, but it's also a beautiful look at ethics, personality, and the dynamics of sex. John is caught between feeling like he ethically HAS to use his rare gift because it saves people's lives and feeling the very human need for privacy and having control over his own life. Sherlock is a brat because he's always a brat but he GETS it and supports John and seriously, it's wonderful. 32K.

Favorite crack-premise-but-serious-fic without all the smut: A Magnificent Instrument (T) by mycapeisplaid (https://archiveofourown.org/works/7452193) A series of vignettes set in an AU in which Sherlock plays the tuba instead of the violin. This does have some brilliant takes on the idea (my favorite is Sherlock playing "oompah oompah" elephant steps in time with Mycroft leaving the flat) but it's also got an amazing connection between Sherlock and John. 6K.

Favorite fantasy AU: Here There Be Dragons (E) by Leloi (https://archiveofourown.org/works/786378) When Lord John of the Umberland Watsons volunteered to his lord father to deal with a dragon, this was not what he had in mind. Instead of using his sword and shield to deal a deadly blow he found himself trussed up like a festival goose sans armor and small clothes, naked as his birth day. This is sweet and hot at the same time and thanks to a certain Tolkien movie, we don't have to imagine very hard to envision Sherlock as a dragon :-D 8K.

Favorite short, kinky smut: Performance Art (E) by thisprettywren (https://archiveofourown.org/works/208374) “I have to say, John, I really just. Well. I can’t see the appeal.” That wasn’t precisely true, of course. At the moment, the appeal lay in the way John was blushing and licking his lip, avoiding Sherlock’s gaze, thoroughly discomfited. This one is so sexy and so Sherlock in how he thinks and gah, just read it! 6K. Favorite AU: The Bang and the Clatter (M) by earlgreytea68 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/744242) Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU.   I learned a ton about baseball from this fic - it's very educational :-P It's also clear that earlgreytea is an AMAZING writer and a true baseball fan. 137K.

Favorite D/s verse: Shames and Praises (E) by s0mmerspr0ssen (https://archiveofourown.org/works/573019) Unable but desperate to find a dom who will put up with him, Sherlock swallows his pride and turns to Mycroft for help. Shortly after, John Watson steps into Sherlock's life.   Kinky as hell with a wonderful caring top!John. D/s done right. 52K.

Favorite Mystrade: The DI and the Spy (T) by chasingriver (https://archiveofourown.org/works/558609) Greg is an early-morning runner. Mycroft is an early riser who happens to live on Greg's running route. Hilarity ensues. Written for MystradeDoodles' prompt: "Greg is a runner. Rom-com." Exactly what it says on the package - a sweet rom-com story about how Mycroft and Lestrade get a crush on each other before even knowing who the other is. 44K.

[chamberofnectar]

Blooming into sword-steel

SUMMARY

Caught smuggling weapons to rebelling colonies, there’s nothing left to look forward to. Fastened into a chair, needle dug into restrained veins; an interrogation to end with a bloody snarl.

Mature | Graphic Depictions of violence

Tags: The Orokin (Warframe) | Original Male Character(s) | Loki (Warframe) | Interrogation | persuasive measures | canon relevance | torture | IV injection | infestation | painful transformation | body horror | physical trauma | gross glossectomy | eye trauma | mutation | mental deterioration | Feral behavior | Feral warframe

[ Link ] or continue reading beneath the read more!

The rattle of shackles signals his consciousness as the overhead lights bloom, surging in electric hums as the door opposite to him slips closed – their status lights beaming red. Locked. There’s nothing between him and the administer … a cheeky name given to those presiding over interrogations. In the rattle of sturdy metal Trey tests his restraints; but for what end? The golden cuffs chafe around his wrists, spurs digging into his exposed paled skin trembling in the coercing cold. Where he once wore a uniform, he lies bared – saved only by raggedy pants stained by blood.

