#It feels SO GOOD to finally show the Override crew off.

[ronearoundblindly]

Warning Signs

um, I've had a miserable day, so I wrote angst that absolutely no one asked for. Partly hurt/comfort, too. Totally unedited. No descriptions of injury. Just feels and sweet, protective Steve. WC 1.7k

Summary: Your first bad mission shows Steve how you handle tragedy.

Silence.

The quinjet is flooded with it, thick and suffocating. You'd never know there were eight living souls on board.

Plus two bodies.

Steve's worked with everyone around (alive or dead) for a long time, but not you. He watches you follow the pattern of everyone else's grief. As much as he hates to be dismissive, this is standard stuff for the team.

If he had to guess, he's looking at the numb phase. They'll touch down at the base and go through the motions. You'll make it to your quarters, take an absurdly long shower, possibly have a meltdown, maybe blow off steam at the gym, and emerge 'feeling better.'

It won't actually be better. It doesn't actually get easier. He knows that very, very well.

He hears a sniffle and starts, thinking it's you, but in fact, Sam's broken first. That's not a bad sign; it's actually good. Sam Wilson likely broke on purpose, to set an example, to show it's okay to not feel okay, to begin the mourning properly so that you all can heal. He's a good man that way.

Sam wipes his eyes. He makes no moves to step away for privacy.

Your face is blank as you stand from your jumpseat. Steve watches with fascination while you gather bottles of water and the med kit. You make rounds to everyone, completely expressionless. You look over every person for injuries, cleaning every single cut before moving to the next. You walk a tight circle around him and, seeing no damage, step back without a word, handing him his water like a prize lolly at a doctor's visit.

Finally, you go to Sam, and he obediently stands to be inspected, holding out his wrist and forearm crusted in blood.

Arms clamp around him. Your hug is brutal, strong, and a push that sends Sam over the edge of 'example' into the deep end of reality. One by one, each member aboard breaks. Steve's never seen anything like it. They are all close. They are all comfortable enough to see each other and be seen by each other this way, but not around you.

Not yet, Steve would have thought, but he takes a seat and buries his face in his hands, too. He lets himself drown for a few minutes.

Collectively, the flood of emotion drains away, and it's a shocking difference. By no means has everyone healed, but they've vaulted several of the usual hurdles all on a single ride home.

You're still hugging Sam when Steve collects himself for touchdown. The door lowers, breaking another seal of silence, and you let go.

Steve stiffens.

Your face is still blank, eyes distant and unfocused, cheeks dry.

You let nothing go. Not a single tear. It looks like you drank down the grief of seven war-weary soldiers and are just holding it inside.

You walk out first after letting the med crew come in. Steve can't follow because the nurses fuss over everyone and bombard him with questions. You're gone by the time he looks back down the ramp.

He's only able to come to your door hours later.

You don't answer. F.R.I.D.A.Y. confirms you are inside. Still no answer.

"Dammit," Steve whispers. He doesn't want to have to do this, but since you've never been on a mission like this one with him, he has no standard for how you process.

"Override the door. Authorization gamma four foxtrot."

"Override accepted, Captain," the AI gently announces, and the magnetic latch pops open.

Slowly, Steve's eyes roll over the whole room, trying to remain as calm as possible.

The place is trashed. Mattress flipped against the window, squishing and bending the blinds. Chair upsidedown on the unaligned boxsprings. A dent in the headboard above shattered lamp pieces. Dresser and nightstands face down on the carpet. You're nowhere in sight.

He can hear water running, so he immediately goes to the closed bathroom and knocks, shouting your name.

Nothing happens.

He tries the handle. Locked.

Steve's way past being nice about this. His shoulder cracks through the hollow wood easily, and he bursts in.

There's no steam.

Through the glass doors, he can't see you standing. There's a dark streak above the rim of the tub basin.

He leaps forward, careful not to grab the glass so hard he shatters it (and he knows he can because he's done that twice).

You're curled up, facing away, drenched and letting cold water run all over you, fully clothed.

Steve says your name gently, heart racing now with concern. He uses a grip at the back of your neck to check for a pulse as well as turn you.

Blank. Your face is still devoid of...anything. You're completely catatonic.

He reaches over to turn off the water.

"Okay," he soothes, "okay, sweetheart. It's okay. Here we go."

He slides an arm under your legs, supportive hold still at your neck, and lifts you out of the tub and straight onto his lap, soaking himself and the bathmat.

"Come on, sweetheart. I got ya."

Steve scurries to yank two towels from the rack above him and covers you loosely. Your eyes don't meet his. You don't appear to see him at all.

He's seen all sorts of versions of shell shock--poorly treated and well handled alike--and he knows several things he can do.

But he just waits. He watches you blink and breathe, and that's it. That is the sum total of what your body can muster for who knows how long.

Your hair is half dry and the pads of his fingers are wrinkled by the time you turn your head in towards the crook of his elbow and shut your eyes.

Steve sighs, wrapping the towels a little tighter and adjusting you closer in his hold.

"We're okay. We're going to be okay." He pets strands of hair off of your face. "You did everything right. You did everything you could. We all did."

Steve keeps saying aloud what he thinks to himself after each mission, except when he says it to you, he means it. He's proud of you, and he says it. He promises to take care of you, and he will. He keeps talking, slowly rocking back and forth until his own heart has calmed and you're sleeping.

He keeps holding you but stretches out his legs because they've fallen asleep, too. He can't carry you while his lower half tingles painfully. Soon enough though, he's standing, adjusting you to allow him to maneuver past doorways easily.

He can't get any of your clothes from the upended furniture and there's nowhere to lay you down. Steve barely thinks before heading straight to his own room, towels still dangling from you and his arm, but he finally hesitates when his twitching fingers remind him of your wet tac suit.

The whole point was not to take you to the infirmary while you slept, but he can't possibly change you without waking you.

He makes an executive decision. You have to rest, and the best way to get started on a proper rest is to get you comfortable and dry first.

Steve sets you down in his chair, leaving the towels bunched under you as he steps away to find a shirt and shorts for you to wear. He returns to see you awake with heavy eyelids, sitting up but slouching.

The blank face is back, so he asks you to change. You don't move.

He asks you to stand up, and you look down at your feet before pushing up off the chair.

"Can you give me those wet clothes?"

He turns around when you start to unzip the suit, waiting for the squelch of fabric hitting his floor to stop.

Offering the stack of clean things without looking, Steve says, "these are for you."

Nothing happens.

He peeks over his shoulder to find you staring at the wall, and he knows he'll have to do this himself.

T-shirt first, he bunches it open and ready while still turned away.

"Arms up."

He looks only at your hands to align the sleeve, lets it fall and drape to cover as much of you as possible, and then pops your head out. He sweeps away the hair that pushed over your face again.

Next, the shorts.

"Left leg, please. Good. Now the right. Thank you, sweetheart." Steve's kneeling, pulling the elastic wide enough to not drag his thumbs up your legs, but he still grazes the swell of your hips before releasing the band.

"Are you tired? You can sleep some more here."

You look over at the bed, his bed, completely unfazed. You don't even nod. You shuffle over and lay atop the covers, facing in, hands between your tucked-up knees, still staring.

Steve takes that as a win and sets about short tasks to get himself settled as well, checking on you after everyone, eventually laying on the other side of the bed.

Your eyes are closed, so he thinks you've fallen asleep and turns out the lights. He tries not to move around too much and disturb you until you speak.

Your voice is so small, so flat.

"Why them?"

Steve turns back to face you in the dark. "I don't know," he offers as honestly as he can. "I don't know."

Your breathing comes a little heavier for a while. "Why can't I feel anything?"

Tentatively, he lifts a hand to the dip of your waist, hiding his heartbreak deep down in his gut.

"Because you'll feel too much every other day--" his thumb sways back and forth over the worn cotton of his shirt over your skin "--and sometimes you need a break. It's okay. I'm right here."

"What are you gonna do?" The words choke you, laced with fear of having failed in some way so soon. He knows that judgment. He judged himself that way until the day he realized: mourning doesn't make him a better soldier but it does make him a better man.

Steve can give you the same gift. He can give you space to mourn.

"Watch over you, sweetheart," he mutters, "just like I promised."

[Sequel: Yield]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[heretic-saint-taliesin]

DAY 17 - SALVAGE SHIP THE WRETCHED_

[Communications commence, Boris sounds tired_] 

Day Seventeen, salvage ship The Wretched. I wonder how long ago I went insane. I’m definitely insane now_

I just keep trying to keep moving, that’s all I can do_

[The audio cuts back in and Boris sounds upbeat. There is an undertone of forcedness in it but it is definitely less depressed than previous entries_]

Today had the nerve to start off decently. It’s taken me weeks of looking and searching but finally, finally I found the fucking electricity override guard. The simplist tool had to go and be the one that evaded me for almost three weeks since shit went down. It diverts the electrics and keeps them on a safe killswitch so I can work on things - and the amount of repairs I’ve done with the very real risk of crispy-frying myself off of the fucking electrics because I couldn’t find it are one too many! And where of all places does it show up? The crew quarters! Fucking HELL!_

[He sighs heavily but it is a relieved sigh_] 

I’m not letting this shit out my sight anymore. My chances of the electrics fucking up again are too great to let it be set down anywhere. I put it in my belt and it’s never ever coming off of me now. Not even when I sleep_

[Boris can be heard patting his side_] 

Still there. Good. Good… This is fine. Hell! I could even get some work done today!_

[There’s the sound of an alarm blaring distantly that comes over as the audio cuts in. Boris sounds defeated_]

I take it all back. We are back to our regularly scheduled “shit’s fucked” hours once again. I get myself all motivated to try and repair the engines and it turns out I don’t even need to risk electricity death to almost end up deep fried!_

[He groans and smacks a hand to his forehead loudly_]

Fire in the engine. Almost got me too. It flared up so quickly. Maybe there was some residual fuel or something around the engine I just didn’t notice. There wasn’t anything I could do either - we’ve fire extinguishers sure but they’re for small fires and ADAM was the one who could set the firefighting system off for big ones not me_

[Sigh_]

So I got out, sealed the section and just jettisoned the engine out entirely. No more fire - maybe a slight distraction for the thing out there for a bit. Maybe I can be really lucky and it will have got caught up in the fire and died? Who the fuck knows. My days just aren’t allowed to be good anymore_

[There is a long gap between the previous audio and the proceeding. When audio cuts back in, Boris is laughing, his breathing shallow and panicked like he is coming down off an extreme adrenaline rush. He pauses to gather himself but can’t stop interrupting himself with laughing and coughing_] 

Oh my god_ 

[He pauses again to laugh and then yells_]

IF THIS WAS THE SIGN I LOST MY FUCKING MIND THEN I BELIEVE IT! THAT WAS INSANE! INSANITY! OFF MY FUCKING NUT!_

[More laughing, but he seems to calm slightly_]

I space walked. I did a fucking SPACE WALK while the thing was busy fucking around on the engine I fired off. It was my only chance right? Sure, at any point it could have seen me and hopped back over to make lunchmeat of me but it didn’t - IT FUCKING DIDN’T!_ 

[Boris takes several deep, wheezing breaths_]

I think I almost died of a stress induced heart attack from it all though. Being out in the cold of space when you know you’re not alone somehow makes you feel even more exposed and vulnerable than ever. I think every noise had me jumping and twitching… But it was worth it. So worth it. Space is unforgiving, when all you’ve got to protect you is the suit and a line that connects you to the ship_

For a moment I thought about cutting the cord entirely and just… Floating away. I can’t tell if I’m insane, suicidal or both. But… I had success, it’s been worth it. I have to keep telling myself that_ 

[Boris’ audio cuts for a moment and then returns, he’s noticeably calmer now as he talks_]

The beacon’s range has improved. Not by much but I got it to go a little wider than it could before. Who knows if anyone will hear anything before I die but at least… At least it’s something. A shred of hope. The electricity override tool I found this morning helped and I didn’t get killed. Maybe the engine fire was a good thing after all? Who knows - who cares! I did it! I did it myself! One step closer to… To something!_

Maybe there’s some good in today. Just a little. Arya wouldn’t want me to die so easily. If I can survive a space walk maybe I can survive all of this_

[Soft sigh_]

It’s always the hope that hurts the most_

Flight Engineer Boris Strugatsky Signing off_ 

[stardestroyer81]

On September 11th, 2020, I posted this, a teaser for a 'faux Earthbound-inspired project' featuring four brightly colored silhouettes of its four main characters. The concept and characters were shrouded in mystery up until April 7th of the following year, where I posted yet another teaser in the form of an in-game screenshot, revealing the character of Lauren Henley and the project's placeholder title, Project 2000.

In that post, I mentioned that Project 2000 isn't the project's final name, and that I would be unveiling its true name later on down the line. The truth of the matter was that I could have gone and revealed the true name as early as... well, 2020 if I wanted to. But a lot of the project was still being figured out at that time (Including the designs of its main characters!), and I wanted to hold off on revealing anything more until I knew I was 100% ready to explain what this 'Project 2000' even is.

Now, nearing a year after I posted the initial first teaser, I feel as though it's about time to introduce a few more original characters of mine to this blog, and with that being said...

Let's talk about Override!

Shigesato Itoi's 1994 cult classic Earthbound (Known as MOTHER 2 in Japan) flopped due to misleading marketing when it came around to being released in the states, but its witty humor, nonstandard JRPG setting and its colorful visual presentation proved to be a hit to the American audience in due time.

This, of course, led to creators opting to shape games around a similar basis to Earthbound, whether its in terms of graphical style, humor, battle tactics, and much more. I think the most popular example when the phrase "Earthbound-Inspired RPG" comes to mind is undoubtedly Toby Fox's Undertale, which shared a lot of the same humor as its inspiration as well as a similar graphical style.

Some fans liked the MOTHER series so much that they wanted to take the franchise into their own hands and create the next installment after Shigesato Itoi stated that MOTHER 3 was the last game in the franchise, and MOTHER 4 began production by fans. Many Winter 2014s later, it was unsure if the game was still in production, though the project was officially rebranded as its own entity as Oddity in 2020.

Override is, essentially, my kind of Undertale/Oddity, mixing elements from Earthbound, MOTHER 3, the Y2K bug and the general 2000s aesthetic together into one. By that first part, I mean it's an Earthbound-Inspired RPG crafted by my own hand (Dating as far back as mid-2019); it, of course, isn't an actual game, but rather a collection of conceptual art pieces and faux in-game screenshots I've made detailing what it would look like as a real game (Like Mega Man Ultimate).

Oh, right, the plot! Bear in mind that a lot of the finer details of Override's story haven't quite been figured out yet, but I can say that I at least have enough to finally get around to talking about it.

Charles Feldman, CEO of Synergon Robotics, longs to spearhead a dystopian world with an invincible army of technologic law-enforcers, though finds it almost impossible to in his current time, the year 2095, where such technology is commonplace.

For years, he has meticulously shaped a plan where he, a team of subordinates and all the robo-security he could need would time travel back just before the year 2000, wherein he would corrupt all technology at that point with a 'Y2K Bug' and force the denizens of the world to live a lifestyle not unlike the events of the novel 1984, wherein humanity's every move is closely observed, and if someone steps out of line, they fall to the wrath of the Synergon Police.

His plan, for the most part, is successful. He travels back to the date November 18th, 1997 to have enough time to prepare for his eventual world-ruling plan on midnight, January 1st, 2000. The aforementioned Synergon police are armed with powerful devices called 'Psiometers', which are watch-like gadgets which connect to the user's neural network to unlock the powers of the mind.

Psiometers alongside other tech necessary for Feldman's ploy are transferred base-to-base in the middle of the night via drones, which are equipped with cameras and can hold up to twenty pounds of equipment. However, on the night of December 30th, 1999, a flaw in the wrap-up of Feldman's ultimate plan occurs, when a last minute drone delivery of two Psiometer units results in a crash.

The drone lands in the yard of the Henley residence. Nine and a half year old Lauren Henley overhears the crash and goes outside to investigate, finding the busted drone amidst the snow. After another brief malfunction, it shuts itself down, and Lauren, vowing to figure out its origins, drags it into the garage and goes back to bed...

December 31st, 1999. Lauren brings the Synergon drone to her neighbor's house, and shows it to her best friend, nine year old Casey Treverton. The two shortly discover the drone's contents, and Lauren instantly suspects there's more to the Synergon story. They ultimately are short on answers for the time being, and keep the whole thing a secret from their parents until later that night...

One minute until the new year. Casey and Lauren hurry to the downstairs of the Treverton residence to catch the ball drop for the new millennium. Whatever weirdness happened earlier is put on the backburner as the two flop down in front of the TV, eagerly counting down the seconds left of 1999.

"5... 4... 3... 2..."

Then, a nationwide power shortage. Nobody has any clue what's going on. Eventually, the TV flickers back on, and instead of the new year festivities they had been watching prior, the picture depicts a grizzled although finely dressed man in front of a white backdrop; Charles Feldman.

He states that his message is being broadcast across every television in the country, and reveals his lengthy plan to create a highly technical dystopian society overseen by Synergon Robotics, threatening to rewire any technology he pleases for the worst should anyone oppose him.

Casey and Lauren grimace at each other.

Three months pass. Not a lot has changed this early on in, though the citizens of Maywood are under close surveillance by various automatons to make sure nobody tries anything funny. Lauren decides that she has had enough of this 'Synergon Business' and asks Casey if he's interested in figuring out how the Psiometers work and using them against Synergon to ultimately take them down.

At first, Casey is unsure, true to his nervous personality. There isn't any rational way two children could lead to the downfall of an entity which has taken over the world, but Lauren is sure of their success, and with enough coercing the two embark on a mission to take back what's theirs. Who do they meet along the way? Just how deep does the Synergon plan run? And will they reign victorious? Only time will tell...

Well, now that we have the lengthy scene-setting out of the way, let's check out the good stuff; checking out the four heroes of Override which were teased last year! It's a good thing I chose to wait to show their designs off, because the silhouettes shown in the teaser weren't the same designs as what I have now. So, let's get right into it!

It may have taken much longer than I expected to show Override off, but at the very least that means I can now get around to posting/writing about what I've come up for it! I have a lot of Override-related content on the way, though I find that this is an excellent way to introduce its world! A LOT of work was put into this, so I hope you've enjoyed everything this post has to offer!

[universalimagines]

Apathy is Death Part 2

Ok so this one took a absurd amount of time to finally write up and post but its finally up and ready. Like the first part, I took a lot of inspiration from several older shows I used to watch to help build this plot. Hope you like how it came out.

The trek back to the nearest Federation Starbase was becoming very tense. The revelation of what the away team had discovered on the Shran had spread through the ship like wildfire. The news had put everyone on edge. Despite numerous investigations by the science team and several security sweeps of the Shran, nothing came up that could shed even the tiniest hint as to what happened.

And without a cause, the crew had turned to paranoia. Theories had ranged from the unplausible like Klingons having poisoned their food supply to the deranged like a new Romulan weapon designed to curb aggressive behavior.

Normally Spock would’ve found the human proclivity towards these ideas to be fascinating, but it was slowly becoming dangerous. Spock had noticed that anytime the lights even flickered, any nearby crew he saw grew severely agitated. He’d even had to intervene when two Andorian and Tellarite crewmembers had nearly come to blows with mutual accusations.

“Number One to Spock.” Spock stopped his march to the science lab to answer his communicator.

“Go ahead sir.” He replied.

“Ensign Lance hasn’t shown up for his shift on the bridge yet and he’s over half an hour overdue.” Una stated.

“That is the twelfth crewmen who has been late for their shift in the last two days.” Spock added, a small amount of irritation present in his voice. He quickly shut his annoyance down. He had to remind himself to keep his temper in check. While lateness to a bridge shift was wholly unprofessional, it served no purpose to allow his irritation to be so obvious. “I am close to junior officer crew quarters. Would you prefer I retrieve him?”

“Please do Mr Spock.” Una said. She continued though a great deal softer. “He better have a good reason for his tardiness. Ensign Christina looks like she’s about to pass out at her console right now.”

“I will endeavor to hurry then. Spock out.” He closed his communicator and followed the corridors till he found Ensign Lance’s quarters.

Spock pressed the ring and waited. After a minute with no response, he rung the door again. When no one came, he used his security override to open the door. Inside he found Ensign Lance, laying flat on the bed, still in his uniform from yesterday’s shift.