“Are you ready to talk, 20964?” The hooded figure smirks beneath the fabric hiding their eyes – their features twisted by augmentation and golden orokin gilding chest down. A hand gestures over towards a side wall as they sit within a seat across from him – sitting beside vials of inky red fluid in tear-drop containers.

He struggles again, pulling his throat against the restraint forcing his upper body flat against the grating sensation against his spine – hissing as fragments of memories kick in. Blood still oozes from a dent in his forehead, a pain blinding his memory as he hopelessly seeks relief. “Why would I?” He growls, settling back into the pain digging into his spine – centering at the base of his neck.

“You see,” the other starts, heaving themselves to sit comfortably in their cushioned chair, their brilliant robes draping ever so elegantly over the delicate carved arm rests, swaying on a soundless swivel. “You got yourself in quite the predicament, 20964.”

“It’s Trey,” he hisses, pain-squinting eyes darting around the room – no escape. A sealed room with only one exit behind the Orokin Administer.

“That name does not matter,” their blue-toned lips curl, brilliant against their gently greyed skin. “All traces have been scrubbed from the manifests.”

Within the debilitating chair, Trey still searches, grazing over the pre-scratched edges of the well-worn seat – shards prodding into his sides and back. Damages baring hints at the results of others put within the same chair, of wounds that pooled beneath the grinding swivel locking him into place and staring at the Administer and their daunting array of devices.

And Trey says nothing, throwing his head to the side to merely brush hair from his eyes.

Defiant.

The Administer stares, a sigh, rising themselves to a height modified for grand statue, to impose dominance over those to be interrogated for crimes against the Orokin empire. A smirk crosses their features, a grin twisted by re-arranged teeth to be hauntingly flawless and gleaming. They take Trey’s chin in their gilded hand – enrapturing and sharp it presses at his shivering skin, cold metal slicing a bead of blood from his throat. “Poor little smuggler, you don’t even exist anymore;” they start, their once covered eyes gleaming from beneath the brilliantly embroidered hood, “you’re nothing.”

In an attempt to snap his head away the metal slices him again, letting blood drip down his captive throat. Trey growls, glaring at the imposing Administer as they stand at their full height and push the chair backwards – his feet dangling from the floor. Helpless. “I don’t care, Orokin.” And the chair snaps back, causing him to gag and choke, straining to hold himself as the interrogator returns to their comfortable chair.

“I don’t think that sentiment will last long,” they smile beneath their hood, drawing one of the vials from their side table. “Do you know what this is?”

“I don’t care,” the former courier hisses between choking coughs, knuckles straining against the rough edges of his chair.

“I have – excellent – knowledge, that you do, 20964,” they dance it between their palms, drawing up a transparent manifest salvaged from the wipe. “You know about the gardens; you personally delivered these canisters yourself under our behest.”

It was true… carrying the canisters to drop points around malnourished colonies, told that they’d make the population flourish. An order from Executor Ballas to deliver to the so far neglected outposts that he was already supplying with aid he could manage around the system. Their weight, ever so heavy as the Administer balances them carelessly between their palms.

Matter made to transform, give new life to the poor and neglected … was about as correct the material was described as. It did transform matter it contacted, given the downtrodden people beneath the Orokin Empire new life… They flourished together, a conglomerate of flesh and blood oozing and chiding in a mass of organs and tissue, blooming in sickly flora on his return.

In his hands, a small case of stagnant nutrients to help the colony in their spiritual ceremony, a clawing in his chest as a town lies twisted in an ill mass amongst dilapidated buildings torn to shreds. Cloth lingering stained with the blood of a massacre and the oozing flora lingering and stinging the air with miasma. A scent digging through his inflight respirator as he stands beneath his courier ship – the makeshift basket dropped at his feet….

“I don’t recall,” Trey bites his lip as the pain in his spine surges, shoulders seizing as it sparks between and aches against the scratching knobs at his back. “I only delivered things; I can never recall which I delivered where. Scan and drop, that’s what I did.”