Spock could feel the anger rising in himself. Taking a sigh of exasperation, he turned to the matter synthesizer and requested a glass of water. He walked over to the sleeping Ensign and threw the water on the man’s face.

Ensign lance sputtered to life as the water hit him. Sluggishly, he rose himself from his bed muttering a dozen human curses until he saw Spock’s face.

“Sir.” Ensign Lance stammer out. “What… What are you doing here?”

“Ensign, you are over thirty minutes late for your shift on the bridge.” Spock said, trying to sound professional while keeping his annoyance in check.

“Oh shit…” Lance said as he looked around his room. “I must have slept in.” “That much is obvious.” Spock snarked at him. Taking a breath before his continued. “Please take a minute to put a clean uniform shirt on then head up to the bridge to replace Ensign Christina.”

Spock then departed and headed for the bridge. Within a minute, he could hear what he presumed was Ensign Lance fast walking in order to catch up. The two took the turbolift in silence to the bridge.

Once they were on the bridge, Spock turned to sit at his own console whilst the two Ensigns began their swap off. As Ensign Christina departed from her seat, she “accidently” smacked her shoulder into Ensign Lance.

“Ow! What the hell?” Lance complained.

“Oops.” Christina said, no sympathy at all in her voice.

“Look I’m sorry I’m late. I’m just so tired.” Lance said.

“So am I!” Christina retorted, getting the attention of nearly everyone on the bridge. “But at least I wasn’t the one almost an hour late for his shift.”

“Enough you two!” Una ordered as she pinched her brow.

“Given how you’ve been nodding off at the console the last two days, I don’t think you’re in the best place to complain.” Lance countered closing the distance between them. “Maybe if you calmed down, you wouldn’t be acting like such bitch!”

That sent her over the edge. Christina slapped him, hard. There was a moment of dead silence on the bridge as Lance and Christina book took in what had just happened. But when that moment ended, all hell broke loose. Both Ensigns started attacking each other with full fury. For Spock, it was like watching two Klingon warriors trying to rip each other to bits. Una and La’an stepped in to grab and extract Ensign Christina while Spock and Ortegas subdued Ensign Lance.

“Get them off the bridge!” Pike ordered. Two security officers arrived a minute later, grabbed the two ensigns and escorted them off the bridge. Once they were gone, Pike led Una, Spock and La’an to his ready room.

“What the hell is going on here?” Pike asked to his officers.

“Everyone on this ship is on edge sir.” La’an sighed loudly. “Without answers, people are starting to panic as paranoia and fear take over.

“Furthermore sir, LT Hemmer’s report of lighting and other power issues throughout the ship is fueling those fears.” Spock added. “People are starting to fear that what happened to the Shran might happen here.”

“Are we in danger of that happening here?” Una asked, poorly disguised worry in her voice.

“I am uncertain.” Spock admitted. “We simply do not possess enough information as to the cause of the Shran’s losses. Without more information, we have no way of knowing if our own misfortunes are cause for greater concern beyond simple low morale.”

“I’ve seen ships with low morale, never ones where crewmembers repeatedly late and picking fights on the bridge.” La’an started to lean against the table. Spock could tell just looking at her that she was exhausted.

“Maybe we can do something to raise their spirits.” Pike wondered aloud. “Something to keep them from killing each other till we make port.”

“Movie night? Large banquet?” Una offered.

La’an gave a small laugh. “Yeah I can see it now. Distracting everyone with an episode of…”

But she didn’t finish that sentence. La’an lost her grip on the table and started to fall to the floor. Spock was there in record time to catch her before she hit the ground, letting her brace herself on his chest, he helped her back to her feet.

“You ok La’an?” Una asked in her motherly voice that La’an had known far too well.

“I’m fine.” La’an said avoiding eye contact as Spock lowered her down to the nearby chair. “I just… lost my balance”

Una took a seat next to her cupping her face in her hands. “La’an, when was the last time you slept?”

The question seemed to puzzle La’an for a second. “Umm… I…”

Una sighed. “Did you stay up all night again? Oh La’an.” Una said the last part with the same tone a mother might use when gently chastising their child.

La’an turned away sheepishly. She felt bad for having upset Una. The woman had been like a second mother to her, and it never sat well with her whenever Una was disappointed with her actions.

Spock interjected to save her. “Perhaps LT, now would be a good time to take a sick day and recuperate?”

La’an nodded silently. She tried to stand up but her feet felt like jelly and she just about collapsed again. Like before, Spock was there to catch her and help balance her. “Can you…” She began.

“I will assist you back to your room.” Spock answered tenderly as he readjusted his grip on her to make her more comfortable. The two then exited the conference room and began the trek back to La’an’s quarters.

The walk back was abnormally solitary. Given La’an’s slower pace, the trip was taking a great deal longer than normal. After several minutes of awkward silence, La’an finally spoke. “I served on the Shran once.”

“You did?” Spock asked surprised by her decision to reveal such information. “Did you know any of the current crew?”

“Not many. Most had transferred out after I left.” La’an answered. “But I did know one of the ship’s security officers. LT David North. He took over my position after I transferred out. But I knew him from before.”

“Before?” Spock inquired. “We were students at the academy together.” La’an answered. “I didn’t have many friends at the academy, but he and I were still close.”

“Were you two ever…” Spock asked, a hint of jealousy in his voice.

La’an gave a small smile. The concept that her big, tall logical Vulcan could feel an emotion like jealousy was unexpected but extremely funny to her. “No. We bonded over shared loss. He’d lost his family to the Klingons during a raid before the war. I guess we both bonded over our loss.”

Spock nodded as the pair continued down the hallway until they neared sickbay. As they arrived, they saw two of their fellow officers, LTs Mitchell and Ortegas having a rather heated discussion. “Look I don’t want to talk about Erica.” Mitchell said, her tone showcasing her evident frustration.

“I’m telling you it can’t have been that bad.” Erica joked. “Come on we all do embarrassing stuff here. Did I ever tell you about that time at the academy when I…”

“You have.” Mitchell said with more annoyance in her voice. “Many times.”

“When then you know.” Erica smiled and continued her argument as if she hadn’t been interrupted. “We all mess up and do funny stuff.”

“What happened wasn’t funny Erica.” Jenna countered angrily. “What I saw there was downright terrifying, and I don’t feel like laughing about how pathetic I must’ve looked. Everyone else has done enough of that.”

“Come on you can’t let what everyone else is saying get to you. Erica remarked, a new measure of kindness in her voice. “You want people to stop bugging you about it then you’ve gotta roll with it.”

“I really wish YOU would stop bugging me about it.” Jenna said through gritted teeth. Spock and La’an and stopped their match to her quarters after having seen the tension in Jenna escalating, and Erica apparently being completely ignorant of it.

“Look I��m just trying to help…” But Erica couldn’t finish her sentence. Jenna had grabbed her and slammed her friend against the bulkhead.

Jenna stared over her friend as Erica’s mind caught up to what had just happened. “Stay the hell away from me.” Jenna yelled at her before stomping down the hall in the opposite direction that Spock and La’an were in.

The pair in turn had been frozen to their spot, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Jenna Mitchell and Erica Ortega had been very close friends. Jenna’s aggression at her friend had come as a surprise. Once they got over their shock, the pair moved to Erica and helped her to her feet.

“Are you alright Lieutenant?” Spock asked as he helped Erica up.

“Yeah…” Erica began as she looked down the hallway her friend had left down. “What the hell just happened?”

“It seems the events on the Shran have affected LT Mitchell more so than she had led us to believe.” Spock theorized.

“No kidding.” La’an commented then turned to face Erica. “Has she ever been this way before?”

“No. Jenna’s always been one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. She loves flying ships and musical theatre. She’s not a violent person.” Erica replied defending her friend.

“So what do you think we should do now?” La’an asked tensly. She hated where this line of questioning could go but she needed to ask it. Mitchell had assaulted a fellow officer and that was indeed a court martial level offense. La’an hated having to put her own people on trial but as Chief of Security, it was a necessary duty that she’d sometimes had to perform.

But thankfully Erica Ortegas was not in the mood for such an act. “No please don’t push this any further. I’ll give her a few days of space and talk to her once we make it to the Starbase. She doesn’t deserve to have her career ruined over this.

Erica then removed herself from Spock and La’an’s hold as she departed. Spock and La’an meanwhile continued their trek towards La’an’s quarters. Once inside, La’an thanked him for the escort as she went about removing her uniform and changing into her pajamas.

Meanwhile, Spock took note of the decorations that made up her quarters. La’an’s quarters were remarkably spartan compared to most of the senior officers on the ship. There were a few decorations that he recognized as certificates of achievement and medals from bravery. What he did notice was a low volume of any decorations regarding family. He charted a small picture by the bed of a large group of humans outside a starship that Spock theorized was the S.S. Puget Sound. Another picture he saw contained La’an with LT CMDR Una Chin Riley. Given the background of the academy, Spock suspected this photo was taken on her graduation date. The one that drew the most attention was a small picture on the wall was of a young La’an, perhaps a teenager beside a pair of adults and two teens that he couldn’t identify. Unlike the previous picture where Spock saw either a familiar face or family resemblance, the group in the last photo shared no physical resemblance to her.

La’an had fully changed into a silk black nightgown. She quickly noticed the attention Spock paid to the photo. She walked over to him.

“This group of humans is not anyone I am familiar with.” Spock observed. “Are you friends with them?”

La’an nodded slightly. “Of a sort. They were the family that took me in after I was rescued.”

Spock turned to her with a look of surprise. “I had assumed that you had been raised by CMDR Chin Riley, given the closeness you share.”

“She was around a lot growing up, but she was just starting her own career. She couldn’t take care of me full time, but she made sure I found my way into a good home.” La’an explained.

“What were their names?” He asked.

“Paula and Lenoard.” La’an said softly, as if saying the words would cause something to break.

“You do not mention this family often.” Spock observed.

La’an took a step back from Spock and walked over to the bed, putting a bit of distance between them. “Yeah… I know.”

“May I ask why?” Spock inquired.

La’an sighed. “I guess it’s because I don’t talk to them often.”

Spock gave his classic quizzical eyebrow move, clearly expecting her to continue. “Don’t get me wrong I’m grateful to them for taking me in, but I was trouble. Always getting into fights, creating trouble where none existed.”

“Clearly it must be more than that.” Spock observed.

“Spock…” La’an began as he walked around the bed she’d put between them and gripped her hands in his.

“You clearly care about this family and are grateful to them.” Spock observed. “If not, it is unlikely you would’ve kept a picture of them in your room. So why is it they are causing you such anxiety?

La’an took a shaky breath. “Spock, I was never their true child. They had real children of their own. I was just an obligation they had to fulfill.

Realization dawned for Spock. “Is that why you never changed your name?”

La’an gave a quick nod. “Partly. But also… I didn’t want to forget my family. My parents, my brother. The name might have a stigma but as long as I kept it, at least a part of them would live on in me.”

“That life they gave you isn’t worth much if you refuse to allow yourself to live it.” Spock delivered as softly as he could.

La’an turned her face to him in mild shock. She wanted to argue with him but the fight in her was already gone, because she knew he was right. “Isn’t that what I’ve been doing with you the past few weeks? Plus are you really the best person to judge when it comes to terrible life choices?”

Spock gave her a soft nod of agreement as he helped her lay down on the bed. “Please get yourself some adequate rest. I will see you in the morning.”

As he walked out of her room, she spoke to him. “Hey Spock, you make sure you do the same.”

The next day however didn’t seem to bring the rest any of them needed. Spock had been tossing in his bed for hours, but sleep hadn’t even come. By morning, he’d given up and went to his closet to change into a new pair of clothes

When he arrived in the conference room, everyone looked extremely ragged. LT Hemmer began his brief one everyone was there. “Sir, we’ve been having some power issues throughout the ship.”

“You talking about the annoying light flickering?” Una asked, annoyance evident in her voice.

“That’s only a symptom of the problem.” Hemmer continued. “Several decks are now experiencing power flow problems. The only problem I can’t pinpoint where its coming from. We’ve got plenty of power for this ship, but several decks appear to have been cut from the EPS network.”

Spock look up with concern. “That appears to be very similar to what LT Mitchell reported on the Shran.”

“Possibly.” Hemmer continued. “But I’m worried my crew is too exhausted right now to conduct such repairs. Since the Shran, the crew’s been having difficulties sleeping and they’ve been getting into more fights than ever.”

Spock looked to La’an in concern. “Fine whatever.” CPT Pike replied.

Hemmer, Spock and La’an looked at Pike is disbelief. “Sir?” Hemmer asked.

“As long as we make it to port intact, I don’t care if you resolve it not or when we’re back.” Pike said as he picked up from the table along with Una and Ortegas, all of them looking annoyed and tired.

“That was… unexpected.” Spock said as they watched their fellow officers depart.

“That’s an understatement.” Hemmer added.

“I’ve never seen CPT Pike behave so flippantly before.” La’an admitted.

“La’an, Hemmer, I am concerned that what happened to the Shran could’ve spread to Enterprise.” Spock admitted. “I also can theorize that if it has, I believe we have also been infected.”

“How would that be possible?” La’an asked. “We scanned for biohazards when we entered and left the shuttle both times.”

“Unless it doesn’t affect a person physically but psionically.” Hemmer added in.

“You suggest we’re dealing with a telepathic presence? Can you sense it?” Spock asked.

“No, but I have been feeling off since we encountered the Shran.” Hemmer admitted. “Psionics is the only thing I can think of that would make sense.”

“Whatever the source is, we need to find it.” La’an said. “Is there any way we can protect ourselves from whatever this

“I believe myself and LT CMDR Spock have been able to block out the effect due to our telepathic training. You, LT seem to have some form of resistance already.” Hemmer answered.

“Possibly a side effect of the mind meld.” Spock added.

“Alright then, we all need to work together to get out of this.” La’an declared. “I scan Enterprise and the Shran for anomalies. Hemmer will keep working the power problem and Spock…”

“I will be reviewing the Shran’s logs. Perhaps an answer lies there that we haven’t discovered yet.

An hour later, Hemmer had reported in, calling the senior officers to Deck 8. However only Spock and La’an arrived within a few minutes, the others believed to be lagging behind.

“What did you find?” Spock asked looking up from the PADD that contained the Shran’s logs.

“The main source of the EPS malfunctions is down here on Deck 11, Section 4.” Hemmer explained. “Either of you find out anything?

“Indeed.” Spock said showing his PADD. “The logs have proven to be quiet fascinating. The ones that offer the most promise appear to be those of the ship’s Chief Science Officer. I found several hidden personal logs of his going back weeks. I have been reviewing them.”

“What have you learned about him?” La’an asked.

“The man appears to be a very ambitious and mischievous individual. He always had some kind of scheme planned to deal with whatever troubles came his way. His studies might hold the key to explaining why our crews are behaving the way they are.

By the time in their conversation the other officers arrived, the trio could tell they all looked horrid. Their movements were ragged, slow and they were aggressively sniping at each other the entire way or they looked like they’d pass out where they stood.

“Why are we all here LT Hemmer?” Pike asked rubbing his temple.

“I believe I found the source of our technical problems.” Hemmer answered.

“Great.” Ortegas said with biting sarcasm. “You know blue man group this was the kind of conversation that could’ve been done over comms.

“We got dragged all the way down here for this?” Christine sighed.

Spock leaned into La’an. “I truly hope when we resolve this technical issue that the crew with return to their normal selves.”

La’an gave a nod of approve to Spock but she stopped hallway as her eyes were drawn to something in the dark corridor. She walked past the group, the snark session between them ended as all their eyes were on the Chief of Security as she silently and carefully edged her way closer to the dark corridor, her eyes trying to focus on whatever it ways she’d seen a moment ago.

Just when she was about give up, a pair of bright red eyes appear in the corridor, causing La’an to recoil in fear.

“Something’s down there.” She managed to get out.

“What was it?” Spock asked, the same fear evident in her voice.

“Who cares?” Erica retorts.

“La’an, your eyes were probably playing tricks on you anyways.” Christine sighed.

“She’s probably right La’an.” Una chimed in.

“No, I swear I saw something!” La’an countered, anger growing in her voice along with her fear.

“Look, let’s forget all this and just get back to Starbase One…” Chris tried to say.

“I’m not leaving till we check out whats down there!” La’an yelled at the top of her lungs, drawing everyone else in the corridor into a stunned silence.

“If I may.” Hemmer interjected. “The conduit we have to fix is down that hallway anyways. If we’re going to keep the ship from more blackouts, we should fix it.”

“Spock and I will clear the halls.” La’an ordered. “Once its clear, Hemmer, you can come down and fix the conduits.”

The trio nodded as the now lethargic crewmembers just sighed in exasperation and sat down in the hallway. La’an and Spock pulled out their personal phasers along with tactical lights as they began the trek down the dark corridor.

As they walked down the corridor, Spock’s mind was still partially focused on his PADD that contained the records, specifically those of the Chief Science Officer T’Ran. The pair had arrived at one of the blown EPS relays when La’an noticed that Spock was paying additional attention to his PADD.

“Something of interest for you on it?” She asked, her rifle still pointed down range.

“The records of Scientist T’Ran are fascinating.” Spock admitted. “I believe his experiments may hold clues to understanding our current dilemma.

“You said that a few hours ago, find anything since?” La’an asked, somewhat curious.

“Perhaps. He was conducting some kind of research on an unknown specimen he brought back from the borderlands. Apparently, this research wasn’t authorized as I can find no records of it in the ships data logs. Furthermore, these particular records have been encrypted and they don’t match the official records submitted to the ship’s command team.” Spock answered as he continued to tap at the PADD.

“Illegal experiment.” La’an clenched her teeth. “Hasn’t that destroyed enough Starfleet ships? Didn’t this scientist hear about what happened to the Cabot?”

“I suspect he was aware, but it didn’t concern him. Perhaps, in his arrogance he believed that his experiments wouldn’t result in the same catastrophic failure.” Spock theorized, saddened to see that perhaps several Starfleet officers had died because of the ego of a scientist.

La’an got up from her perch and turned to Spock. “I’m going to check the next junction. Form up with me when you finish tagging this one.”

The pair nodded as they got back to their business. Spock ran through the junction once more, tagging the panels in need of repair. He was about to depart and form up with La’an when his eyes noticed something on the PADD, he turned to the PADD and kept reading.

By then, La’an had arrived at the next EPS junction at a corner in the hall. She still felt tense as she approached it. She knew something was out there but as of now, she hadn’t encountered it.

Spock eyes quick sped through the pages of the encrypted reports till he found what he was looking for on the last page. It was a drawing, one clear enough for Spock to know exactly what it was. His eyes went and his voice had an audible gasp. Spock dropped the PADD and sprinted down the hallway.

La’an was bent over observing the next EPS conduit when she felt a presence staring down at her. She slowly rose her head up lifting the rifle to shine the light. And when she did, La’an felt something she hadn’t felt since the Gorn had taken her family; terror.

Above her were several creatures that she could describe as nothing less than monsters. A pitch black ooze covered their skin, in some cases dripping off their bodies like molten tar, their arms, bent unnaturally in several places hung at their side swinging like meat hanging on a hook. Their heads were humanoid but severely misshapen with the jaw hanging from skull loosely allowing the creatures mouth to extend to a disturbingly long amount. But it was how they carried themselves that send the deepest shivers down La’an’s spine. They were hunched over in several places with the torso leaning heavily forward or back and the head looking like it had been twisted to bend until it was almost resting on one of its shoulders.

And then they saw her.

They let out a screech that shook the halls. La’an found her head getting heavy as she tried to raise her rifle. She fired and the shot went wide, grazing one of the creatures causing it no harm. She dropped the rifle and ran as fast as she could back to Spock.

Seeing him down the hall, she ran right to him. “Spock, we have to run!” She shrieked.

“You saw them?” Spock managed to get out, his fear somewhat calmed knowing she was alive.

He got his answer when he heard the noise down the corridor and saw the creatures slowly lumbering to them. The pair ran at full sprint down the corridor and back to where Hemmer and the others were keeping guard.

Pike and the others had nearly become catatonic by this point, even Hemmer was feeling the oppressive weight of lethargy take him. All that was undone when they heard La’an and Spock screaming down the hall. The sound of their friend’s panicked voices woke Chris, Una and Ortegas from their stupors to see the pair run out of the darkness.

“What the hell’s going on?” Una asked.

“No time to explain!” La’an coughed out. “We found the cause of our problems and they’re chasing us!”

“Captain, we need to escape this deck.” Spock said. “If they catch us, we’re all dead.”

The same blood curling screech came down the halls and everyone there bore witness to the horde begin their emergence from the darkness. Everyone took off in a sprint, hoping to make it to a Jeffries tube or a turbolift before they got caught.

The creatures let out another screech and the running officers all covered their ears in agony as unbelievable pain spread through their bodies. Everyone began to find their heads feel heavy as they found themselves falling to the ground. Some of them still tried in vain to drag themselves to safety as the monsters grew closer.

As Spock tried to do the same, his eyes caught sight of the airlock release console. The console allows instant release of a ship that was docked without going through undocking procedures. At the current state with no ships docked, the console would instead vent the entire deck. It was risky but as Spock could see, there were no other alternatives.

“Everyone hold on to something tight!” Spock yelled at the top of his lungs. He saw the crew all realize his plan. Chris, Erica, Una and Christine all grabbed onto the bulkheads tightly. A second later he felt La’an wrap her arms tighyl around his torso and lock them in place. She gave him a quick nod as he pressed the console and the nearby airlocks opened, the sudden onset of that force quickly gripped the creatures and started to suck them all out into the darkness of space. They tried to hold on as best as they could, trying to strike their claws into the floor to gain a foothold but it was pointless. They all slowly lost grip and got sucked out into space.

But their crew wasn’t going much better. The force had been so great that the crew was struggling to hold on themselves. Spock could see everyone straining themselves to the max to hold one. La’an too was losing her grip. But there was still one of those creatures who was still hanging on.

It tried to scream but no noise came out. Meanwhile Spock could feel La’an’s grip on him loosing. He couldn’t risk readjusting himself since one hand needed to be on the console to close the airlocks. He just prayed that the creature lost its grip before La’an.

The creature kept sliding more and more as it tried to readjust its grip but continuously failing. As it reached the edge of the airlock, La’an’s grip broke and she flew away from Spock. Acting on instinct, Spock quickly closed the airlock down. The action crushed the creature spilling its blood all over the door as La’an dropped out of the air and crashed down less than half a meter from the airlock entrance.

The crew all took a second to recover as Spock dashed from the console to La’an. He rolled her over onto her back exhaling a breath of relief when he was that she was still breathing and conscious.

“Perfect timing Spock.” La’an whispered out with a sweet smile, one that brought a similar smiled to Spock’s face.

Everyone had gone straight to sickbay to make sure whatever affects those creatures had done was gone. And to listen to Spock’s revelation of what they had just faced.

“The Klingons have a word for these creatures. They call them soul takers. They are monsters mythically believed to inhabit the Klingon underworld Gre’thor. They possess a strong psionic ability to influence those around them, causing them to turn on each other, become violent and eventually drain away their will to live.”

The crew continued to sit in silence listening to Spock. “According to Scientist T’Ran’s logs, he bought one of these creatures from a trader in the Orion sector illegally. He began several experiments on it trying to figure out how to weaponize its abilities. And he succeeded. His experiment allowed the creature to reproduce until their numbers were so great that they overwhelmed the crew, causing them to all give up on life and lay down to die.”

“My God.” Nurse Chapel whispered. “So what happens now.”

“Thanks to our encounter, we now know their bio-signature.” Una explained. “We swept Enterprise and the Shran. There are no more of them left.”

“And now that this horror fest is over, I hereby order everyone to take the day off.” Chris smiled. “Starfleet is sending an escort and I’ll request a command crew to fly us in.”

Everyone mumbled in agreement as they all dispersed back to their own personal recovery. Spock and La’an quietly made their way back to her quarters. The pair ended up laying down on the bed with La’an tucked nicely into Spock’s chest.

“I’m glad that’s over.” La’an admitted. “Now that those creatures are gone, I feel better. Like a weight has been lifted.

“I believe I feel the same way.” Spock agreed. “Those creatures may not have been able to affect us as hard as the rest of the crew but the experience was definitely not pleasant.”

La’an nodded silently and laid her head back down as Spock ran his hands through her now unbraided hair. “Is something else bothering you?” He asked.

“I guess… I can’t stop thinking about my adoptive family back on Earth.” She admitted. After our conversation earlier today, my mind has been on them a while.”

“When was the last time you spoke with them?” He asked.

“Maybe a year or two before the Klingon War.” La’an admitted. “With everything that happened after the Battle of the Binary Stars, I just never found time to talk to them since.”

“We have that time now.” Spock offered.

La’an raised up from spot. “Spock… I haven’t spoken to them in so long…”

Spock didn’t let her finish. “If they are like any true parents, then they truly love you no matter how much time has passed… and no matter if you are their biological child or the one they chose to bring into their home as raise like one of their own.”

Spock’s words were the push she needed. La’an went to her console and quickly checked them time back to her adoptive family’s town. Seeing it was midafternoon, she took a deep breath, felt Spock’s reassuring hand on her back and sent the call request.

Within ten seconds, the line was open and La’an adoptive mother appeared on the screen. She put her hand to her mouth in shock, tears coming out of her eyes.. “La’an?”

[nightingaelic]

Fallout new vegas companions taking the courier's place in lonesome road (+ cut companions if that's cool with u) (thanks!!)

The problem with trying to adapt Lonesome Road to another character's experience is that so much of its story hinges on the courier's missing past and the former Frumentarius' struggle to make them understand what happened, why it caused a shockwave across multiple lives, locations and generations, and whether to avenge or let go of the harm that was unknowingly done to the Divide. So if you bring the companions into the mix instead of Courier Six, you either have a long-running story of mistaken identity (a hilarious concept, Ulysses being absolutely positive that the companion is the one who wrecked his dream home while they have no idea who this angry, verbose man is), or a drastically different history for the companions themselves. I say let's give that second option a shot, it seems fun and headcanon-y.

Arcade Gannon: While I don't think Arcade would be directly responsible for the destruction of the Divide, I think he would pale at hearing Ulysses' message searching for Enclave agents and would set out to confront the angry courier on behalf of his hidden family. The Enclave remnants are already hunted by the NCR and the Brotherhood of Steel, and the last thing they need is to be chased out of yet another home over something they didn't personally do. He'd accept ED-E's help wholeheartedly and consider turning back every time he ran into marked men or tunnelers, but his own resolve to save his loved ones would urge him to persevere. I think his determination would intrigue Ulysses, enough to engage the young research scientist in conversation if he arrived at the end of the road in one piece, and the courier might even let go of his vendetta if Arcade revealed that he was doing this out of the goodness of his heart rather than a sense of duty. Arcade would cancel the nuke launch, but would seriously consider blowing up the Legion.

Craig Boone: We know the NCR and Legion were fighting over the Divide before the ICBMs leveled the area. But what if that was by design, rather than by accident? Maybe Boone has more skeletons in his closet than just Bitter Springs, and he was part of a strike team that used old Enclave technology to surprise the Legion forces and seal off an access route, a decision based on math and made by men who had never met the people of Hopeville and Ashton that they sentenced to death. It's yet another weight on the sniper's conscience, and yet another debt he feels obligated to pay, so when Ulysses' call goes out, he answers. The usual dangers of the Divide wouldn't slow him down, but the turbulent weather would irritate him to no end. Upon arrival at the temple, Boone wouldn't mince words because he already knows he's guilty of the charge and he knows Ulysses used to walk for the Legion. If he survived the encounter, Boone would take the opportunity to rain the same destruction down on Caesar's troops.

Lily Bowen: There are about 119 years of Lily's life as a super mutant that are unaccounted-for, and we know she suffers from schizophrenia like many other nightkin. Perhaps it was Lily who discovered the Enclave package and unwittingly left it in the home of America's missiles: Perhaps it was Leo. I'm inclined to think it was Leo, who was probably searching for a cache of Stealth Boys in the old military installations across the desert, and who simply didn't care when a new hole in the earth opened up behind him. Lily, on the other hand, cares deeply, and would set out after Ulysses in the interest of making amends where she could. More so than any other companion, I think Lily would be disturbed by the tunnelers and would go out of her way to crush them wherever they popped up. The marked men would earn her sympathy and she would do her best to knock them out without killing them. After doing the same to Ulysses, Lily would cancel the launch and weep over the subsequent loss of ED-E. She would likely bring the little eyebot back to the Mojave and search for a way to fix it.

Raul Alfonso Tejada: We already know that Raul goes to extreme lengths to avenge the people he cares about, so it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to mix his backstory into the story of the Divide. Following the murder of Claudia in Tucson/Two Sun, Raul chased Dirty Dave and his brothers across Arizona and into the town of Ashton before killing them. Unbeknownst to him, Dirty Dave had a package with him that could speak to the nuclear missile silos hidden in the Divide, and the earth crumbled behind the vaquero as he made his way back home. Though he'd heard of the devastation, Raul didn't put two and two together until Ulysses sent out his summons, and because he didn't have anything planned that week, the old mechanic decided to answer the call. He would put up with Ulysses' messages like a good sport until he encountered the man in the temple, where he would refuse to fight until the two talked things out like civil people. I think Ulysses would be surprised at the revelation that the ghoul he had cast as a villain was following his own quest for vengeance and unaware of the package, and would come away somewhat amused by the situation. They would most likely team up to fight off the marked men, and Raul would cancel the launch and take a wrench to the machines to prevent any more "misunderstandings."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Let's say one of Cass' caravans delivered a package back in the day. Let's say that package accidentally buried the caravan crew and an entire community along with it. Let's say Cass knows, and that's one of the reasons she drinks. While Courier Six walks the Divide out of curiosity about their missing past, I think Cass would do it as a form of penance in and of itself, with a little desire for self-destruction thrown into the mix. The journey would start out as a bender fueled by self-loathing and the fanciful notion of giving her missing caravan a proper funeral, and by the time Cass runs out of whiskey she's already halfway through the Cave of the Abaddon and punching holes through the tunnelers with her shotgun. She would largely ignore Ulysses' cryptic messages and holotapes, but she'd grow fond of the little eyebot that took a shine to her and would tear after it once the mysterious courier repossessed it. Following the final battle, Cass would cancel the launch, but only at the very last second, just to revel in the fleeting feeling of control.

Veronica Santangelo: I just can't see Veronica knowingly or unknowingly waking up a nuclear arsenal with a careless application of tech, but I can totally see her stumbling upon the aftermath of something her old mentor is responsible for. Father Elijah already has a tenuous grasp on the consequences of his own actions, and we know that the prototype tech that controls the Divide's weather is a Big MT project. Maybe Elijah paid Hopeville a visit to check it out and took his investigation a little too far when he discovered the nukes. This would explain Ulysses' directions to the old man to find the Sierra Madre, sealing his doom inside the casino. But where does that leave Ulysses? Along comes Veronica, following her mentor's trail of destruction, and the courier can't help but guide her along the path, show her the meaning of the wreckage and the danger of pre-war technology when left to the discretion of those with old-world values, like the Brotherhood. Along that line, I think Ulysses would try to test her like he does Courier Six, and would schedule a launch to see what she does. Veronica would cancel the launch and resolve to never tell her brothers and sisters in Steel about the secrets of the Divide. She might dump some water on the consoles for good measure. More importantly, I think she might finally realize that the unchanging family she clings to can only die out, or go down the same path that Elijah did.

ED-E: Given that ED-E is a robot, I think Ulysses would be hell-bent on finding whoever sent the little guy rather than consider that the eyebot saw a package with Enclave markings on it, picked it up of its own accord, and deposited it wherever it next encountered old American symbols. Through its communication with the other eyebots in the Divide, I think ED-E would get the picture about the courier's quest for the responsible party and play dumb for as long as possible. The other ED-E would help conceal the mistake to save its new friend, but Ulysses isn't stupid and would eventually figure it out. But how do you effectively punish a robot? Maybe he would set the nukes to target the Divide again, to send any remaining eyebots to the scrapyard for good, but it's a long shot. If he did, ED-E would cancel the launch, but would join its override system capabilities to its counterpart's and use the combined decryption power to ensure that both eyebots make it through the ordeal unharmed.

Rex: This good boy would never even consider entering the Divide. Seriously, what dog in their right mind would go in there? What cyberdog? No thank you. Still, the idea of a dog being responsible for the nukes and Ulysses continuing to hold a grudge is beyond funny. Maybe Rex was part of a mission for the Legion when he still belonged to Caesar, part of the group that leveled the Divide on behalf of the Bull. Maybe that's why Antony says he was "lost in battle," and maybe he's the only surviving member of that squad. I don't see why Ulysses would hang around the Divide waiting for the dog to look upon the hell he'd wrought, and he would more than likely seek the canine out himself as soon as he heard about the King's new pet. From there, the story turns into Courier Six investigating an assassination attempt on a goddamned dog, and the events of Lonesome Road play out pretty much the same way they were written - plus plenty of asides about how Ulysses is going to way too much effort over a creature that can't comprehend what nukes are.

Benny Gecko: Few people know that Yes Man was actually one of two securitrons that Benny managed to incapacitate and reprogram, and while the head of the Chairmen hid his favorite in the Tops for safekeeping, he sent the other out into the world for some recon and experimentation. Imagine his surprise when Yes Man was able to remotely hack into a nuclear missile silo and wipe out a budding trade community. And who would've thought that test run was going to come back to bite him in the ass, right after he was sprung from the Legion camp? I think Benny would do everything in his power to avoid entering the Divide, but I also think Ulysses would have little patience for him and would actively force the disgraced city boy into walking the Courier's Mile by blocking any other path out of the Mojave. Benny would form an attachment to ED-E, similar to Yes Man, but would complain the whole way and confront his tormenter with little remorse. He would also nuke both the NCR and the Legion if he came away alive, probably with some snarky one-liner about "letting the chips fall where they may."

Vulpes Inculta: Vulpes already has a few scorched-earth badges on his Pioneer Scouts belt (Nipton, Camp Searchlight, etc.), so eliminating the Divide is just another tactic in the grand strategy playing out between the Bull and the Bear. All he needed to do was leave a certain package in town, and the problem basically solved itself. Unfortunately, that deserter of his wasn't buried under the wreckage, and now Caesar has ordered him to assassinate the renegade. The fool keeps announcing his whereabouts every few hours or so, making tracking an easy task, but by the third time he feels eyes on the back of his neck and turns to find nothing there, Vulpes can't help but wonder whether the student has surpassed the teacher. The final showdown of Frumentarii would be something for the ages, a clash of philosophies and loyalties with plenty of verbal sparring between the bullets. If he survived the encounter with Ulysses, Vulpes would definitely nuke the NCR.

Ulysses: This cut companion can't very well face off against himself, can he? Unless... he was the courier who accidentally brought the Enclave detonator that sealed the Divide's doom. Given the weight of this grief, I think Ulysses would similarly force himself to walk the length of the Divide, take in the utter destruction that his own actions had wrought, and reflect on the meaning of one man changing the course of history. When it came down to the final room, the final decision, our disillusioned courier would activate the launch as a way of testing himself, testing his own resolve. Like Cass, he would stare at the machines shuddering to life around him until the very last moment, before shutting the system down for good, smiling under his breathing mask and walking away forever.

Victor: The robot cowboy doesn't really know what the angry man on the eyebot keeps talking about. He certainly doesn't remember delivering a package to a place called Hopeville or Ashton. Why would he? Mr. House is very good about covering his tracks, particularly when it comes to eliminating business rivals. Really, it could have been any old securitron. Nevertheless, Victor rolls merrily along in search of the courier who summoned his master, letting his own optics passively take in the devastated wasteland left behind by bombs that launched 200 years too late. Because of his robotic nature, I think it'd be a lot easier for Ulysses to get the drop on Victor and disable him at the temple, then wait until House sent another envoy or came himself. House would probably lose interest as soon as he got his data, which I don't think would stall Ulysses much: Once he figured out the Strip's owner isn't coming, he'd find some way to get inside the Lucky 38. If, however, Victor prevailed in the final struggle, he would nuke both the NCR and the Legion on behalf of Mr. House.

[justletmeplayminecraft]

The Art of Creation

something i wrote a while back, set in an unrevealed sci-fi au (these three aren't even in the main plotline but they have a backstory. we're in too deep.)

iskall and grian move mumbo into a robot body!

featuring: pseudo-robotics, this is rough with an abrupt ending, set in space! futuristic au!, can't say the actual setting cause that's spoilers, ai/android!mumbo, grian's a gremlin but what's new

"We really think this'll work?" Grian asks in a hushed voice, peering over Iskall's shoulder. Iskall flips the last few latches shut before stepping back from the metallic body. A bulk of wires remain connected from the body's back, hopefully enough for the data transfer. The rest have retracted into the ceiling - unnecessary for this process.

"Only one way to find out," Iskall tells him, taking a deep breath. He's a coder, not an engineer. But hopefully with Grian's help, this will work. Looking above him, he calls to the metal ceiling, "Mumbo?" 

There's a static buzz before Mumbo's voice replies from several speakers around the room, "Here to assist, Iskall!" 

"We think your body's ready, dude."

There's a pause before the AI speaks again, the formality in his voice gone, "Really? Oh my goodness, you've actually built me a body! This is incredible!" Grian bursts into high laughter, whilst Iskall sticks to a private smile of his own. One of them needs to keep their head screwed on, here. 

"When's the last time you backed up your systems?" He asks. He swears if he listened hard enough, he could hear Mumbo retrieving the information.

"4AM this morning, Iskall. Shortly after you went to sleep!" Iskall notices Grian's side-eye. He rolls his eyes, mouthing a quiet, 'Hypocrite.' Grian snickers, but says nothing.

"Do another backup now, don't override the last one," Iskall instructs him. "Remember you might not be able to connect to the ship's systems for a while after this." There's a noise akin to a squeal over the speakers. 

"Oh my word, I can't believe this. Is this really happening?"

"Mumbo, do the backup!" Grian calls.

"Okay, okay! Starting the backup now!" There's a low beep as Mumbo's voice falls silent. It's a tone the pair rarely hear. Mumbo tries to schedule his backups around their schedule. And, well. It's not like he gets updates anymore. They wait in silence for him to boot up again, knowing Mumbo doesn't enjoy missing out on conversations. A higher beep comes about a minute later, Mumbo cheerily telling them, "All done!" 

"Do you think you're ready?" Iskall asks. "Everything should be set up for you to transfer your data over." 

"Really?! Can I?" Iskall finally laughs, wondering how an AI can so perfectly replicate the feeling of an excited child. 

"Yeah! Go for it, dude." 

"This is so exciting!" They can't see Mumbo moving around, but Iskall spots when the wires light up, patterned LEDs signalling an electronic signal. "This is the right one, isn't it?" 

"Yep, that's it." Grian tells him, bouncing over Iskall's shoulder. He wonders which of the two is more excited.

"Alright! Starting the data transfer now." Mumbo's voice fizzles out on the last word. Iskall dares step towards the body, watching the wires curiously. Without the LEDs, they wouldn't be able to tell anything is happening. It's still hard to comprehend the magnitude of what they're watching - the intensity of information that must be passing through those wires. Mumbo's no simple AI, as Iskall's learnt the hard way.

The light in Mumbo's core turns on, red washing over the silver metal surrounding it. Iskall jumps back, Grian grabbing his arm and peering nervously around him. 

"Is he-" Grian's hesitant question is cut off when bright eyes flicker on, a quiet buzz filling the room. Iskall watches tiny cameras adjust, shutters correcting for new input. Until an arm raises robotically, as ironic as the term is. It's held above its eyes, bending each finger in turn. Iskall holds his breath.

"It worked!" The body - Mumbo - finally declares. Iskall and Grian flinch at the volume, Mumbo quickly murmuring, "Oh sorry, let me adjust that." It's strange hearing the voice coming from one source, never mind seeing Mumbo's mouth move as he talks. "Is this better?" 

"That sounds good!" Grian says, bouncing forward. It's not hurting Iskall's ears now, so he agrees. But he has to grab Grian before he's offering a hand out to Mumbo.

"He needs to learn motor control," Iskall reminds him. "We don't want any crushed hands." Grian whines, but moves away.

"Sorry, Mumbo, you'll have to stand up on your own." Iskall steps behind Mumbo, a bit unnerved how he turns to follow him. He's far too used to that body being inanimate.