“I hear what you are saying,” they sigh, pulling up the tube digging into Trey’s inner elbow. It makes him hiss, the inserted needle affixed into place by spires. “But there’s no reason to believe someone that doesn’t exist anymore, isn’t it?” Trey’s eyes spark with fear as the Administer slide the canister open, easing the ill sack into their palm and inserting the spout end into the drip.

“I heard Ballas’ gardens were magnificent,” they chide, sitting back as their hands knead the ill fluid down the tube. There’s only a gentle sway as Trey tries to pull away, yet he’s kept firmly in place by wrist and neck, fighting against the chilling cold restraints in desperation. “They make for such fine experiment grounds, those colonies. We have to at least thank you for the service of keeping them alive for so long,” they laugh, tilting their brilliant golden sight as the courier writhes in pain, veins engorging with the sickly fluid oozing into his veins.

“You know how hard it was to remove someone as hard working as you from the manifests?” the Administer scolds, pushing the agonizing fluid to swarm into Trey’s veins, kneading another agonized choked cry from Trey. It blooms through his nerves, overloading his senses as it burns through his elbow and shoulder, fingers digging against the arm rest as he tries to pull away from the pain – much to the Administer’s amusement. “You were instrumental to so many tests on our subordinate populous; why now do you choose to rebel when we’re in the middle of a war?”

Teeth gnashing, breath heaving as his veins strain to absorb the virus that begins to course through him; it’s too much, he wheezes, head thrown back as it crawls through his heart and chest. It swarms through him in a torrent of unassuming agony, like daggers tracing through each individual nerve ending, sparking him into silence as the Administer’s words fall onto ears made deaf – the pain is too much.

There’s no solace for him as the bag drains, his nerves crawling with microscopic prickles of pain, jolting him aware and agonized as his eyes remain shut. A hand cups his face downwards, forcing him to stare at his tormenter with a stern glare. “I’m not telling you anything,” he hisses, coughing as his throat tightens up in pain. And, to his defiance, their dagger sharp nail digs into his heaving stomach, cutting into his gut.

“You -will- talk, 20964, but I’m certain that you’ve already made your choice at the start,” they sigh, yanking his insides towards them, making him agonize and writhe. “That fluid, is not the same as what you delivered,” they grin beneath the hallowing hood, “it was specially crafted by dear executor Ballas’ command. You’re not suited to become a blooming garden… at least not yet.” And they release his side, letting Trey ache and strain, blood dripping over his pants as he heaves.

“You Orokin, are tyrants,” Trey snarls, trying his best to itch the crawling beneath his skin, the agony sparking in every muscular movement as he tries to find an unyielding comfort. “I know how you fucks operate,” he growls, hissing as he arches from the crawling inside his veins. “Everything is just paneling for the next greatness, even you –“ and he bites his tongue as pain surges through his stomach – a blade sticking out of his middle where it’s been jammed into his guts.

“Shut your mouth,” sternly states the administer, twisting the knife with a self-assuring twitch. “There’s nothing left for you to achieve, traitor. This fluid,” they motion to the other five canisters, filled with the same illing liquid that churns Trey’s stomach – though he can’t feel it as much with a knife twisted inside his guts. His legs contort below him as he tries to kick the Administer away, faltering as their armor is flawlessly sleek, bare feet sliding from it as he’s pushed back once more.

And he shutters as the chair falls forward again, gasping as blood pours from the stab wound over his pants – overlapping the other soak stains that decorate it. The blade glides against his arm, smearing his blood against his skin, removing it completely from the blade as the Administer returns to their comfortable chair, letting it lie against their robe as they pop another bag from a canister. “The coordinates of the suppliers, where are they?”

“I’m not telling,” Trey gasps, watching as the fluid begins to ooze through the IV again.

“Who are your contacts, to smuggle the weapons from?”

“I’m not telling,” Trey writhes, feet and hands twisting as the burning fluid courses through his nerves.

“The location; the weapon storage,” where is it?”