"I'm going to try unhooking you first, is everything set for that?" Mumbo looks at his lap before nodding, the movement a bit too aggressive.

"No data is currently running through the wires, and the body's charge is at 100%." 

"Good stuff," Iskall agrees. Unhooking these will be the big test. Then it's seeing if Mumbo can move unassisted. The AI, android, robot? Iskall isn't sure the best term to use for him now. Mumbo is already testing each limb, bending joints back and forth with precise movements. Iskall flicks a few switches, turning the wires until he hears a click. He raises each one towards the ceiling, out of the way. "Everything okay?" Iskall checks as the last wire moves upwards. 

"Systems are fine, Iskall! Everything's working!" Mumbo taps his hands against his legs. "Can I stand up now?"

"You can try," Iskall tells him. "Take it easy, though-" Mumbo is already pushing forward, nearly falling straight over before his knees lock into place, metal fingers scraping the edge of the table. Neither Iskall nor Grian are breathing.

"I did it!" Mumbo declares, shuffling his feet around until he's facing Iskall. Iskall laughs, bending forward.

"Yeah, you did it, dude," he replies, breathless.

"You've got a body, Mumbo!" Grian's excitement matches Mumbo's, holding his arms up. "You can move around now! 

"I can?" Mumbo takes a tentative step forward, reluctant to let go of the table. "I can!" 

"You're also-" Grian takes a step back, "-Really tall." Mumbo pauses, tilting his head. He looks down at his body as if seeing it properly for the first time. Then to Grian. To Iskall.

"I am, aren't I?" Considering how he towers a good foot over each of them: Yes. He is. "Is that a good thing?"

"It's a Mumbo thing," Iskall tells him, smiling. He thinks it suits his personality perfectly. "Right, let's start with some basics. How about walking?"

"Yes! Walking!" There's a slight bounce through Mumbo's joints. "Oh, this is so exciting!"

"Dude, you're gonna be a walking talking member of this crew," Grian replies. He's pretty much vibrating on the spot. "There's so much stuff to show you!"

"First things first," Iskall interrupts. He knows the two of them will get distracted otherwise. "Remember the walking simulations you did?" Mumbo sighs like a scolded child.

"Alright, alright." Despite the disappointment, he's still smiling. And Iskall is too.

It's really worked. They really did it.

Mumbo deserves this.

[pinnithin-writes]

more of a feeling

Mission to Zyxx fic, mild spoilers for season 5 if you're not caught up. This started as rambling about our bodies sabotaging us and turned into a conversation about our bodies taking care of us. 2117 words.

It was simple, really. It all came down to chemistry.

C-53 knew how emotions worked, of course; he’d even go so far as to call himself a veteran by now. Every frame he’d inhabited was a different experience, but the emotions he felt in those frames were a reassuring constant. He knew the programming for joy. He could trace the source code for anger. His cube felt it all the same, and no matter how many diagnostics he had to run in an unfamiliar body, his thoughts, his feelings, and his personality grounded him through the flux.

Until, that is, the failed clone of a scientist shoved him in a meat suit without his consent.

Emotions were different when he was piloting flesh. They governed his body more than he was used to. They still generated from C-53’s cube, but now that cube was hooked up to nerves and synapses, blood and organs, and those living, breathing parts responded accordingly. He was a miracle of a machine, truly – a code given life – but he couldn’t wax poetic about something like that when his pores leaked and his muscles tired and his stomach twisted in knots.

It was hard enough dealing with a body that resisted his will at every turn. It was worse still that every fleeting feeling affected him on the molecular level. He didn’t know how organics got anything done like this. Frustration made his head pound and his guts churn. Despair burned his eyes and locked his throat. Even pleasant feelings – affection, mirth – stole his breath, made his pulse race. It was distracting at best and debilitating at worst. Surely there was a way to bypass these effects.

Unable to connect his consciousness to high speed internet, he had to go about this the old fashioned way, which made it a slow process indeed. Thankfully, the USS Synergy owned a vast library, which he took advantage of to scan every file they had on hermanns, discovering himself.

He did most of his research at night. He told himself this was because he was less likely to be interrupted, but in truth he was embarrassed at his own inefficiency. Even in the old loader frame, downloading the data would have taken all of ten seconds. And though he knew his crewmates wouldn’t humiliate him, he still didn’t want to be seen like this. Having to move his eyes across a screen, absorb and process the words they scanned, and then file that information away in his slippery maze of a brain, line after line after line after line after line.

The hours of learning made him feel childish. C-53 was tired.

But he was getting somewhere. When exhaustion pulled at his eyelids and his thoughts went fuzzy in the late, still hours on Bargie, he knew it was adenosine flooding his neural pathways and inhibiting his functionality. No code existed to override adenosine. Caffeine, however, could counteract it for a short time (with the unfortunate side effect of upsetting his stomach and tasting like tar).

C-53 pored over chemistry texts and neuroscience studies, learning what made hermanns - and thus, hermanoids - do what they did. There were no comparable texts on tellurians in this galaxy, but the science, from what he could remember, was quite similar. It was all chemicals, and those chemicals told his brain to tell his body how to act.

It was exceptionally overcomplicated. There was always some other influencing factor to his body, a sensory input or a thought or even his DNA - Jeremy’s genetic memory - that scrambled a system that could theoretically be very streamlined.

An example: he could eat something that tasted good (peanut butter and chocolate), triggering a flood of dopamine that caused him to feel happy. But Jeremy was allergic to tree nuts, so his immune system attacks him for a perceived threat that doesn’t exist, so forcefully that he could die from it. It was as fascinating as it was annoying. Who knew organics could have glitches? Too bad he hadn’t figured out how to debug anaphylactic shock.

He didn’t know what he hoped to accomplish by doing all this research. In a way, studying why his body actively sabotaged him was a comfort, but the more he learned, the more faults he discovered. Evolution was a temperamental thing. He much preferred the elegance of engineering.

At present, it was a dark hour on Bargie, docked and slumbering with her crew on the Synergy. Half awake in the conversation pit, amidst a tangle of textbooks and portable screens, C-53 sat alone under the red glow of the security lights. Sprawled as he was, C-53 didn’t immediately notice Pleck wandering into the room until he said his name.

Blurry lines of text sharpened as he startled, then relaxed. “Hm? Oh, hey Pleck,” he said.

“C-53, it’s like, three in the morning,” Pleck responded. Bare footsteps signaled his approach, and then he dropped onto the couch next to C-53, a glass of water in one hand and an orange fruit in the other. He reached over and set the glass precariously on the cushion between them. “Y’know, tellurians usually sleep around this time,” he pointed out helpfully. “What are you doing out here?”

The info tablet C-53 held was inches away from his face. “I’m learning about my pineal gland,” he announced dully.

A hormone regulator located near the brain stem. Releases melatonin and influences one’s circadian rhythm. Well, it wasn’t doing a very good job right now, was it?

“Cool, is that something like - do tellurians have that too or just, y’know,” Pleck drew his feet up to sit cross-legged, “whatever you are?”

C-53 couldn’t help but smirk mirthlessly at that. “It’s found in most vertebrates, so yes, I would imagine both you and whatever I am have one.” He set the tablet aside to look at Pleck, but the screen made him night blind, and he could only see the afterimage of a splotchy red rectangle in the darkness. “Why are you awake?”

“Oh, I woke up thirsty,” Pleck explained easily. He fiddled with the peel on his fruit as he spoke. “And then I thought, well, while I’m up I might as well grab a snack, and then I saw you sitting there so,” he shrugged, “here I am.”

It was a better explanation than what C-53 had. And it was a far better explanation than Pleck would have given several months ago, when the Allwheat was still worming into his brain and keeping him up at odd hours. C-53 was thankful those days were behind them. As the afterimage of the tablet faded and Pleck became a collection of grays and blues beside him, he quietly mourned the loss of his night vision. And his regular vision.

“You ever had one of these, C-53?” Pleck asked. He finally got his fingernails under the skin and began peeling. “The Themm grow these instead of oranges. They’re kind of sour?”

“I haven’t,” C-53 answered. He hadn’t eaten an orange before, for that matter, but he wasn’t too interested in expanding his food horizons. Most things had an unpleasant texture to him.

“Do you want some?” Pleck went on, adding pieces of rind to the small pile in his lap. He slanted C-53 a glance. “Oranges are the most shareable fruit.”

“No, thank you.”

Pleck shrugged again before separating a slice of not-orange and popping it in his mouth. As he chewed in silence, C-53 picked up the glass between them and placed it safely on the coffee table. Piles of nearby notes were scrawled in his own clumsy hand, amateur diagrams and chemical formulas with lots of arrows and exclamation marks littering the margins. Writing it down helped the nonstick pan of his brain gain some traction, he found, but the coffee table was starting to look like Nermut’s conspiracy wall after so many hours of research.

His neck ached. His head pounded out a protest.

He’d been pushing his brain and body to its limits and had what to show for it? A newfound disgust with himself? A frustration he only knew more intimately? C-53 frowned and used one of his papers as a coaster.

Beside him, Pleck happily ate his fruit, unbothered. Being organic was easy for him; he was a native to his body and didn’t know anything else. C-53 pitied and envied him in equal measure.

“You’re going to bed soon, right C-53?” Pleck asked after making his way through half the orange. He reached to retrieve his glass from the table, but condensation stuck a note about the amygdala to the bottom. “Oh,” he remarked.

C-53 peeled it off for him. “I don’t like sleeping,” he explained, crumpling the note and tossing it on the table. “So I’m reading.”

Pleck took a sip of water and frowned. “You gotta sleep sometime.”

“I know,” he answered shortly. He’d read dozens of articles about the side effects of sleeplessness. Fatigue, irritability, memory issues, hallucinations if you waited long enough. He knew he’d crash eventually, he just wasn’t especially motivated to avoid it. “It feels bad,” he went on. “Waking up is disorienting.”

There was a thoughtful crease between Pleck’s brows; C-53 could barely see it under the security lights. Pleck took a moment to set his glass back down on the table before turning the remainder of the fruit over in his hands. “Is it because you don’t feel safe?” he asked without looking up.

“I’m… sorry?”

“It’s just - y’know, when I was having trouble sleeping-”

“Pleck, I’m not a lunatic,” C-53 interrupted. “I know I’m perfectly safe on Bargie. I just don’t like sleeping. I don’t need you to teach me how to be tellurian, okay?” He gestured at the pathetic mess of research before him, scrawled in an obvious lunatic’s hand. “I’m figuring it out.”

Pleck fed himself a section of orange and didn’t answer right away. On C-53’s other side, the info tablet’s screen auto timed out and went dark. They were bathed in red completely now, one of them frustrated and exhausted, the other watchful and concerned. C-53 removed his glasses and rubbed at his stinging eyes.

“Sorry,” he said after a time. “I’m just…”

“Tired?” Pleck offered.

C-53’s sigh went through his whole body. “Yes.”

A stubborn, senseless part of him didn’t want to overcome this. He didn’t want to be an example of perseverance, some epic struggle conquered by learning to live well. He wanted to kick and bite and throw a fit over this new frame. It wasn’t fair.

“C-53,” Pleck broke quietly into his thoughts. “You don’t have to, y’know, have the answer to everything all the time. Sometimes you have to just… do what your body is telling you to do, even if you don’t want to.” He offered an orange slice in C-53’s direction. “It’s trying to take care of you.”

“You say that like this flesh suit has a soul,” C-53 grumbled, but he took the fruit anyway, staring glumly as it lay in his stupid, sweaty palm.

“Well, sure it does.” Pleck smiled and prodded his shoulder with an index finger. “It’s you.”

C-53 fell silent. It was strange, learning things from Pleck. He was used to the roles being reversed, and it shifted something uncomfortably inside him every time it happened. Dutifully, he put the orange in his mouth, felt the tart flavor burst on his tongue, and chewed past the slimy sensation until he was able to swallow it. He was unable to hide a shudder.

Pleck watched him with one hopeful eye. “Not your favorite?” he guessed.

“It’s the texture,” C-53 explained, grimacing. But he held his hand out for another slice in spite of it.

Pleck grinned. “We can find something you like to eat instead of this,” he said, scooping the orange peels out of his lap and leaving them on the coffee table for later cleanup. “It doesn’t have to all be bad. Come on,” he rose from his seat and offered C-53 his hand. “Let’s check the kitchen for something better and then, y’know, maybe try and get some sleep?”

The please was unspoken, but C-53 could see it on Pleck’s freckled face. He was trying to take care of him, just like his clunky, unfamiliar body was. C-53 didn’t like his body very much, and wasn’t sure he ever would, but he liked Pleck enough to go along with him for now. He didn’t know what kind of chemical governed trust. He didn’t even let himself ask.

C-53 took Pleck’s hand, tried not to flinch from the zing it sent up his arm, and followed him out of the pit.

[janekfan]

for the bingo board, would you mind doing health scare with jon and the crew? i love your writing btw

Thank you so much!!! 

Uh, I filled this probably unconventionally? But I hope it’s okay!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28514178

Jon first noticed something was off when he woke up shivering in the dead of night. But temperatures had been dropping steadily, there was no reason to think that it was anything other than the thin, poorly insulated walls of his flat causing the problem. Exhausted, Jon knuckled enough sleep from his eyes to retrieve another blanket, deciding before he slipped away again to wear a warmer cardigan tomorrow because the archives had a tendency to be chilly.

When Jon limped his way into the office the next day his joints were already burning and loose, feeling all too much like they’d been crushed into powder. He knew better than to walk that extra stop from the train but he was so embittered about his new, illustrious position as Head Archivist that being crammed like a sardine with hundreds of other people all but reading his mind, knowing instinctively that he wasn’t cut out for the work, was unbearable and he’d needed an escape. It wasn’t that bad; he was just tired from trying to fix Gertrude’s mess, that’s all. He just needed to redirect his attention away from the needles stabbing into him every time he took a step and focus on the mountain of files he had yet to sort through.

There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to how they were organized, but he had been able to use the dates scrawled across the tops of the stiff yellowing papers to get some semblance of a timeline going. That was where Jon found himself when Martin dropped off a cuppa, thanking him absentmindedly as he compared what was either a nine or a seven to another, clearer script.

“Um. Jon?”

“Hm?” It couldn’t matter that much and Jon filed them away in deference to the tea. Jon hadn’t realized how thirsty he was...what time was it?

“I. It’s half three.” Oh. “And I. I just haven’t seen you eat? Anything?”

“Oh.”

“You’re so busy, of course! It’s natural to get, uh, caught up! I could fix you something, if you’d like?”

“I’m.” Not hungry, that was for certain. Either the pain or the exhaustion was upsetting his stomach and the idea of eating right now was--

“Jon?” Maybe he’d eaten something gone off? Past the expiry?

“Oh. Um. Actually.”

“It’s no trouble!”

“Some. Some toast would be lovely, Martin, thank you.” A bite or two would help and as strange as it felt to take Martin up on his offer, the slightest bit of tension bled out of his shoulders.

Things had been.

Tense.

Since he’d accepted the position.

It was clear, no, true, that Sasha was better deserving of the job. She had more experience, more knowledge, more everything and yet Elias had passed her right over, giving Jon the ridiculous choice to resign or take it.

He should have resigned.

Finding a new workplace would be easier than watching his friends pull away from him. He didn’t blame Tim for siding with Sasha. She needed support right now. And anything he could think of to say to her would make him sound ungrateful that he’d been selected over her. Couldn’t very well go up to her and admit that he hated this and wanted everything to go back to the way it was in Research, because she really did want it.

And he.

“Toast’s up.” Martin sidestepped into the room to place the small plate on the corner of the desk. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like with it so I got a few things!” Cheerful and bright, he placed the jams down with a small spoon. He couldn’t have known it was exactly the right thing to do, that dry toast was about all Jon was going to be able to manage. “Anything I can help with?” Tentative, it was no secret that Jon was prickly at the best of times.

“Ah, um.” Jon gestured to a box, repressed a flinch when it seemed like his shoulder would jump from its socket. “I’ve been organizing by the dates on the top? Just, just for something.”

“Got it.”

Jon made his way slowly through one slice, later agreeing with Martin that he’d gotten too caught up with work to think about the second.

Things didn’t improve.

Maybe it was this.

Maybe it was that.

Excuse after excuse, because anything would be better than what he knew in his heart this really was and finally late one evening Jon clutched the bed spread despite the fire flaring in his fingers and buried his face into the soft fabric. It was foolish; it wouldn’t change anything to be so upset and he should be better equipped to handle it considering these spells would continue happening. He breathed in, out, slow, measured, but instead of calming him, he burst into sobs, muffling himself in the sheets and crying despite the pain and as he lay there, coming down from his tears of frustration, Jon realized, accepted, what was happening. The reason for his fever, headaches, the increase in pain, the trouble eating, sleeping--

“You are fine.” He whispered repeatedly into the cold isolated dark of his bedroom. “It won’t last forever. It never does.” But it always felt like forever and he couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be this time. What mistake did he make to cause it, even though Jon knew deep down it didn’t matter. That these things came and went with the wind and no matter what habits he changed to try and mitigate it, it never mattered. It was as if he was only able to talk himself down in time for it to flare up again and the constant fight to convince himself he would be alright, that he would make it through again and again and again was exhausting because it meant he was done in before the day even began.

Jon’s body ached like one giant bruise, crushed, pulled apart, at once boneless and so heavy that moving out of bed was out of the question. Brain stuffed with cotton wool and foggy thoughts meant that to speak meant to hurt so he didn’t, knowing he came across as spiteful but he didn’t have the energy to explain, not when he was so focused on making it from train to Institute to door to stairs to office; each leg of such a routine journey worse than the last. Sitting up was an ordeal and Jon had to drag his stick and string self out of bed after each restless night with caution, lest he pull something loose out of place. Braces, tape, hidden, hiding, normal, normal, normal. How he could be so tired and still not be able to sleep at night was a torture he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

Greetings, pleasantries, small talk all standing in the way of Jon reaching his desk and taking a break from what was essentially waking up. But it hurt. It all hurt. And it made it all worse because they were already angry with him and they wouldn’t stop being angry at him unless he put work into mending their relationships and he couldn’t put work into it when he wanted nothing more than to lay down and be unconscious for however long it took until this all passed.

The worst part of it all was that he needed help and didn’t know how to ask for it. Not with the cold shoulders, the whispers, the looks. And he only had himself to blame. The desk phone caught his attention and Jon was surprised it wasn’t shrouded in a layer of dust, still weighing his choices. Call someone, probably Martin. Or drag himself out of his office. One would only wound his pride. Gingerly, Jon cradled the phone to his ear, licking chapped lips before dialing Martin’s extension.

“Oh, J’Jon?” He’d never called any of them before. “Uh, what can I do for you?” Thank god. Trust Martin’s helpful nature to override any other questions.

“Ah, Martin. Yes, thank you. If you could--” There was a scuffle, a yelp, muffled through his door, followed by the dramatic clearing of a throat and:

“You can’t hide in there all week, Jon!” Came Tim’s sing-song reply and the hang up was two fold; through the receiver and the clang of the thing on Martin’s desk. Jon took a deep breath, pushing back the emotions threatening to flood him, tipping his head back and begging the tears to stop.

Having to ask for help was almost impossible and the longer he waited to show his face, the worse it would be.

The only thing he’d accomplished by picking up the phone was to put himself on a time limit.

This was too overwhelming.

Their desks are meters away but it may as well have been kilometers with how much he was hurting. But Jon pushed himself to his unsteady feet anyway, wishing both that someone would just notice and that he was masking his symptoms enough that they wouldn’t. He wasn’t foolish enough to leave his cane behind. It took concentration to keep his expression neutral, to force himself to walk smoothly. To pretend it was a regular day.

“That’s a level ten scowl, boss.” Jon rolled his eyes. “Honestly, you’ve been so moody lately.” Tim looked up from where he was twiddling away on his phone. Taking a break, that’s all, nothing to be upset with even though he couldn’t help but compare the number of files stacked on their individual desks. Jon swallowed hard around the tangle of hot disappointment.

“I’ve b’been, uh. It’s well, it’s a lot.” He hadn’t heard Sasha come up behind him, tone droll and capricious and all too familiar these days.

“I thought you’d be happier considering your position.” When Jon laughed nervously, it was damp with suppressed emotion. “It’s like you didn’t even want it.” And good lord at this moment he’d never wanted it less. But how could he talk to her about how difficult this transition had been when he was the thief? So he didn’t defend himself, instead going along with their jokes at his expense, trying to explain what he’d tried to call for. It was difficult to breathe in their presence, it was difficult to stand. It was difficult to accept that his friends were actively making things harder.

How would they know?

Tell them.

They’ll think you’re lying.

You were fine the other day.

“I was hoping you’d help me collect some files.” Jon wrapped his pompous academic exterior around him like a shield and for a horrifying moment he thought Tim was going to tell him off.

“Why didn’t you say so, boss?” Sarcasm dripped like crude oil from each syllable. “You just tell me what you want and I’ll fetch it for you.”

“Ah, j’just uh.” Jon pointed to what he needed in the stacks and Tim grunted with the weight of it, chuckling without mirth.

“Letting being the Big Boss go to your head are you?” He wiped a hand dramatically over his forehead. “Too shiftless to collect your own work?”

Why was he being so cruel?

“Too busy, I think you mean.” Jon shot back, letting anger and frustration seep through the continuously forming cracks. It was that or sob.

“Yeah, well. If you need anything else, you know where to find us.”

Jon absolutely refused to cry in his office.

It was stupid of him to not ask for help.

But he’d needed help with so many things this week past. Small things. Moving things. Carrying things. Things a normal person could do without constantly relying on others and the idea of parading himself into their midst again made his eyes sting with tears and his knees and hips burn. They hurt so much even with the bulky braces and sticky tape hidden beneath his trousers literally holding his joints together he didn’t think he’d be able to make another trip back and forth.

Which is how Jon found himself staring dumbly at his dangling arm for full seconds after trying to lift a box.

He’d dislocated his shoulder if the audible and sharp pop! was any indication and when the hot flush of agony hit he yelped mostly in surprise before controlling his fall to the floor. Someone was digging around in his shoulder socket with a superheated spoon as he writhed on the ground and he took just a moment to feel sorry for himself. He’d just wanted to do this one thing by himself and not have to surrender the tiny scrap of independence he’d been clinging to with his fingernails. Cursing himself for being so stupid and cursing himself again when his mewling brought all three of his assistants to his door, Jon looked up, feeling not unlike a beetle trapped on its back and waiting to be pinned. Now he was surrounded, in pain, under the glass of their frightened stares and he couldn’t spare the breath to tell them that he was fine. Just needed a moment to, to fit the puzzle pieces back together while he was being torn apart at his fragile seams.

“Boss--” A cacophony of panicked voices rising higher and higher and--

“Don’t!” They were reaching towards him, stopping at his tight command. “Don’t. I need. I--a minute. It’s fine.” Sweat streaked into the greying hair at his temples.

“This isn’t fine.” Tim sounded angry, scared, and Jon didn’t have enough in him to explain. Not right now. “Jon, you need--”

“Don’t tell me what I need!!” Surprising even himself with the vehement strength behind his declaration Jon put real effort into slowing his rapid breath. If he couldn’t control that, he couldn’t control himself, he couldn’t control the situation. At some point he closed his eyes, willing himself to relax, listening to the sound of Tim’s angry footsteps, Sasha’s following, their muffled voices upset and far away. He sensed Martin kneel beside him.

“Got you a cold cloth. Would you…?”

“P’please…” carried on the gust of his next exhale, the hum of relief stuck in his throat when Martin smoothed it over his eyes and it dulled the constant headache.

“You feel warm.”

“S’normal.” Martin was a surprising well of calm, not pressing or pushing or probing.

“Can I help?”

“In a, need another minute.” Experimentally Jon wiggled his fingers to check for numbness before trying to extend his arm and ultimately asking Martin for help.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to, to make it worse.”

“Can’t. Not really. Just there.” Martin’s hands were soft and warm as he maneuvered his arm over his head, helping bend it at the elbow and Jon grunted at the sensation of it falling back into place with a cool wash of relief.

“Oh! Uh, better?”

“Much.”

“I’ll make you some tea.” As though it were the man’s answer to all ills.

Jon took his time sitting up and getting to his feet, grabbing his cane and making his way to the breakroom where he knew he’d find Tim and Sasha. They at least gave him time to get settled before Tim launched into his interrogation.

“What happened?” Jon squirmed uncomfortably under their scrutiny, eyes downcast and focused on the glare of the fluorescent lighting reflecting off the surface of the tea Martin made him and glinting off the untouched foil backing of the paracetamol blister pack. His arm was in a sling. A sling he happened to have in his desk. A sling he happened to have in his desk “because this just happened sometimes.” The pain had decreased significantly but it didn’t feel right and probably wouldn’t for a while.

“I tried to lift a box.”

“A box.” Jon could really, really do without the incredulity.

“You don’t understand.”

“Yeah, because you never talk about it!”

“Because it’s always the same!” Jon didn’t mean to shout, but they wouldn’t understand. They couldn’t. And no amount of explaining or talking about his symptoms or complaining when he was hurting because he was always hurting would make a difference. “People don’t want to hear about it, Tim. It’s. It’s depressing.” They don’t believe me. “It makes people feel bad and then they get awkward. It’s easier for all of us if we just. Pretend.”

“Jon--”

“You’ve known since Research.” Jon wrapped sore arms around a sore stomach. “You know what these episodes look like, if not what it is.” And you didn’t care enough to even ask. It goes unsaid. Blaming Tim for something so far beyond his control wasn’t fair and Jon refused to do it.

Noticing would have been nice.

Not being forced to haul himself out to their desks to ask for help would have been nice. He understood they were acting out a bit of revenge and he didn’t blame them considering he’d stolen the job out from under Sasha. But it had been a blow to his pride all the same. Every time. Like being kicked when he was down.

Tears sprang to his eyes.

“And I. I don’t need. I don’t need to be coddled. But.” It felt stupid to say he wasn’t always able to walk between their desks and his office. He should be able to do that. It should be easy and he hated that it wasn’t. “I n’need to be allowed to, to.”

Leave. Leave here and never come back because he’d never felt worse than he did right now trying to beg his assistants for permission to use the phone.

“Call us.” Martin provided. “On the bad days.” Jon nodded, hiding his trembling lips behind the mug of cooling tea.

“Jon.” Tim sounded stricken. “I, I never meant--I.” Jon knew that. Tim was kind, had helped him when they worked upstairs together. But being punished like a child for saying yes-- “Jon.” He looked up to see that Tim was sitting across from him, hand outstretched on the table between them. Reaching. “Jon. I’m so, so sorry. That was. I shouldn’t have taken it that far.”

“I never. I didn’t say anything. You didn’t know.” It was Jon’s fault for being stubborn. It was Jon’s fault for not explaining.

“That’s no excuse for acting like a prat.” Jon ducked his head, embarrassment heating his face.

“I just. I chose y’you because.”

I trust you.

When Sasha sat beside him and bundled him into a gentle hug, that’s when the tears came in a biblical flood.

“Oh, Jon. I’m so sorry.” She rested her chin atop his head and the relief outweighed the unprofessionalism as he let himself be held. “We’re going to be better, alright?”

“Al’alright.” Salt damp and trembling, Jon was too exhausted to worry about what they thought of his greatest secret.

Hours later Jon blinked awake, bleary and warm, on the couch, head in Sasha’s lap as she read through a case and wrapped up in one of Martin’s jumpers.

“Almost quittin’ time, boss.” Oh. “You okay to make it home?”

“Uh, y’yeah, yes.”

It was nice to be asked.

It was a bit like walking on eggshells, the first few days of them navigating Jon without smothering him but the support was a far cry from the isolation and loneliness he’d dealt with since this whole thing started.

And then finally it began to break; the pain that’d been ratcheted up to eleven finally started dying down to a more manageable five or six.

“Need anything while I’m up, Jon?” Sasha poked her head into his office on her way by, a familiar, easy smile on her face and one he’d missed dearly.

“Ah, no, I--oh. If it’s not too much trouble, Martin was working on a translation?”

“Sure thing.”

Simple as that.

[sepublic]

Kipo’s Final Season

           Well, it was a journey you guys.

           Inevitably it’s bittersweet, because while it WAS a happy ending… You know. It’s an ending! Phenomenal final season, final trio of seasons, the show really wrapped itself up, but I’m empty that it’s gone now!

           It’s why I held off on watching the final season… My heart wasn’t ready to let go yet. And sure, if the third season were suddenly to get a BUNCH of ratings, we might get those additional motives that Radfor Sechrist hinted at the possibility of! But I’m still sad because the main journey is gone, and the cast, as we’ve gotten to know them, have left!

           Not entirely, but still! I will have to say that Kipo, Benson, Wolf, Mandu, and Troy are ROCKING all of their new looks! I love that Kipo looks more like her dad Lio, too! Speaking of which, I really enjoyed seeing Dave and Lio get along unintentionally… It was AMAZING to see Song return, and I just…

           I’m SAY, you know! I’m sad to see it all go. It really felt a final farewell to all of the cast and world we love… We got to see the return of various characters, including Fun Gus, of all people- Love the way his and Emilia’s arcs sort of tied together! And I love the symbolism of Emilia losing herself, as the idea of her becoming the very thing she swore to destroy… Those are great stories to me, haunting and chilling!

           LOVE how this year has been bringing us Gay Proms! First Grom, then Prahm! Prahm was great… I love Doag, though I feel sorry for her because of that NAME… But good for you Hoag, you’re a father and you let those paternal instincts override any fear, paranoia, and prejudice you may have had! Sure the warning didn’t come through in time, but at least you tried! Good for you…

           Also, I know Asher and Dahlia had a minimal presence, but I ENJOYED every last second of them we got, even as background characters! I loved the way the arc progressed, the stories behind Mutes and Humans getting along… It all felt so organic and natural, you know? And HUGO…!

           I’m not over his death. The worst part was that he DID redeem himself and fully change, so… It wasn’t like one of those Redemption-equals-Death cop outs! Hugo had already gotten his redemption. The crew really just wrote that for the sake of stomping on our hearts, huh? WELL THEY DID… Rest in peace, you funky mandrill! His arc was particularly brilliant and naturally-flowing, I love that final callback to his mess with Aurum… Hugo was just being that moody, temperamental older brother who’s a teen and insists he’s not going through a phase- But he loves his little sister and will humor her!

           I miss him already… And I LOVE his interactions with Wolf, as siblings by proxy of Kipo, but also their shared cynicism and trauma as I speculated about! Hugo making a blanket-cloak for Wolf, to replace the old one she had, which represented her trauma and past… I hadn’t even considered it, but it’s right! The way Hugo and Wolf’s arcs together to take out Emilia, only for Greta of all people to make a final point… It was amazing! Superb, brilliant, it was EXACTLY what I wanted to see and MORE! How we had this powerful and meaningful growth for the two of them as siblings in their own right, without necessarily having to rely on fighting… Just quiet moments!

           And Kipo… I love you Kipo! I was afraid the show might give us an arc of Kipo being ‘cured’ and having to struggle with no longer being part-mute, even if she were to eventually get that back… And they didn’t! They let Kipo be Kipo! I love her nature as a girl of two worlds, and how she brings both worlds together into one seamless creation! And her DNA gives me hope of a vaccine being made…

           I’m still sad over the deaths of Yumyan, Margot, Rupert, Camille, Brad, Billions, etc.! Remember the fallen… I was REALLY wishing the show would have them brought back to their old minds, and while still having them around in spirit sort of helped (as they were basically senile after the ‘cure’)… COME ON, this show has already been so bright and optimistic and hopeful in many other regards! Is it too much to ask that the ‘cure’ gets reverted, that they recover their old minds! It’s really messed up particularly with Margot and Rupert, as they were KIDS… Rupert was just being held hostage, and Margot DID make the effort to change her mind, just like Hoag she didn’t expect Emilia to be ahead of her! Maybe if we get that hypothetical sequel film with Wolf, MAYBE we could have Margot brought back… Or at least go over Wolf’s thoughts of Margot technically betraying her, but to save Rupert, and ultimately doing the right thing- Only to die! I wish we got to discuss that.

           Interesting that they never go about the origins of Mutes, but honestly… Not too important to me? The exact cause wasn’t a big deal to me, what matters is that it happened and now it’s here! Speaking of which, I LOVED the Dave episode… Controversial opinion, I think he’s a great character! I love how the show confirmed he was there as far back as THE beginning, and he was just… VIBING the entire time, over a fan! What DID happen to the fan, I wonder? Imagine if it got destroyed- Or even better, if it just ran out of battery! The implication that the fan somehow was able to run for two centuries, but still ran out of energy… Lol.

           THAT episode was a masterpiece of morbid humor, what with the idea of this one loser being THAT caught over a fan, Dave being responsible for skyscraper ridge… And that bit of Daves getting KILLED, but it’s never explained and then just sort of glossed over- It’s arguably amongst the pinnacle of morbid humor! The kind that just happens, and because it’s left unexplained it’s just BETTER, more horrifying, whilst funnier… And Benson! Like I said, the background, unspoken, but obvious implication that the Daves and Fanatics (is that what those humans called themselves?) slaughtered each other until one was left. YIKES… But it was still so brilliantly done and conveyed, it really is the epitome of dark humor to me!

           Benson got his kiss! He got his kiss with Troy! And now they’re running a restaurant together, Cappuccino gave them a SIX star review… But please don’t call them potato noodles. They’re fries. I can overlook anything, but NOT that! But now I crave that hypothetical sequel film that Radford Sechrist hinted at… Gimme gimme, please! Mostly I just want closure on those Mutes who got ‘cured’, I know it’s immature, but please bring them back!

           All in all, this was just… BRILLIANT! It was GOOD, and it makes me even sadder because I found myself so happy to see these characters progress, like with Zane, or Greta… Wolf letting go of her cloak, she’s so PRECIOUS I love her so much, and I love how Hugo was like an older brother to her and I miss him already! I love Kipo, I love Benson and Dave’s backstory, I love Troy, Asher, and Dahlia… I want MORE, please! I feel like I’m not yet ready to let go. And maybe I don’t necessarily have to, but still…

           And it’s absolutely wild to me, because this all happened within a year. It’s been a journey, huh? Once it was as simple as getting back to her old home… And while Kipo lost that, she made a new, better one! And I love that, but I’m also going to miss it- Because it feels that just as we got it back, we left! Well, I can always return in my own way, but for now…

           THANK YOU, to everyone who worked on this show! I’m going to miss Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts! It was utterly brilliant, and I’m glad you got to tell the story you wanted! Here’s hoping you get to indulge in the world of Kipo maybe one last, or two, times!

[leon-scott-kennedy]

So Covert, I Hardly Knew Him

Part I | Part II | Part III

Part IV: Close

Getting the generator up and running was by far the most straightforward task of the day so far. The hastily snapped photo of the instruction manual proved invaluable for overriding safety protocols and bypassing security measures, so what could have taken hours, took minutes. Backup power hummed to life, emergency lights flickered awake, and the distant hum of air circulation kicking in thrummed. Regrettably, the cold storage was worse on the second entry when the entirety of the room became visible.

It wasn’t six Tyrants; it was ten. Two more tacked on either end of the previous row that Leon hadn’t been able to make out in the dark. Whatever Leon did here out, waking them up was not on his to-do list. The walk back through the specimen storage had Leon shivering, and not from the chill of the cold storage. In full light, each frozen mutation was more hideous than the last.

“We should try the labs,” Ada said.

Leon sincerely wished he could be as unruffled in the face of horror as Ada was. Even back in Racoon City, she’d never flinched. “Probably our best bet,” he agreed somewhat remorsefully. Who knew what else they’d find in the dilapidated ruins of mad science, but Leon needed what he came for. He couldn’t prove the White House was dirty yet, and he needed to know who was sitting at the top. He needed evidence for the President. “On me.”

With Ada at his back, Leon felt marginally better as they slunk down the destroyed hallways, complete with cliché flickering lights and creepy shadows. Together, they searched the ruined labs in the seemingly endless maze of corridors and smashed equipment. They took out than a few BOWs, moving seamlessly together as if they’d been partnered for years, and not reluctant companions out of necessity. Ada had surprisingly become an apathetic ally that Leon could rely on to keep him alive in a tight spot.

Then again, the last time Leon had been a part of a team, an entire crew had lost their lives, the secretary of defence had been murdered, his CO transformed into a murderous BOW, and the woman he’d kinda hit on had her neck snapped. So the bar was a bit low, and maybe solo was the way to go. No one to let down. No one to disappoint.

Leon didn’t mind the occasional team-up with the BSAA boys because of one particular pain in the ass captain's no man left behind mandate, and that was something Leon could get behind. You can’t save the world if you don’t care about the people around you. Sacrifice for the sake of sacrifice would get them nowhere.

Leon darted into the next lab. Two BOWs. Leon took out the first, and seconds later, Ada dispatched the second. In the corner of the room was a miraculously intact PC with an uncracked screen. Leon booked it across the room and snagged the chair before Ada could steal it out from under him. The boot was tediously slow. You’d think state-of-the-art research facilities would have better computers than whatever monstrosity Leon was coaxing to life. Then again, maybe age contributed to its durability.

Leon set his Samurai Edge down strategically on the desk next to the mouse, but out of Ada’s reach and in a position he could easily grab with the twitch of his hand. Ada’s expression pinched, and he grinned, feeling cheeky.

Ada folded her arms and sighed as if put out by his show. “Still don’t trust me?”

Leon rolled his eyes and focused on the task at hand. “I thought that was obvious.”

“Careful, that almost hurt,” Ada said and slunk off to search for her own prize since Leon was unwilling to play nice.

“Don’t go too far,” Leon called. He laughed when Ada cheekily waved at him over her retreating back. “Women.”

On edge, Leon shifted through years of data. He’d gotten lucky that this particular machine was connected to the main server, but the majority of the files were encrypted, and he didn’t have time to decrypt them now. Plus, Hunnigan would be faster, and he wasn’t afraid to admit it. The women in his life were a bit scary, but in a good way. The kind of way you could bet your life on.

From what he could tell from the bits he could piece together, the closure of the mine coincided with the lab security breach. The village had been abandoned shortly after. Had the villagers known what lived below them? Probably not.

Leon began to transfer the files to a secure drive for Hunnigan to sort through later. Suddenly, gunfire erupted in the distance.

“Shit.” Leon snagged his handgun. The transfer wasn’t done, but another burst of gunfire and Leon barely paused, glancing back at the transfer speed before he raced off to help Ada.

Ada was three labs down surrounded by seven zombies. She’d already taken out four, but she was cornered.

Leon rushed in, drawing their attention. It was enough for Ada to take out the one closest to her, and Leon dispatched the final three.

“Losing your touch?”

Ada’s smile was far too sweet. “I thought you liked playing the hero.”

The lab looked like all the others they had searched, right down to the cracked computer monitors, smashed towers, broken lab equipment. “Find anything,” Leon asked.

“Nothing important,” Ada said. She picked her way back across the lab to Leon’s side and lay a hand on Leon’s forearm.

Leon inhaled deeply to stop himself from flinching at the unwanted touch. People were always too touchy-feely. Growing up in the foster system, touch rarely equated to a good thing, more often than not, it meant punishment for something he probably hadn’t even done. One of his foster mothers used to throw him into a cold shower when he had what she considered too much energy. Because wanting to explore outside was too much from an eleven-year-old.

“Why don’t I believe you?” Leon pulled his arm out of her light grip and stepped back.

A light overhead sparked. That was the only warning they had before the fixture crashed to the ground. Leon shoved Ada out of its path, shielding her body with his own as he pressed her back into the wall behind them.

They were far too close. Leon could feel the heat of her body, and he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at her tongue as it darted out to lick her lower lip.

Ada leaned in. “All you had to do was ask.”

“No, thanks.” Leon jerked back, spun on his heels, and gunned down the incoming BOW attached to the commotion. “Stay out of trouble,” he called over his shoulder. Hopefully, the transfer was complete.

<< First | < Prev | Next >

[oathofoaksart]

YOUNG JUSTICE OC: KILLJOY  bio under the cut!