“Fuck you,” Trey hisses, aching as his nerves are alight again by the jagged feeling, his veins bulging as the infested fluid coats through his body, drawing him to gasp as it strikes through his heart and the pain contorts. He growls as the pain surges through his organs, hammering in his throat, burning through his cortex and making him queasy.

And he throws up, choking against the restraint around his neck, throat burning as any meal he once had spreads down over his bleeding gut and stained pants. It’s never-the-less another result of the agonizing pain, his eyes squeezing shut as he contorts, legs pushing against the floor as his blood begins to fizzle, sparking his nerves again senseless as his thoughts go blank.

There’s nothing but pain. Jagged and stabbing as he can only endure it as sickly fluid drips against his skin – his blood and sick making him queasy yet again as the pungent smell festers.

The Administer continues to sit there, kneading the fluid into his veins, staring and bored.

He doesn’t wait for the initial pain to subside as the bag runs empty.

“I will ask again; where did you get the weapons?”

“I said,” Trey gasps, choking as his stomach rolls over – at least it felt like it did, “fuck. You.”

They sigh from where they sat, picking up another canister. “You know, this is disappointing. You had such promise,” they chide, turning their frown towards him. “But you had to go and get soft; now did you?”

Trey only glares back, breath huffing as he tries to restrain himself in the restraints.

“Why don’t you explain to me, what you think this might do?” And Trey at first says nothing, only glaring, “come on, don’t be shy.” And pops the third bag of viral liquid into the IV connector.

“Another Orokin bioweapon,” is all Trey curses, spitting in the Administer’s general direction. “Go ahead and turn me into a pile of goo; I’m not saying anything.”

“Oh, this won’t turn you into a pile of goo,” they grin, gently squeezing the bag of fluid to rush into Trey’s veins. “You’ll become a tool once more, a frame for war under Orokin control.” And Trey’s teeth grit, features twisted as the matter plunges through his veins, writhing as veins burst from the overloading fluids. “You will not think for yourself anymore… what was your name again?”

Trey’s unable to speak, his voice cracking as his organs begin to puddle in his abdomen, sickly grey fluid gushing from the stab wound in his gut.

“Oh, that’s right. You don’t have a name!” They laugh, “You’re nothing! But, at least you will still be of use,” they smile, pushing the bag against their knee, pushing the fluid through the straining IV. “But, there is still time to say where you got the weapons from, 20964. Fess up, and I’ll end your suffering.”

Barely conscious, swarmed in agony, Trey grits his teeth, staring down beneath his sweat coated bangs.

“FUCK. YOU.”

The Administer frowns. “So be it, then,” picking up their knife. “That was your final choice; either to ‘volunteer’ or not. You were a good pilot, it’s sad to see you come to this.”

A bold-faced lie.

Trey’s helpless as they grab his jaw, forcing his head backwards as the knife spreads his mouth wider – tears dripping over his slopping teeth as his muscles slop beneath his control.

As he stares up – the Administer’s eyes are glowing, “open wide.”

And he can’t fight it, helpless as his jaw trembles wide, his cheeks split and bleeding.

The blade dances beneath his tongue, jamming itself between his teeth and throat as it cuts and slices – eyes watering closed as the pain in his mouth is nothing to the fizzling in his gut.

There’s a flop against his lap; his mouth bleeding no matter how much he tries … he can’t spit, only able to drool as his head hangs lull.

Saliva and blood oozes over the restraints, dripping over hands trying to cradle his head steady as the blade dances further up his face.

And prods against his eyes.

Noise is nothing as fluid drips down his cheeks – eyelids sagging as objects once holding them sink into their sockets empty of fluid.

“Fak oou,” he whimpers, trembling beneath the resurging pain.

Nothing.

He can see nothing.

His eyes are fucking gone.

Hands knead against the arm rests as he hears the Administer step away, their knife sliding again against his bare arms as they mumble beneath their breath.

“Now I’ve gone and gotten my robes dirty,” they complain, tinkering with objects on their side table.

Another bag, is all he can figure, listening to them fumble, ready for the agonizing rush through his liquidating veins.