BASICS Name: Miles Manson A.K.A: Killjoy; Jess Terring [legally], K.J, Smiles; Jester [formally] Age: 31 [S3 Era] Gender: Cisgender Male Orientation: One Loud Shrug Noise Skin: Light tan; neutral-to-warm undertones Hair: Medium Brown Eyes: Cognac, leaning on Orange Height: 5'8" Build: Compact, similar to that of a baseball player Distinctions: Fingers and palms are partially "perma-clowned". Has a multitude of scars that riddle his body. Most noteworthy being the one which cleaves his right eyebrow in half [Robin I], track marks inside of his elbows, upper arms, and thighs [fear toxin self-injections], a slash across his nose [the Joker], a large discoloration on his left shoulder [Killer Croc], and a long scar that circles around the base of his neck [Victor Zsasz] RELATIONS [note a few @ are friends i prob only know their dA handle to] Parents: Vinny [deceased] and Katherine [estranged] Terring Siblings: Eva Terring [estranged] Friends: Erin Knightly-Tetch @little-red-xoxo, Dick “Nightwing” Grayson, Penelope “Stage Fright” Caskett @poltergeistprincesa, Jervis “The Mad Hatter” Tetch, Molly “Blondie” Weiss @Triskata Partner/s: Scattered one night stands, notably henchwenches; M. "Last Encore" (ev.) @whispering-lava Misc.: The Joker, Harley Quinn, Gi “Geode” Flores, Janus Lyssa @SherlyWats, Madelyn “Angelica” Farro @The-Brain-Teaser, Jadis “Killcode” [Surname Redacted] @whispering-lava Affiliations: The Tetch Family; The Joker Gang [formally] PERSONALITY Personality Type: ESTP-A [Assertive Entrepreneur] Temperament: Sanguine-Choleric   Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Playful | Witty | Erratic | Careless | Brutal Miles’ “daytime” persona is a friendly, quick-to-joke man who takes all things in stride. He possesses a casual cheeriness and an easygoing attitude that aids him in making quick acquaintances and even a fair amount of friends, even if he’s notably private about his personal life. It’s usually written off as him having a generally quiet bachelor lifestyle. He’s best known from his job as a waiter at a tea and sweets shop named The Mad Tea House, where he lets his more impish traits shine through to his fellow employees. He’s been guilty of child-like pranks, shirking responsibilities onto others, and being a bit of a gadfly when he feels things have gotten too quiet in the tea house. As Killjoy, he’s violent, disturbingly reckless, fueled by spite, and follows no logic other than his own. He wastes no time looking for retaliation when he perceives a wrong done against him. K.J’s sense of humor is abundantly morbid, his words often tinged with irony and false jolly. He thoroughly enjoys getting under people’s skin and milking their uncomfortableness. In truth, there are very few things Miles takes seriously, but the one thing he sets above all else are his ties of loyalty. As rash as he is in regards to his own well-being, all bets are off once someone he comes to care for is in harm’s way. While he argues he finds this annoying about himself, it’s also his one source of proof showing he hasn’t completely lost his way. ABILITIES AND WEAKNESSES Metahuman Biology: Originally, Miles’ metagene was tied to his adrenal glands, allowing a boost in bio-stats such as improved strength and reflexes. Years of fear toxin dosing further strengthened this metagene. Unbeknownst to him, his metagene was continually evolving, correlating with his need for survival. His eventual death “rebooted” the metagene, jump starting his body, and fully allowing it to unfurl.

- Immortality: Miles has recently discovered his inability to die by various means. His body heals regentively and is immune to fatal poisons and toxins. - Adrenaline Surge/Blitz Mode: His adrenaline bursts allow him enhanced strength, speed, agility and reflexes. During these “Blitzes,” Miles turns into a one-man wrecking crew, plowing through obstacles and opponents through sheer determination. - Pain Tolerance: Has an abnormally high tolerance to pain, does not mean he can’t feel pain, it simply doesn’t hinder his ability to think or move. (Ex. He can burn his hand, and he feels the same amount of pain anyone else would in the same situation, he just won't react to it if he chooses not to) While Miles is officially immortal by way of being unnaturally resilient, he is still able to experience symptoms and side effects of diseases, poisons and toxins. His healing factor slows in colder temperatures, stopping completely when it drops to freezing points. Heavy damage to his head area hinder him considerably and Miles still feels the after effects after having healed (ie. slurred speech, blurry vision, dizziness). He is extremely susceptible to electric attacks, as it overrides his nervous system, prompting unconsciousness. Gear/Weapons: - Frowny Face Mask: Besides serving as a trademark symbol, Killjoy’s mask comes equipped with mapping and schematic information, allowing for quick and easy navigation. - Voice Changer: An electronic patch attached to his throat allows Killjoy to copy various voices, ranging across age and gender. - Signal Scrambler: Killjoy operates on a generally covert level, sometimes communication from one party to another isn’t in his best interest - Assorted Explosives: Killjoy’s go-to toys, these are generally self explanatory. They vary in size and demolition damage. For the sake of irony, Killjoy is fond of deadman switches.   - Weighted Gloves: Serve as built-in brass knuckles, K.J’s preferred melee weapon 3 in. Balisongs: Two of them to be precise, these typically only come out when simple bruises aren’t cutting it anymore. - Grappling Gun: Useful to get around the city landscape. The blue labeled gun. - 9mm Handgun:  Killjoy dislikes having to use this one, if it’s in his hand, he’s officially stopped fooling around. The red labeled gun. - Joyride: A custom-built Camero, Killjoy’s prized possession and getaway car HISTORY TW: SUICIDE MENTION Jess Terring, better known in the Gotham Underground as Jester, shot through headlines despite his years of generally low profile work as a simple Joker lackey. Charged with the deaths of dozens and injuries of several more by result of a fatal explosion, he was to spend a life sentence at Arkham Asylum, his protests of innocence falling on deaf ears. His attempts at an appeal were overruled, even with figures such as Batman and Nightwing looking into his case for him. Arkham Asylum was hell on Earth for Jess.  His shreds of hope fell apart as the months crawled on, his mental state deteriorating in the process.  He had never wanted to get involved with the Joker, all he’d been was a good-for-nothing conman who’d gotten too greedy. His last four years as Jester had been a never-ending nightmare. Things finally culminated during a free-for-all jailbreak at Arkham where Jess, along with other inmates, were cornered on the roof. Unable to stomach the idea of being thrown back in the cell he was wrongfully given and simply tired of the misery, he jumped. Jess Terring was proclaimed dead by suicide off Arkham Asylum… The last thing Jess expected to happen was to wake up in a morgue. Barely coherent and running on sheer instinct, Jess managed to escape, although not without killing the on-duty mortician. His first official kill and he hadn’t felt a thing. He wouldn’t reflect on it until after clearing Gotham City, and even then, he realized it wasn’t the mortician’s death that bothered him, but rather he didn’t feel anything about it to begin with. Between recognizing his new lack of humanity and hearing the joker-like laugh escaping him, Jess broke. He spent the following months wandering the states as a nameless face. The bizarre events surrounding Jess’ death was eventually swept away by the everflowing stream of news media and within the year, faded into obscurity. It was the best he could have hoped for, free from the Joker’s grasp and unknown, but his thoughts kept returning back to Gotham City. The more the thoughts plagued him, the angrier he got. The Joker had gotten off scot-free, having framed him for the initial massacre and ran him to the ground, eventually turning him into...whatever he was. While a part of him argued he’d be better off cutting his losses, he found himself unable to set it aside and he set course back to Gotham City. He didn’t have a plan so much as he did an outline, but he soon figured out he wasn’t required to be especially careful anymore. Being nigh-indestructible made for a good buffer. He’d finally found a blessing through his curse and through trial-and-error quickly fashioned himself as a makeshift mercenary. During this time he worked under a variety of names, involving himself in several under-the-radar jobs in order to fund what would eventually be his official M.O. He marked his entrance into Gotham with a string of bomb hits on territories tied to the Joker. As of now, not many are sure what to make of this new face, some cheering for his more direct approach on the Clown Prince, others exhausted with the prospect of another nut on the scene, and even a few seedier folk wanting to get him on their payroll. He’s unconcerned by it all, but he finds himself liking the ring to the name circling around him. Killjoy. NOTES - Killjoy mostly classifies as a serial bomber, targeting hideouts and planned heist hits. While he will set up evacuations so as to not injure more people than he has to, he’s fairly flippant about collateral damage - Despite his nonchalance towards violence, Killjoy does what he can to keep things non-lethal. His way of vengeance is a shot to the knee rather than a shot to the head. It’s not that he has a problem killing, it’s just as an immortal, death is the easy way out. - It’s believed Miles’ drastic change in personality comes from multiple factors instead of just one large catalyst (ie. years of fear toxin injection, joker gas inhalation, the trauma of death and resurrection) - The name Miles Manson doesn’t have any particular meaning, it had been a name he improvised and he grew fond of it. He severely hates being called Jess. - He suffers from night terrors, likely due to his usage of fear toxin in the past. He also experiences flashbacks akin to HPPD, albeit rarely - He can withstand an extreme amount of physical abuse and keep his wits about him, but once it passes a certain threshold, his mental state will eventually slip into a frenzy. Unable to consciously keep hold of himself, he will become animalistically brutal to anyone in his vicinity. - K.J mostly concerns himself with causing problems for the Joker, although he can be moved to ally with others for other reasons when he finds fit. Notably, he’s stuck a somewhat fickle truce with Nightwing over the rising number of metatrafficking rings in Gotham and Blüdhaven.

[omnivorousshipper]

De aged Deckard: You’re gonna go far, kid - Part 43

Summary: When the Shaw siblings try to break into an Eteon facility, they’re met with some unexpected consequences. Now, it’s up to Owen and Hattie to be the older siblings Deckard never had. Even if they have no idea what they’re doing

Part 42

           Sighing, Luke leaned back into the plush chair and looked around the lavish hotel penthouse: Brixton was sitting next to him, the crew had shoved two couches together so they could all be next to each other, while Owen and Hattie were squished on top of one another in a large armchair like Luke’s, and Queenie and Victor were talking quietly in the corner of the suite with Queenie’s guards stationed around the room. There were several in front of a bedroom door, and Luke could only hope that with the extra security, nobody would be sneaking in and taking the boy away from them again. He was sure he would go crazy if Deckard went missing again.

           When they had gotten Deckard from the police station, Luke had almost felt in a trance as he carried the small boy out of the building and into the car Queenie had waiting outside. He was as happy as can be sleeping away in his arms, nearly purring in contentment. However, Luke was more concerned about how Deckard had ended up at the police station.

           He had sent many questioning looks to Brixton, who only shook his head somberly and told him they would talk later. And now it was later.

           “So,” Roman pipped up, breaking the uneasiness in the room. “You two let Cipher get away again?”

           “We didn’t let her do anything!” Brixton snarled, causing Roman to flinch back and hide behind Tej. “She used something on me.”

           “What?” Han spoke up, who was sitting on the arm of one of the couches, not quite part of the crew but not separate either. “There’s not much that can take down people like us.”

           “Apparently she knows how.” Brixton huffed and not afraid to show his obvious annoyance at not being an unstoppable force against anything in the world.

           “She said it was an electric pulse?” Luke told them uncertainly.

           “Never heard that ever affecting us,” Han’s indifference seemed to finally crack as he looked thoughtful. “But it sounds like she’s had run in with Mr. Nobody and got her hands on Eteon’s files, so it’s not surprising she made something to stop cyborgs.”

           “Think that’s how she got Elena and Gisele off her tail?” Letty asked. “We didn’t spot them at all, and you know they’d still be chasing her if they weren’t stopped somehow.”

           “Probably.” Han nodded. “Nobody is probably pissed.”

           “I don’t really care if his feelings are hurt,” Luke snapped. “I want to know what Deck meant when he said ‘The Director’ saved him. Know anything about that?”

           The question was directed towards Brixton, who screwed his face up as if Luke just shoved a lemon down his throat. Honestly, after their run in with Cipher, Luke had been concerned about the other man; he was slower, almost hesitant in his movement and Luke had to wonder when the last time he had slept, if he needed to.

           “I think,” Brixton started to speak slowly. “When Eteon had Deck hooked up to all those tubs, that was his first dose with the brainwashing serum. After that, Cipher concocted her own which caused Deck to only listen to her. However, that didn’t override the first dose he got.”

           “Meaning?” Hattie drawled, unimpressed with the slow coming answer. Next to her, Owen looked equally bored as he listened to Brixton, which Luke wasn’t surprised at. The twins had a good reason to not trust a single word that came out of Brixton’s mouth.

           “Meaning that while he was loyal to Cipher, she was only playing second fiddle to The Director, who would have been the first person Deck needs to be loyal to. The new serum Eteon is playing with is no joke. It’ll stay in his system for a while.”

           “So, if this guy comes around and asks Dex to do something?” Queenie spoke up, walking up to the group. Luke could see the deep seated rage that had settled into the woman’s entire being and she looked ready to go to war in that very second.

           “He says to jump, Deck will kill himself before disobeying that order.” Brixton told them bluntly.

           “For how long?” Owen asked, eyes narrowed.

           “I don’t know.” Brixton sighed. “He didn’t get the full dosage before getting Cipher’s and as you can see, hers is already leaving Deck’s system. Hopefully in the next week or two, without another dosage, he’ll be fine.”

           “And you’re sure about this?” Dom grumbled.

           “No.”

           The one word hung in the air, as if taunting them all. Body tensed, Luke dreaded the thought of some power hungry asshole coming out of nowhere and having full control over Deckard. For years, Deckard had been taking commands from so many people, Luke wished he didn’t have to keep living his life under someone else’s thumb, especially when he had no choice in the matter with Cipher and now the Director. Shaking his head, Luke glanced over at Brixton and could see his thoughts reflected on the man’s face. While it was shocking to find an ally in the Brit, Luke couldn’t be happier that Brixton had joined their little ragtag rescue group and helped them. Deckard needed as many allies as he could.

           At the moment, all the crews that had helped look for Deckard were set up in the same hotel, taking up several floors to keep even more between Deckard and anyone else wanting to take him. M was only one floor below them, while Jakob was a floor above with a few of his snipers across the street watching the windows of Deckard’s temporary room. While it might seem like overkill, Luke and everyone else weren’t taking any risks.

           “So, what now?” Roman asked hesitantly.

           “Now, we just wait for Deck to wake up.” Luke shrugged.

           Not only was Eteon getting bolder every day with their schemes, now they had to face down the fact that Mr. Nobody wasn’t someone they could trust any longer. They no longer had a secret, strong force behind them and it would affect how much they could fight back against Cipher and anyone else that came out of the woodworks wanting to take advantage of Eteon’s newest technological advances.

           But, that was all for another day.

           Right now, their only concern was Deckard.

[ridiculousn3sswrites]

Weak Heart

*Tom Hiddleston x Reader

*Request from Wattpad: “Can I request a song fic for Tom Hiddleston. The song is weak heart by zara larsson”

*Warnings: Kinda unhealthy relationship, vague references to sex and alcohol. Let me know if I missed anything.

*A/N: As we all know I’m terrible at doing requests in a decent time frame. This request was from back in June (I think?) but I had fun writing it (and listening to the song while I was working). Happy Holidays everyone!

Song || My Ko-Fi

**********

Early morning / Someone's calling / Who could this be? / Reach my phone and / Your name showing / On my caller ID / I decline / then change my mind / and call you back up

When you first met Tom, the first thing you noticed about him was his charm. Well, the second thing. Of course you saw how attractive he was, and when you found out just how nice he was on top of that? He got ten times more attractive. You met him on set - it was your first leading role and he was an absolute dream to work with. He could tell you were a little nervous and was willing to do anything to help you put forth your best performance.

Late nights working with him, shooting scenes and running lines, dinners and drinks shared, they all added up to the biggest crush on someone that you saw as so incredibly out of your league. On wrap day, you decided to just go for it. You, of course, ran all the information by your friends before coming to this decision, not wanting to risk an awkward press junket. Once you got the go ahead that it seemed like he was into you, you went ahead and asked him on a date.

There were a few months that things had to go long distance, but knowing that you’d be reunited soon made it worth it. Both of you would fly out to visit the other for a few days at a time, and you could say that you were legitimately happy with the new relationship. It worked until it didn’t.

Once the press junket was done and each of you started working on your own projects, it was just incredibly difficult to find time for each other. The week or so every month shrunk to a few days at a time, then to one day, and then to nothing for a couple months. You knew it would be difficult - you were both fairly sought after, especially after your movie together - but you didn’t realize it would be like this. The promises you made at the beginning to call every day, video chat every weekend, text throughout the day seemed less and less feasible, and they didn’t even happen all that often. You weren’t yourself, and the people around you started to notice. You spent your days looking at your phone, waiting to see if he’d sent you a text, or maybe even tried to call you. It took nearly a year of this going on for you to finally end things when the two of you happened to be in New York for your own interviews.

It had been nearly a year after your whole situation ended, but you still missed him dearly. There were no ill feelings towards him. It wasn’t like the two of you ended on terrible terms; it was a simple case of right person, wrong time. The memories of the good times were still there, but there just weren’t enough to override the months of loneliness and hurt you went through.

You didn’t know what time it was when your phone blared on the bedside table, but you knew it had to be early from the darkness still outside. You blindly grabbed for your phone, trying to make yourself the slightest bit aware. When you checked just who was calling you at this ungodly hour, you nearly dropped your phone. Hiddleston.

You immediately declined the call, trying to calm your racing heart. It took a few seconds before you changed your mind, calling back. He picked up before you could even have the chance to steady your nerves.

“Hey,” he said. It’d been a while since you heard his voice like this. Sure, you saw his interviews every now and then, but this was different. Like it was just for you.

“Hey.” You didn’t know what else you could say. What do you say to the person you were still in love with, even though you ended things a year ago? What are you even supposed to do?

“I’m sorry, I forgot about the time difference. What time is it for you?” Tom asked. You could tell he was trying to do small talk, to get past the initial awkwardness.

“It’s five in the morning, Tom. Are you in London?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” It was something that happened a fair bit when the two of you were dating. Tom would forget that there were a full eight hours between the two of you, calling at odd hours in the morning until the two of you found a time that really worked. “Have you talked to your agent lately?”

“Not since yesterday, no. What have you heard?”

“I’m going to be starting work on a project soon, and they asked if I had any people in mind to be my costar. I could only think of you.” There was something else, a deeper meaning behind his words. Maybe you were overthinking it, but you swore there was the slightest bit of longing there. Why would he recommend you for a role when there was bound to be an awkwardness between you? Did he miss you like you missed him? “I understand if you don’t want to work with me, but please read the script at least. I think you’ll like it.”

And there was the charm that made you fall for him. “Yeah, I’ll read it. I can be professional.”

“Great.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, uh, (y/n)? I’m really glad you didn’t block me.” You wouldn’t admit it, but you were too. The two of you didn’t have anything else to talk about, so the call ended fairly soon after that. You couldn’t convince yourself to just go back to sleep. Your mind was racing and you couldn’t convince your body to just lay still. Now that you knew you should be expecting a call from your agent in the next few hours, there was no way you could relax. So instead you were pacing your living room, Netflix playing on your tv just to provide some background noise. What would you do when you saw him again?

You come over / I say slow now / This can't go on / Grab a chair, please / Sit right there it's / Time we had a talk

The second you walked in to the table read, you spotted him. It would’ve been hard to miss him, chatting with some others, that heart-melting smile bright on his face. You didn’t know what to do. There was the part of you that wanted to go up to him, just go back to the time when things were good, act like nothing happened over the past couple of years. But then there was the part of you that was stuck on the times you spent waiting by the phone, the moments you wanted him there for you, all the times he just wasn’t. It wasn’t his fault, with both of you having busy schedules and then the time difference between you.

You found your way over to the refreshments, sipping on some water as you watched the room. There were some others you recognized from your projects over the years, but no one you could easily mesh with to distract you until the table read started. Just as you were going to attempt to join some conversation, you saw the moment Tom realized you were there. He did a double take before quickly excusing himself from his conversation, quickly crossing the room to be by your side.

“(Y/n), it’s been a while,” he told you, a shy little smile gracing his lips.

“Yeah, it has been,” you said. “How have you been?”

Catching up was easy. You had forgotten just how easy it was to be with him, how easy it was to talk to him and just be yourself. The two of you talked until it was time for the table read to start, and once the table read was over, Tom invited you to grab some dinner. You knew you shouldn’t say yes, but the little hopeful look he had was too much. You sent your manager a text, letting them know they wouldn’t have to send a car for you.