Again, it hits like a hammer, feeling his body contort under the viral bombardment, senses twisting as he can only dripple whatever is left in his gut. Writhing, agonizing, he can feel his body go numb and burning, kicking against the floor as tries to push it all away – useless. “Try all you might,” the Administer musters, “but you made your choice.”

His body…. He can’t feel his body as he tries to twist in the restraints, until his bones begin to snap.

Then it’s nothing but gargling screams, haplessly struggling as bones snap like twigs, skin stretching and tearing as the infestation takes his flesh as its own. Inside his elbow he can feel the fluid oozing again – was it the final bag? He’s uncertain as all he can feel is unrelenting pain, blooming him jagged and anxious, burning for any solace, any peace as he can hear his body contort in putty metamorphosis. He can feel the Administer’s presence – they’re just watching him, watching him suffer.

Watching his body blooming hollow and angry, what remains of his voice gagging and twisting, agonizing as it turns from whimpering cries to guttural growls – his mine reading blank as all can be felt is the unbridled pain. What did he do to deserve this? He can’t even remember – not like he was in any state to as he pulls against the restraints, struggling as the other voice just laughs.

How Orokin of them.

How very Orokin.

And it echoes in his mind as his body shells itself, snapping the restraints, hands digging through soft and malleable.

How very Orokin they taste.

Metallic. Bitter.

Claws, sharp and jagged, dig into fabric and jaw, scooping through fragmenting skull bones as his back cracks and bones snap into place. Its not done, he can feel as the pain corrodes through his spine, reaching back for the shape embedded at the base of his neck. Yet all is found is skin, skin twisting under his transformation as all his mind can bend is to pain, the suffering, the anger boiling through his gut as his claws dig through the flesh of Orokin tyranny.

But were they really Orokin?

It doesn’t matter, his senseless mind concludes, engorging himself on their face, tearing through their chest rending their fabric.

Anger.

Rage festers through him as he yanks through the bones, picking through the remains.

He’s so hungry.

And plucks through their flesh, peeling strips from the bones before biting through to the marrow.

His stomach aches, burdened and yet…

So hollow and empty.

It festers inside him as he picks through the messy fabric, frantic as he picks through the devices laid upon the table beside the chair – no flesh to eat.

It collides with the side wall, crashing as he snaps himself around the room for a means to escape, to feed the burning starvation inside his gut. Claws find nothing against the sleek walls, scratching helplessly as he’s left blind, driven by instinct to eat – escape, escape from here.

His mind rings silent as he digs against the structure, finding the door and wailing, screaming to be let out.

But there’s nothing.

And pacing doesn’t help – as his legs wobble beneath him, crawling and scratching as he incircles the room, jumping towards the lighting fixture for any crack – and nothing.

There’s nothing to eat, his mind fines folly, his only sense of direction being a mental map, the sound of things clattering on his body as it finally begins to settle around a mind ringing null.

Where is he… his mind slurs, only a figment of wording as senses run recesses, looping in confusion as he tries anything, biting through the fabric remains of a body left with him.

And there’s no questions where he is.

No quandary about what happened, as his stomach aches for food.

Not even as a pressure tightens around his chest, squeezing his arms against his side, struggling to fight free of sudden captivity. His voice neither cries or asks, only screeches and growls, mind numb to the noises around him, the banter he’s unable to concentrate on. The conversation about him as he’s held in restraints and lashes out with a serrating mouth – snarling like a mad beast.

“There’s nothing left in this one,” a voice sighs, forcing weight down onto a dark tan back while avoiding the curled horns lashing back. “What a fucking idiot, locking himself up while administering the serum,” and barely prevents the freshly metamorphized warframe from rolling over – straining to take a bite out of their shoulder.

“What should we do with it, any idea who it was?” Another spits, tying up legs striking out towards the trio.

“No idea, manifest has already been wiped. Just get them out to the next transference transport, might find some use there,” the first sighs, watching the loki struggle and hiss, claws tied behind his back and snarling.

Their mind reading blank.