It was too easy to fall back into step with Tom. You tried to remember what it was like when the two of you were apart, busy with your own schedules and lives, but when he was here next to you, it was so easy to forget. You could see things going back to the way they were with the little things - running lines together, getting lunch or dinner with one another, not even mentioning the time you nodded off in his trailer and woke up to him skimming through his script, sneaking looks at you like a schoolkid with a crush - and you needed to sort things out before they got out of hand.

“Are you kidding me? It’s a suicide mission!” You yelled at him, stepping just a smidge too far into his personal space.

“It’s what needs to be done. You know we have to do whatever it takes,” he said calmly, looking down at you. You could feel your body burning at the gaze, but he what he was saying was pure insanity. Almost automatically, you brought your hand up to smack him, but he easily caught your wrist, turning it and forcing your arm down.

“You can’t do this,” you choked out as he pulled you closer.

“Say what you actually mean.”

“You can’t do this to me. If you die-”

“Then I’ll just have to not die.” He said it like it was so easy. Before you could say anything, he pulled you in, kissing you soundly, passionately. When he pulled back, he gave you a knowing smile. “It’ll be easy, especially with you watching my back.”

“And cut! That was great guys,” the director said, pulling you out of the scene. You and Tom looked over at him, still standing way too close than you should have once the shot ended. “We should probably do another take or two just in case, but I want you guys to keep that energy. Take twenty minutes then come back.”

“Thank you!” You and Tom said at the same time, finally putting some distance between the two of you. As soon as you were far enough off set, you pulled Tom to the side. You tried not to notice how right your hand felt in his, dropping it quickly.

“Are you okay?” Tom asked as soon as you were somewhat secluded from the rest of the crew.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Listen, I think we should talk about whatever’s going on here,” you huffed, looking away. You didn’t know how you were supposed to actually have this conversation with him when you were struggling to even look at him after bringing it up. “Just… come with my to my apartment after shoot. We shouldn’t have this conversation on set.”

“Yes, of course.” It was almost amazing how fast Tom got serious. You only needed to finish these last few takes and then you’d be free to have this conversation. If only you could figure out what you wanted to say.

The apartment you’d been renting for the shoot was cold and empty when you got back, Tom following close behind. You made a beeline for the kitchen, putting your bag down on the counter as you went to grab something to drink. Tom stood awkwardly, watching as you went about your little routine. “Uh, well, feel free to sit wherever. Do you want something to drink?”

“No, thank you,” Tom said as he took a seat at the breakfast bar. You stayed on the opposite end of the counter, needing the distance between the two of you. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Forgive me if I’m the only one seeing it, but have you noticed something happening here? Like, how it was before we got together last time?” You asked, not daring to look at him. Maybe you were just reading too much into it, and he was just being the polite person he was known to be. Maybe you’d just forgotten that was how he was with everyone.

“(Y/n), darling, could you look at me?” His soothing voice drew your eyes up to his. “I didn’t want to come on too strong, but working with you again was just an excuse to be near you. Of course I think you’re perfect for the role, and I love working with you, but I missed you and I didn’t know how to get you back in my life. I’ve missed you more than you could know.”

You looked back at the counter, your heart pounding. You must have heard him wrong. There was no way he wanted you back. Every bit of pain you felt when the two of you were together - or, more accurately, apart - came rushing back. “We can’t do this again.”

You heard Tom move, probably getting off of the stool. Before you knew it, you felt one of his hands on your shoulder as the other one tilted your chin up. Your breath hitched at his proximity, reminding you of the scene earlier. “And why not?”

“Not when we both get so busy and we can’t even properly be together. We both have careers, we live on opposite ends of the world,” you said. He hushed you, gently enough that you weren’t annoyed by it like you would’ve been otherwise.

“We can figure it out this time, get it right,” he reassured you. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

You let yourself relax in his hold, and Tom took the moment to search your face before leaning in slowly, still giving you enough time to push him away or move. The kiss was different from the ones you shared on set, actual emotion poured into this one. It was more than your characters sharing a heat-filled moment before a dangerous mission, it was just you and Tom. Tom kissed you softly, but that didn’t mean there was any less passion behind it.

When you woke the next morning, Tom’s arm was a solid weight around your waist, holding you close to his bare chest. The memories of the previous night flooded back. There wasn’t much talking once he kissed you, but there was touching. Soft, gentle touches like both of you were worried of scaring the other away. Light kisses pressed to bared skin, not wanting to leave any marks for the makeup team to deal with the next day. There would be time for pure lust later, the two of you only concerned with reacquainting yourselves with one another. Tom stirred beside you, pressing lazy kisses to your shoulder as you melted into his touch. You could worry about the consequences later.

So I'mma keep singing this sad song / It never felt better to be wrong

It was easy to slip back into the way things had been at the beginning of your relationship the first time around. You didn’t want to tell anyone you were together again - knowing how the rumor mill ran wild, and that was without the tabloids being involved - but it was almost embarrassing how obvious it was. If one of you had a scene and the other didn’t, the other could always be found nearby, watching with a fond smile. The chemistry you had in scenes together was insane, enough so that your director commented on it. Everything just seemed to fall into place.

When you weren’t needed on set, the two of you spent the night together at one of your apartments. You fell into an easy routine: cooking dinner with each other when you weren’t exhausted (getting takeout when you were), watching something together or running lines before you had to head to bed, cuddling until you fell asleep. It was more domestic than when you dated before, and it just felt right. You knew your time like this was limited, but you couldn’t help to try to forget it. You just wanted to enjoy it while you could.

Before you knew it, wrap day was here. You were immensely proud of the work you and everyone else had done for the movie, but you couldn’t help to worry about what exactly this meant for your rekindled relationship. Even as you finished the last scene and everyone applauded for the end of the shoot, the thought was still at the back of your mind. You were supposed to be overjoyed, glad for the chance to have even a short break, but you couldn’t get too lost in the moment. You smiled and chatted with the rest of the lingering cast and crew before they had to start cleaning up, trying to ignore the slight feeling of dread you had. Apparently you hadn’t done a good job at it, especially when Tom pulled you aside after you got invited to drinks with the rest of the cast. 

“Are you okay, darling?” Tom asked, searching for something in your look. “You did fantastic, but are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course. I’m just kinda sad we’re actually done.” You looked away, worried he’d be able to tell somehow.

“That’s not entirely true, now is it?”

You sighed. Of course he could tell. “I mean, you’re going back to London now, aren’t you?”

“Darling, you don’t have to worry about that. We said we’d figure it out the right way this time, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, but we haven’t even really talked about what we mean by that.”

“How about after drinks with the rest, we get food and go back to my apartment to talk through it? And we still have the rest of the week before you go back to LA, right?”

“Right.” You didn’t know how exactly you guys were supposed to talk through it - you thought you had done a pretty good job at that the first time around - but you were willing to believe he had the answers. He had to have the answers this time.

Yeah, I've a weak heart, baby, I've a weak heart

You had to admit, there were times when you wondered why you were going through this yet again. Though this time was significantly better than the last, there were still times when you needed Tom there and he just couldn’t be there. Even though the two of you tried making trips to see each other, your work schedules and just life in general got in the way of spending any significant periods of time together. Phone and video calls became the most frequent form of communication, with most calls happening first thing in the morning for you, the middle of the afternoon for Tom. Just the fact that you guys talked every day made it seem worthwhile to hold onto.

“Darling, you sound like you’re still asleep,” Tom joked as you groaned, covering your eyes with your arm.

“That’s because I kinda am. I’m not supposed to go back for filming for another couple days,” you told him. “Waking up this early is actual hell, I don’t know how you do it.”

“I’ve gotten used to it, though it is harder to leave when you’re sleeping next to me.” You couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not, but you knew he did linger a little longer when you were visiting one another. “How’s the show been going?”

Though you normally didn’t take part in pilot season, a show writer had come to your agent with a chance that you couldn’t pass up. You’d worked with them a couple times when you were just starting out, and now they wanted you to star in a new drama. You talked about it with Tom a few times, not wanting to really say anything until you knew if the show got picked up by a network or not. “It’s definitely going. I really like the people I’m working with, I think you’d get along with a few of them.”

“Is that so?” Tom seemed slightly distracted, but as far as you knew, he wasn’t supposed to be doing anything today. You could hear sounds of the city around him, like he was taking a walk or something.

“What are you up to? You seem kinda… I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry, darling. Just give me a few minutes and you’ll have my full attention, I promise.” You held in the sigh that you wanted to give so bad, a little annoyed that the half hour you normally spent on the phone during the day was being interrupted.

“Alright. Do you want me to keep talking or do you want to tell me about the project you just signed on to?”

“Tell me more about your show, I want to hear your voice. I’ve missed it.”

“We talked yesterday.” You couldn’t help but smile even as you teased Tom. He was so sweet without even really intending to be. The moments that made you melt were always just Tom being honest. It was insane what that man did to you.

“Indulge me, please sweetheart?” You couldn’t say no to him.

As you were in the middle of telling a story from the first table read when you heard knocking at your door. You groaned as you finally got out of bed, making Tom laugh. You told him to wait for a second as you put your phone down on the counter, going to answer the door. You were glad you put down your phone, because the second you opened the door, you knew you would have dropped it. “Tom?”

“I was going to use the spare key, but I didn’t want to worry you by just coming in,” Tom explained, hanging up the call on his end. Just as he put his phone in his pocket, you launched yourself forward to hug him. He laughed as he held you close.

“Please tell me I’m not dreaming.”

“I’m here, darling. I’ll be here for at least a couple months before my next project starts.” You pressed your face into the crook of his neck, trying to ground yourself in the reality that he was here. You knew he wouldn’t be here for as long as you’d like, but he was here now, and you wanted to savor the time you had with him. Even if things weren’t the way you imagined, the way you would’ve preferred, he was here now, and that was enough. You could ignore the ache in your heart when he was gone, the nights spent alone, everything, if it meant you could have moments like this.

**********

Permanent Tag List: @treatallwithkindness, @laic2299

[cicaklah]

It hurts me to say this...

But Star Trek Discovery season 3 is a fucking mess. It's a mess that I am seriously struggling to be enthusiastic about watching. Its not the setting, its not the acting, its not even the characters really, although it is, but its because the writing has taken a tumble off the deep end. No one writing this show has an idea what they are doing. And none of them seem to give a shit. Disco is struggling with something that was a problem in Picard too - there being too many characters and too many plot threads. This is something that was coming since the show decided not to have a conventional cast and have the command crew be non-main characters. However, it ends up with a severe epidemic of idiot ballitis.

The command structure of the Disco makes no sense, and it never has. But now it makes even less sense, and it gave up a great opportunity to fix it, to promote some people to main characters, to build an ensemble cast that didn’t feel disparate, to have that found family vibes. They did none of it. They did the same thing they do EVERY SEASON, which is introduce some new characters and bloat the cast further. There’s no time for characterisation, there’s no time for anything, we’ve got HUGE OVERWHELMING MYSTERIES TO SOLVE!!!

Some characters have lost their entire personality, thinking specifically of Stamets here, but also Tilly... and then who other than Michael and Saru are there who is an original character who got actual screentime and development? Georgiou’s gone now, Culber probably should have stayed dead lbr, and the whole bridge crew are attractive ascended extras. As usual, Disco does what it does badly, introducing YET MORE new characters to join the ranks of the underused (Book, who is baffled to be there other than to be sexy and handsome and have a good cat) or there to advance the plot at great expense (Adira, who is better than everyone despite being a literal child and its not being used to highlight how out of time the characters are. But we get so far, an A plot and 2 B plots detailing Adira's backstory, which boils down to 'Trills aren't supposed to be in human bodies whoops' aka, a plot TNG did far more efficiently 30 years ago. Oh and as of episode ten, just saying nothing) I quipped in my post about the first episode that the plot was going to be climate change until they forget about it, but I didn’t expect it to happen so quickly. Instead, the plot seems to be THE BURN but also THE MUSIC but also THE FEDERATION MIGHT BE EVIL and now THE MIRROR UNIVERSE, but not the plot thread that was dangled by David Cronenberg about how the Terran empire fell after Spock gave them feelings, but a two parter of (enjoyable) overacting in old costumes that takes another 2 episodes away from THE BURN/THE MUSIC/THE FEDERATION and sets up a spinoff series that will likely actually be far better than it should be, because Disco isn’t allowed to be the flagship show, it must be the seed tray for the other ideas everyone would rather spend time on.

There are so many other things I have HATED this season (Gabrielle becoming a Romulan murder nun oh god the fLAMES ON THE SIDE OF MY FACE) but really the main, overriding, all consuming problem I have is with Saru. It’s such a good setup! Finally the captain, but obviously unprepared, with a crew who aren't cohesive, are traumatised, and a computer that somehow has a personality. He throws a dinner that ends badly. He takes the advice of a sentient computer and scores a win. Even though control happened 5 minutes ago, he is fine with this. Even though he has always had problems with fear and then now the absence of it, he now absolutely has no qualms about any of this. They're stranded in the future and need to find Starfleet, but it takes about a week and then they do. The starfleet of the future is kinda mean and very overstretched, but they have the solution to their problems! Future Starfleet is breaking a thousand laws and they’re now a dirty secret...so they future up the disco, but don’t give them new uniforms or use them, or seize their dilithium for their ships, nah, they just....do nothing.  He appoints Burnham as his 2IC, who then immediately soft mutinies against him so he fires her. He then appoints a 23 year old ensign (Burnham's best friend, protege and literal roommate) as his 2IC. No one has a problem with this. LITERALLY NO ONE HAS A PROBLEM WITH THIS. Not Stamets. Not Burnham. Not Detmer. Not anyone. Including, somehow, the future starfleet admiral?? Was I the only one who watched the 5 or so TNG/DS9 episodes where they hammered home the 'Being a captain takes a lot of experience' peg, into the 'prodigies are bad' hole??? SEE: Red Squad, Valiant, Wesley fucking Crusher??? So you've got an unprepared rookie captain, who by his own original character arc never got the captain training he wanted. He got a year being 2IC to Lorca, then a year of being co-captain with Pike, during which he went through a significant trauma and he and Pike weren’t exactly sharing captaining tips by the fire. He's visibly, obviously struggling...apart from the show doesn't think so. The writing doesn't think so. Am I supposed to be having a sense of dread about this? Have they all been possessed by brain worms? The ones that are the cousins of the Trill in the beta canon novels perhaps??? (drink)

He’s now obsessed with some dead Kelpien scientist even though admiral underused says that as far as he knows Kelpia is fine and a member of the federation, but instead of having an episode where Saru gets them to jump there, he just does...other dodgy, stupid, bullshit that feels incoherent, feels wrong, but no one but me seems to care. The writers don’t. Just, when Lorca was our morally dubious captain, we were supposed to think there was something hinky because the other characters responded to him. Saru hated him. Stamets hated him. Culber hated him. Cornwall was aghast at him. We're ten episodes into this season and we're in the past in the mirror universe I assumed at the behest of a Q but is actually some TOS proto-Q bullshit and I am JUST VERY TIRED AND ANGRY THAT THIS IS ALL HAPPENING.

The first episode of this season was SO STRONG. There were some GREAT ideas. Since then, Disco has become what its critics have said it was and it breaks my fucking heart.

[tinybibmpreg]

Prompt 2/80, #36 - Did you honestly think that was going to impress me? ft. two of my S/tar T/rek ocs, Captain Cipher Nine and Li Ilik Dari’Oza

USS Sifr: Unimpressed

“Did you honestly think that was going to impress me?” Li Ilik drawled, leaning back against a workstation. He crossed his arms across his chest the best he could with two infants strapped there, tilted his head, and leveled Cipher with a glare so unimpressed Cipher slouched. He'd felt like quite the hero when he first turned around to see what his partner thought of his success in a firefight. Now that feeling of victory was rapidly fading away.

Even their daughters looked sorely disinterested in him, and they were just babies.

Foolishly, Cipher answered, “Kind of?”

Li Ilik’s scathing retort was instantaneous, “You wasted resources, time, took damage that could have been avoided, used tactics that were juvenile and utterly predictable, not at all suited to the situation at hand, and you were woefully unprepared. You spent far too much time trying to negotiate as well when we were immediately attacked.”

“I wasn't unprepared.”

“Oh, you were. If I'd been the captain-”

Cipher barely suppressed a grin, perking up. Li Ilik only pulled out that hypothetical in their debates when he was faltering in coming up with arguments, flustered and trying to rile him up fast. He wasn’t really unimpressed, despite the glare. “This is a Starfleet ship, Li. I'm far more suited.”

Li Ilik scoffed. “It doesn't matter. I have far more military experience than you. Don't forget, I was once the second in command of the flagship of the Cardassian military. Second only to-”

He was interrupted by a sharp, “I thought Captain Cipher did really well, Dari’Oza. It's been a while since you were even Dal, right? I bet you'd be rather rusty. You don't know what you're talking about.”

Cipher rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation as his first officer spoke. Even after so much time, the man didn't seem to realize Cipher didn't need his reputation or orders defended, especially not from Li Ilik, who criticized everything he did as Captain, according to traditional Cardassian courtship. It was the easiest and most passionate argument they could have. Li Ilik straightened immediately, tail lashing. His grey protofeathers ruffled, and he growled before storming off of the bridge. Well, not really storming, exactly, Cipher thought. With two babies always strapped to his chest or tucked in his arms, and a heavily pregnant belly hanging off of his slim figure, Li Ilik waddled off a bit more than he stalked off, lately.

It was very funny to watch, even though Cipher knew Li Ilik only took off like that instead of verbally ripping into whoever he felt insulted him when he was upset. Being pregnant again had made the Cardassian rather emotional. Cipher wanted to go after him, but he had work to do as Captain. He couldn't just run off right after a battle. He needed to review damage reports, assign repair teams, be there in case another ship showed up. Get the ship back in top shape before they could continue on their mission course. Then he could go see if Li Ilik was still offended.

“Okay. Do we have an update on the hull and shield status?”

“Yes, Captain. There was a hull breach near engineering, but no casualties. They're already fixing it. The shield is on its way back to 100%.”

“Excellent.” Cipher sat down in his chair and settled into his role as Captain.

For all of three minutes. Then his second officer walked in, looking a bit confused. Cipher greeted her, “Ah. Lieutenant Commander Rian. You have a report?”

“Um, yes. Though, uh, is Dari’Oza alright? I passed him on my way up. I thought he would be on the bridge- it looked like he was crying, almost…”

Li Ilik rarely cried, even when hormonal and overemotional in his pregnancy. Work would have to wait. Cipher stood up. “Commander, can you man the bridge for me? I’ll be back later.”

“Sure, Captain. I'll take that report then, Rian.” 

Cipher walked out of the bridge and onto the elevator. Once the doors closed, he asked for the lift to bring him to deck 8, where the Captain’s quarters were. He tapped his foot as it descended. He tried not to think about how slow the turbolift was when he was impatient, as it’d only make it seem even longer.

When the lift finally stopped on his deck, he practically leaped off of it, heading towards his quarters. He kept his pace quick in case he passed anyone. His crew tended to leave him be if he looked like he was in a hurry to get somewhere. Rian always told him he could be quite intense when he was determined, whether that be when he was having a conversation, fighting a battle, or simply making his way through the ship corridors.

As soon as he was in front of his quarters, he slapped the entrance panel and stepped in, calling, “Li? Girls?”

No sign of Li Ilik or the twins in the living room or dining area. Cipher reached out to give his cat, Fox, a pat on the head as he went for the master bedroom, which was currently shut. A rarity, since Cipher insisted it be kept open at all times so his cat could go in and out of the bedroom as she pleased. Li Ilik had grown fond of the animal the past few years, sometimes preferring her company over Cipher’s. He never closed the door unless he was very upset, too upset for even Fox to comfort.

He clicked for the door to open, but it stayed shut. Now very worried, he input his override code. The door slid open and he headed into the dimly lit room. Li Ilik was curled up on the bed, his face buried into a pillow to muffle his crying. His shoulders were wracked with sobs. The girls were sound asleep on the bed, each on their nursing pillows, with their father’s tail wrapped around them. Cipher rushed to his side, climbing onto the bed but being careful not to disturb the girls. “Li!”

“Go away.”

“No, you’re upset. I want you to talk to me.” He rubbed Li Ilik’s back. “Please?”

Li Ilik lifted his tear-stained face a bit. “Why bother? You know what’s wrong.”

“The thing with Commander Gaines?” 

Li Ilik nodded. Cipher pulled him up so he could hold him. Li Ilik kept a firm hold on the pillow but leaned against him. Cipher exhaled with relief. At least Li Ilik wasn’t angry with him, or else he would have fought the hold or pulled away. He reached over and pulled the girls closer, so Li Ilik could keep his tail around them. When he tried to kiss his temple, Li Ilik turned his head. So he was definitely upset with him, and not so much the first officer.

Cipher kissed the top of his head anyway. Normally he loved feeling the soft grey protofeathers that made up his husband’s hair, but now he couldn’t focus on that. “He’s a bit temperamental. Still, he shouldn’t have said that to you.”

Li Ilik shook his head, more tears welling up in his eyes. Cipher felt a bit helpless. It’d never bothered Li Ilik before when the first officer argued with him. Sure, he’d get offended, but he’d always get over it fairly quickly. But now it seemed like it was something a bit more than Gaines making a needless retort, something he’d missed.

“If the Commander didn’t upset you, what did? Did something happen on your way here?”

“You didn’t defend me!” Li Ilik cried. “You let him speak to me like that!”

“But you’ve never gotten upset about him before?”

“I don’t care what he says! He’s just some sycophant Federaji lackey-” Cipher filed that phrase away to laugh at later when all of this was over with and he was allowed to find it funny. “But you never defend me!”

“I- I didn’t know I needed to do that. You always defend yourself so well. You never seem to need my help.”

“How could you think that?” Li Ilik sobbed. “Do you find it okay that your subordinates flirt or offend me in front of you?”

“I don’t think Gaines was flirting with you,” Cipher said, then immediately wished he hadn’t. That wasn’t what he should have focused on.

“It doesn’t matter whether he was flirting or arguing with me!” Li Ilik hissed at him, voice rising. One of the girls mumbled and Li Ilik glanced down at her. He touched her with the tip of his tail, and she settled down. He crumpled, burying his face into the pillow again and sobbing miserably.

Cipher hugged him tightly, but Li Ilik squirmed out of his grip. “I don’t like when Gaines or the others upset you.”

“Then why do you let them do that? You’re the Captain, your subordinates shouldn’t be talking to your mate like that, especially not in front of you, in front of everyone, in front of our daughters, when I’m carrying your children-”

Man, Cipher thought, it really was bad that he was letting those things slide. He should have realized that his husband wanted him to speak up for him like a proper Cardassian mate would have. Or like a proper mate at all would have. Being human wasn’t even an excuse.

“I’ll talk to Gaines about it, I promise.” That seemed to soothe Li Ilik. Cipher kissed his hunter-eye, and Li Ilik took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. “I’m sorry I let things get this bad, Li. Shouldn’t have let you get into this state.”

“If you were Cardassian, this never would have happened. You would have kept all your men in line from the start,” Li Ilik told him, and Cipher knew he’d been forgiven.

“Oh, if I were Cardassian, you wouldn’t like me nearly as much.”

Li Ilik gave him an unimpressed glare, somehow just as effective even with his face wet with tears and his hair all ruffled.

Cipher grinned and kissed him, then pecked extra kisses on his cheek for good measure. Li Ilik pulled away to wipe off his face and try to fix his hair. “Enough, enough.”

“Oh, man, it freaks me out when you’re upset.”

“Then you should endeavor to be the best husband possible, so I’m not upset again,” Li Ilik told him, jabbing at his chest. “I don’t expect to cry again until you die and leave me a widower with four children to look after.”

Cipher rolled his eyes. “I won’t be dying that soon, geez.”

“Good.” Li Ilik thought for a moment and then added, “Unless of course, you die in an idiotic way. Then I won’t be crying over you.”

“I’ll die as a hero and you and the girls will weep over my body or what’s left of it in front of everyone, or in such a ridiculous way that you’ll be crying tears of frustration over how I could be such a fool. Deal?”

Li Ilik scoffed. Then, he asked, “Do you have to go back to the bridge?”

“Nah, I think Gaines and Rian have it handled. I’ll stay here with you and the girls until they need me.”

“Help me hold the children.” Li Ilik reached to gently pick up one of their daughters, careful not to wake her up. Cipher reached around Li Ilik to pick up the other twin and placed her in Li Ilik’s arm. Once he had them comfortably laying against his chest, the both of them nuzzling against the base of his throat, Li Ilik leaned back against Cipher. Smiling, Cipher wrapped his arms around Li Ilik, resting his hands on his belly.

It was nice to have his whole family in his arms. Cipher made sure to cherish it. The girls were going to get bigger and it’d be impossible for Li Ilik to try to hold two almost-toddlers and two newborns, though Cipher was certain that he’d try. And then as all the kids grew it’d be more and more difficult to fit them.

“Hello there, Fox.” Meowing, Cipher’s cat hopped up onto the bed and plodded around before sitting next to her owner and kneading the blankets. He scratched behind her ears and was glad when she started purring. Then she stood, stretched, and flopped down against him.

Now he had his whole family, he realized.

But before he could settle in again and maybe try giving Li Ilik some more kisses, his commbadge chimed. “Rian to Captain Cipher.”

Cipher sighed and hit his badge. “Cipher here.”

“Captain, we’re receiving a long-distance message from a ship similar to the one that attacked us. We need you on the bridge.”

“Put the ship on yellow alert and increase sensors, make sure to keep an eye on that ship, try to get a visual. I’m on my way. Cipher out.”

Grumbling, Li Ilik looked disappointed. Cipher detached himself from them, guiding his husband to lean against a pile of pillows.

“Duty calls,” Cipher said apologetically, giving Li Ilik another kiss. He pressed a kiss to the top of his daughter’s heads, and then one to Fox’s. She gave a small ‘mew’ in response. Finally, he dipped his head to press two kisses to Li Ilik’s belly, pulling up his shirt to kiss against his skin.

“H-hey!”

“Stay safe and get some rest. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He headed out of the bedroom, but then stopped and dipped his head back in. Smirking, he said, “And by the way, I think I made excellent decisions in battle as Captain today.”

Completely flustered, Li Ilik hissed back, “No, you didn’t!”

“Love you too, Li. Love you, girls!” Grinning like a fool, he left his quarters and went to the bridge.

-

As it turned out, the ship that had attacked them was a stolen ship commandeered by criminals, and the ship contacting them, a military ship in pursuit of the theives, was very grateful for the sensor readings they could provide and the course heading of where the damaged ship had run away after being overpowered. They were given permission to head to the ship’s system of origin, an invitation of first contact.

It would take three days to get there, and once things were underway and all repairs were sorted out and started, Cipher stood up, beamed down at his first officer, and said, “Commander, can I see you in my ready room?”

“Of course, Captain.”

Cipher led Gaines into his ready room. He sat down behind his desk and flicked at a stray marble that had escaped its display container. It rolled towards the edge of the desk but bumped into the little siding he’d had installed to prevent his collection from falling.

Gaines sat down in front of the desk, watching him flick the marble. “Did you want to go over first contact procedures, sir?”

“Oh, no. We won’t be able to do that until tomorrow anyway when we get that information packet from their capital they promised.”

“Then what is it, sir? I thought you’d be headed straight down to your quarters once things were quiet, to be with your family.”

“Once this is done with, I will.” Cipher plucked up the marble and set it back where it belonged. “And funny that you bring up my family, actually-”

“Yeah, Rian already ripped into me about earlier. I didn’t mean to make Dari’Oza cry, sir. He’s just… very insulting.”

Cipher shrugged. “I know you don’t like my husband. Cardassians can be an acquired taste.”

“I don’t think it’s a taste I’ll get used to.”

Cipher appreciated that Gaines was so honest, and he liked him. He hoped that Gaines wouldn’t be too upset. Li Ilik’s feelings mattered more, though.

“I hope you’re not aware that Cardassians flirt by arguing, Drew. I know Li and I probably shouldn’t be so brazen on the bridge, but in a proper Cardassian romance, the couple argues all the time. It’s very fun, getting riled up.”

“I… I didn’t know that, Captain.”

“I tried to give you time to figure it out so I didn’t embarrass you, but then I realized enough is enough. Even if Li Ilik wasn’t just doing a Cardassian courting tradition, I don’t like how you speak to him. You shouldn’t be purposefully trying to argue with or offending your captain’s spouse, especially not when he’s pregnant. And you absolutely shouldn’t be so disrespectful in front of the bridge crew, in front of me, and in front of our daughters.”

Gaines looked thoroughly ashamed. “I’m sorry, Captain. I shouldn’t have been unprofessional.”

“Great! I look forward to things being better from now on. Also, I think Li Ilik is, hm… a bit pettier now that he’s so pregnant, so he’ll probably try to rile you up to upset you. Not in the good way that he does to me, either. Use all of your training and Starfleet determination to resist, okay?”

“Captain…!”

“I’d tell him not to, but it would not go over well. Imagine telling an almost full-term pregnant human not to do something. That would be a disaster. Now imagine telling a Cardassian. Yeah, that won’t happen.” Cipher laughed. “Dismissed, Commander. You have the bridge. Now I’m going to go to my quarters and spend time with my family. I’m sure Li Ilik’s been prepping on how to criticize any first contact ideas I might have, and I’m looking forward to it.”

[saintsurvivors]

all roads lead home

chapter one

Kirk knows.

He knows how lucky he is. To still be standing on the bridge of the Enterprise, when so many others had perished. He can see the crew, standing haggard and exhausted in the terrible aftermath.a Before this, as a crew, they would have numbered in the mid to high eight hundreds. Now, decimated as they are, they are numbered between one to three hundred, give or take.

They are the only ones left of the graduating class of Starfleet Academy.

He can’t help the way he looks at them, tired as he is. Examines the way their shoulders bend beneath the weight of their own survival, the way their faces are drawn, tired. They are bending, yes, beneath exhaustion, beneath guilt, beneath grief, beneath survival. But still, they do not break.

Kirk can only think of one other time he has been as proud as he is now.

He sighs, bites his bottom lip. Winces as it splits open again. He knows he’ll have a lot to answer for; not only from Captain Pike, but the Admiralty as well. Officially, he wasn’t supposed to be on the Enterprise, and the way McCoy smuggled him on could be classed as an act of mutiny if the Admiralty so sought to label it such.

He closes his eyes briefly, sees the gut-punch grief of all those ships, floating in their black graveyard. He turns his head from the cracked view screen, doesn’t dare close his eyes again from the too bright glare of the bridge lights, the way Chekov’s hair gleams almost luminous. By virtue of his youth, the Ensign looks unruffled, untired, but Kirk doesn’t miss the way his hands tremble at his console, the way he’s slowly listing in his chair.

He looks sideways, catches sight of Spock. See’s the way the Vulcan is stretched too thin, shoulders taut beneath his shirt. Catches the way he’s leaning ever so subtly in Uhura’s direction, how Uhura leans back to him. 

He bites his lip, feel the phantom pain of hands around his throat, the five fingered gut punch of a mind invading his own, slick like oil. His twice broken hand pains him as his fingers curl around the dataPADD. Feels the guilt swirling in his gut.

He’s done enough today, he thinks. Done enough breaking and smashing. He just wants to sleep.

He’s so tired, he thinks. Bone weary, and aching. Adrenaline slowly fading from his veins as his body slowly gets the message that the crisis is finally, finally over.

He wants to lie down, stretch his body out, but he doesn’t have a bed. By virtue of being smuggled aboard, he hasn’t been given one; and he’s uncomfortable about sleeping in the Captain’s Quarters. Maybe he can sleep in the ready room just off of the bridge.

But the thought of going to sleep, of letting himself slip off into oblivion is as much a gift as it sounds like a burden. Perhaps that’s why he’s still standing, feeling that dull ache of guilt, of pain in the back of his mind. Compartmentalization has always come easy to him, too easy sometimes.

But now, all his body wants is sleep.

But he can’t. The ship, the crew need him. Need him like they need stability because right now he is the only thing that’s been left standing in the ruins that Nero and the Narada has left them in.

He sighs, returns his gazes to the dataPADD. He signs off on the report from Engineering about the damages they’ve got. The loss of the warp core may be the biggest damage yet, but it isn’t by far the most debilitating. He digs his palms into his eyes, hard enough to see stars, then dearly regrets it as his left socket protests angrily.

There’s still so much left to do. It’s never ending.

He sighs again, shifts in his chair, winces as his shirt sticks to both his chair and skin, pulling uncomfortably. He signs off on another itinerary coming in from Biosciences, before turning back to the casualty reports that keep coming in, adding names upon names upon names.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, reading through them all, penning condolence letters on another dataPADD balanced on his aching knee. All he knows is that he hurts, bone deep, and his eyes throb with exhaustion, but he still can’t sleep.

Vaguely, he remembers an old terran saying his mother was always quoting; I can sleep when I’m dead.

It’s never been truer. He just wants to sleep, but how can he when so many are dead or missing?

He thinks of Gaila, with her fire red hair and grinning eyes, so excited to be on the Farragut. Thinks of Uhura and her now empty dorm room. Of Spock, with his decimated planet. Of the Starfleet graduating class; he wonders just how many people are really left.

“Kirk,” Uhura says, and Kirk turns to her. “Admiral Archer is on the comm for you,”

Kirk closes his eyes briefly, knuckles his eyes again, thankful for the bite of pain. 

“Thanks, Lieutenant, patch it over to the ready room,” He gets up, staggers for just a moment as his vision goes white. He blinks, Uhura is looking at him with uncharacteristic concern.

“Alright, Captain?” She says, and something like pride blooms inside his belly. That word again, Captain. 

It makes him both seem bigger than life and smaller than anything. It makes him want to hold his head high and do all he can for his crew. Too bad he probably won’t keep the title.

“I’m fine, Lieutenant,” Kirk says. “Hopefully, this won’t take too long,”

“If you say so, Kirk,” She says, and she turns back, ponytail swinging. 

“Mr. Spock,” Kirk says. “Would you like to accompany me?” Spock turns, raises an eyebrow.

“It is your prerogative,” He pauses, then. “Captain,”

“You’re First Officer, Spock,” Kirk just says instead of rising to the bait. He’s just too tired, and he already knows what’s awaiting him. “You should be there,”

“Of course,” Spock says.

It’s exhausting just trying to walk to the ready room, and when he gets in there, he’s grateful there’s chairs. Spock sits gracefully next to him, not a hair out of place but his fingers are clenched tight on his thighs; the only outward sign of his emotional turmoil.

“Patching it through now, Kirk,” Uhura’s voice comes over the comms. 

“Thank you, Uhura,” Kirk murmurs, resists the urge to rub the bridge of his nose like he wants to. His head is pounding, a combination of lack of oxygen, adrenaline, too little food.

“Admiral,” Kirk says, and he and Spock salute as Archer’s face blooms across the screen.

“Well hell,” Archer says after a moment. “You look like absolute shit, lad,”

Kirk laughs, then grimaces. He takes a deep breath, feels the piercing ache of what he knows is broken ribs.

“It’s been a helluva of a day, Sir,” Kirk says.

“I imagine, Kirk,” Admiral Archer says dryly. “Especially since you’re a grounded cadet and somehow ended up as Captain of the Starfleet Flagship,”

“I understand that it’s unorthodox, Sir-,” Kirk starts to say, then bites his tongue. Archer is one of the Admirals he actually likes, knows that Archer is a friend of Pike’s.

“I don’t think unorthodox is quite the word there, son,” Archer tells him, but there’s something like amusement in his face. Spock is quiet next to him, but the steady presence of him is enough for Kirk to relax, though he makes sure to keep Spock’s hands in full view of himself. 

“Anyway,” Archer continues. “I didn’t comm you just to ream you out, son, this is just to get a sitrep on the shitshow you’ve got yourself into,”

Kirk doesn’t laugh, feels his shoulders go rigid. But he knows Archer doesn’t mean it how it sounds.

“Well, Admiral, it’s not good,” Kirk confesses. On screen, Archer hums, the top of  dataPADD just in view as he scrolls through what must be the signed off reports Kirk’s sent to Starfleet Command. “We’ve got no warp core, just impulse, which means it’s going to take almost a month to get back to Earth starbase, our casualty list is still climbing; we’re still not sure if people are actually dead on board, or missing in the black,”

“Shit,” Archer sighs, peers at them both of the top of the PADD in his hands. “Sounds like a right mess, son. I’ll see what I can do about getting a tow, the USS Yorktown is close by and has the medical capabilities that you’ll require, especially since the reports show that medical took some damage. Now, tell me what in fresh hell caused you to eject your warp core?”

Kirk winces. This isn’t going to be pretty.

---

“Well,” Kirk says, two hours after. “I’m glad that’s over,”

“Indeed,” Spock says. He’s still stiff, shoulders still taut. Kirk sighs. 

“I’m sure the others have rotated onto Beta Shift,” He says. “Why don’t you go and get some food and some rest?”

“Negative, Captain,” Spock says. Kirk thinks he’s determined to be difficult. “As a Vulcan, I am able to last far longer than a human on little sleep and with little sustenance-,”

“That,” Kirk overrides. “Does not mean you should,” Spock’s mouth goes flat.

“Captain, I assure you,” Spock starts.

“You can assure me all you like, Spock,” Kirk says. “Doesn’t mean I’m not making it an order for you and the rest of the bridge crew - if they haven’t already  - to be knocked out of rotation for at least eighteen hours for food and rest,”

“And yourself?” Spock fairly demands.

Kirk blinks, looks up from the dataPADD he’s compiled his notes from Archer’s comm onto, alongside the running list of casualty names. 

“Me?” He blinks almost owlishly.

“Surely, Captain, you would benefit from rest and sustenance just as much as I,” Spock doesn’t even blink, just looks down at Kirk with a blank facial expression from where he’s standing by the ready room door.

“I will, Spock,” Kirk says.

“Of course,” Spock says, as if he can sense Kirk’s bullshit a mile away.

Kirk watches him closely, opens his mouth, closes it again. Then,

“Spock, I would just-What I’m trying to-,” He takes a deep breath, hopes he gets this right. “I grieve with thee,”

Spock’s face goes even blanker, shoulders tightening even more. 

“Thank you,” He says, somewhat haltingly. “For the sentiment, Captain,” With that, he does an about face, and leave abruptly. Kirk sighs. 

He rolls his shoulders back, immediately regrets it. He should really go to Medbay, he knows, wants his own comfort right now. But McCoy is still in Medbay, probably swamped by injuries and casualties and Kirk can’t take his attention from the crew members that need his help more than Kirk.

It’s better this way, he thinks.

He thinks of sleeping, then remembers again he doesn’t have a room. He sighs deeply, tries to stand.

His vision goes white, and he staggers into the table, hissing a breath as his ribs hit the side of it. 

“Shit,” He hisses. Shakes his head to get rid of the fuzz clouding his brain.

He manages to stagger to the door of the ready room, makes a point to get himself steady before passing through. Just as he thought.

Alpha Shift is still in their seats, all of them turned towards him. He sighs. 

“Alright, everybody,” He starts. “As of now, Beta shift is taking over, I want to you off rotation for at least eighteen hours, and you best go get some food and some sleep,”

“Kirk,” Surprisingly, it’s Uhura who steps forward, face twisted into an expression he’s never seen before on her. She’s almost stricken.

“Lieutenant,” He says to her. He looks at her, and her face smooths out. “Get some food, get some rest, you all deserve it,” 

“Yes sir,” There’s surprisingly little protests, but Kirk watches how tired they look, how they move so much slower. He watches as Uhura moves to stand closer to Spock, his fingers brushing just slightly against her and the way they relax into one another. They’re good for each other, Kirk thinks. He’s glad.

He watches them all slowly trickle from the bridge, Beta shift filtering in around them. Chekov and Sulu are leaning against one another in a camaraderie that they hadn’t had before; Kirk supposes that nothing breeds trust and brotherhood like a crisis they’ve just faced.

“Kirk,” Uhura calls him back just as he makes way back into his ready room. “Maybe you should head to Medbay?”

I will, Lieutenant,” Kirk says, lies. “Just after I’ve finished these reports,”

“Uh huh,” Uhura says, as much as a bullshit detector as Spock. She and Spock turn to leave, still just in touching distance. Kirk watches them wistfully. What he’d do for McCoy to be here.

When, at last, the last of the bridge crew is gone and Beta is settled in, Kirk heads into the ready room, sits on the chair he was before, and immerses himself in his dataPADDS.

He’s not quite sure when oblivion rises around him, only that he lists to the side in the middle of reading through Pike’s medical report that’s been sent to him.